Marvel, page 25
Happy wasn’t your only friend, Tony. You had me, too.
Think, Pepper, think. The real Tony needs you. She glanced up and around surreptitiously, immediately identifying at least three cameras. Tony would be having those monitored nonstop. But he only needed the hammer. Technically. She could get the girl out of the building, hide her somewhere, and get back in touch with those Viking weirdos for a pickup.
She could do anything, she just had to do something. Pepper stowed the phone under the couch so as not to alarm the girl.
“I’m sorry, Tony,” she whispered. “You’ll understand later.”
She gently reached out and shook the girl awake by the shoulders. Quinn Foster blinked heavily, knuckling through a yawn, then squeaking in surprise at Pepper’s proximity.
“Hey,” Pepper whispered. “Hey, so this is going to sound confusing, but I think we should get you out of here.”
Quinn frowned and jerked away. “Yeah, right. You work for Darth Vader. No, the Emperor.”
Pepper sighed. “That’s why I said this would be confusing. The thing is, he doesn’t necessarily need you, he just needs that hammer—”
“He can’t have it,” Quinn stated, pulling it into her lap and pushing farther down the sofa.
“It’s just a thing, Quinn. People are worth more than things.”
She puzzled over that briefly. “But he wants to do evil stuff with it. He wants to invade my dad’s home world and hurt people. I can’t let him do that. I know what it means to believe in something, I watched my dad do it all the time.”
“Your dad would want you to be safe,” said Pepper. “He would believe in that, too. You can come back for the hammer later, all right? I promise. I’ll find a way to get it back to you, I just think it’s important that you’re safe right now. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re just a child.”
Quinn shook her head hard. “That doesn’t mean anything. What’s the matter with you, lady? Don’t you believe in anything?” She wiped her nose on her sleeve.
“I just tased that security guard for you, clearly I believe in something,” Pepper whispered fiercely. “When Tony gets up here, it will take a lot more than a silly phone Taser to stop him, which is why we need you out of here right away.”
“I’ll stop him myself,” said Quinn, sitting up straighter. “With the hammer.”
“You’re nine.”
“And three-quarters!” Quinn shrieked, indignant.
The elevator doors immediately to Pepper’s right, Quinn’s left, chimed. Pepper scrambled for her phone, standing and shoving it behind her back. She prayed for a security guard or delivery person or anyone other than Tony to appear when the doors slid open. A towering hulk of metal and flame ducked out of the elevator, shaking the floor with each step. A faintly glowing, circular depression pulsed on the center of its chest. His chest. Tony’s. He was inside that thing, completely encased in the rippled, eerie Uru metal of the Asgardian Destroyer. Pepper’s heart sank to her toes; she remembered when Tony had shown her the original design idea for his Iron Man suit. He was so proud of it, and it was so quintessentially him, an elegant marriage of man and tech, but this was nothing like that. There was nothing human about it.
Nothing Tony about it.
Two upright lifter robots accompanied him, flanking him in the elevator, but they rapidly circled the Destroyer and wheeled over to the energy-siphoning pylons stored behind the sofa. With their precise forklift arms, they began loading up the equipment.
His voice emerged from it with a hollow, deep reverberation. The helmet creaked as he took in the scene before him. The empty firing aperture that had once been part of the machine’s face had been retrofitted and relocated to that round, shiny aperture on his chest. A simplified semblance of a human face slotted over the empty space there, not a far cry from his earlier Iron Man design, but infinitely more sinister in this application.
“Tony,” Pepper breathed, blood draining.
He must have seen the heap of Jax a few steps behind her. “Oh, Pepper. Really?”
An unexpected ally leapt to her defense. Quinn Foster shot off the sofa, skidding to a halt in her stripy socks in front of Pepper, hoisting the hammer protectively. “Don’t hurt her, she was just trying to help me.”
“Put that down, Quinn. Let me handle this,” Pepper murmured, eyes fixed on Tony.
A rolling, technoscrambled laugh rumbled from deep within the Destroyer. “I should’ve known you were a do-gooder at heart.”
“I don’t know if I am, Tony,” Pepper replied, holding her ground. She was afraid of what might happen if any of them moved, so she clamped down hard on Quinn’s shoulders. Nervous, horrified by the machine leering down at them, she licked her lips. She could feel the searing heat rolling off of the metal. How could he stand it? “I just know that I’ve caught mistakes before, and fixed things before it was too late.”
“This isn’t a clerical error,” he grumbled, the machine’s right fist opening and closing impatiently. “We produced entirely new technologies for this. I built this suit, the first of its kind. What happened, Pepper? You were with me on this before, what changed?”
Pepper decided it was a good sign he was asking. He’s still in there. “Before, you had vision; this is just…madness. How does this save anybody? How does this honor Happy’s memory?”
“It’s action.” He leaned forward on the word, both fists closing with a loud shnink. “It’s proactive. It’s something for me—us—to do instead of wallowing and drowning. Death has to mean something, it has to matter. And what do we do here that matters? Machines. Perfect machines. A machine that can protect this city and the people in it, a machine that can go to another realm and prove that we aren’t just defenseless down here, waiting for the impact, waiting for the…” The pointed helmet encasing his head rattled from side to side.
“Crash?” Pepper asked softly. “Tony, if part of this is about your paren—”
“It’s not. It’s about taking action, and I think I’ve explained that clearly to you by now.” He sighed, and through the Destroyer’s vocal relay, it came out like feedback, like a blast of TV snow. “Well?”
Pepper shook her head. “There’s always a line, Tony—ethical, moral, social—you know that. You’re crossing it.”
“It’s a good thing she and that hammer are still here. But you’re still fired, Potts.” Before she could think or move, the Iron Destroyer surged forward, flames flaring from the bottom of its flat-soled feet. Quinn screamed, torn off the floor with the hammer as Tony jet-boosted them across the office, over his desk, and through the plate glass windows running along the helipad outside. Shards of twinkling glass exploded across the floor, shorn flowers from his desk sending a plume of petals fluttering into the air.
And with a quiet, contained whir, the robots wheeled the equipment out of the office, following Tony.
Pepper had dropped onto her hands and knees to avoid being pancaked by the Destroyer as it rocketed across the room. Her phone had gone spinning away from her, clacking on the floor. She crawled toward it, shaking as she scooped it into numb, useless hands and unlocked the screen, hammering the SOS Emergency Call function.
“Come on, come on, come on,” she whispered, listening to it ring.
If nothing else, someone might hear them. If nothing else, she might draw an audience for his madness.
“Nine-one-one, what is the location of your emergency?”
“Stark Tower,” Pepper managed between sobs. “Bring everything, you have to stop him.”
27
FOUR ROPES OF WHITE-HOT lightning twisted into one another, braiding into a structure as they shot up from the top of Stark Tower. Angry clouds bunched over New York, flickers of silver brightening the gloom as the storm gathered. There was no mistaking their destination as Skæva glided just beneath those heavy clouds, then angled down toward the tower.
“We must reclaim the hammer,” said Rūna, flattening herself against the horse’s neck. The wind tore at them, whistling, the rising electricity on the air plucking at Loki’s skin.
“Easier said than done; Stark defeated us once already, and now he has the Destroyer.”
Rūna pulled Jarnbjorn from her back. “You doubt our resolve?”
Loki clung tight to her waist, the wind stinging his eyes as he tried not to vomit from the sudden, sharp descent. “I’m a liability. Without my full powers…” He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.
The horse beat his wings hard, rearing back, slowing down as the metropolis spread out below them. Now individual city blocks could be seen, now the crawl of cars along the avenues, now the hint of green describing parks, now a squared-off blockade that seemed to surround only Stark Tower itself. Rūna lifted glittering Jarnbjorn high in the air, the indelible reek of ozone wafting from the helipad and the spire of dazzle and light beginning to connect it to the clouds. “I said before that Mjolnir has bound itself to someone new,” she began.
“Quinn,” he called above the wind.
“That is one theory,” said Rūna. “But it was Thor that began this mission, that gave me this riddle, and Thor who was convinced of your worthiness.”
Loki could make out figures now on the flattened, round helipad jutting out from the glass executive level of the tower. Two black, circular devices propped up by robots had been placed centrally; between them huddled a smaller figure holding Mjolnir, a silvered hulk of a machine rising over her. Stark’s helicopter was parked on the edge of the landing zone, he, Quinn, and the machinery at the very heart of the white H painted at its middle.
Their hair began to rise and drift from the lightning hissing and crackling between sky and tower.
“Rūna, my dear boulder-headed barbarian, do you happen to know the definition of insanity? Because I’ve tried to wield it twice already, and it heeds the child’s call,” said Loki. And if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure his pride could withstand a third failed attempt. No, it was time to accept his limitations, accept what spare magic he could conjure, and leave fancies behind.
“Very well, then leave Stark to me,” Rūna called as they came about in a broad circle, spiraling toward the helipad, and then diving more directly, Jarnbjorn extended like a spear before the charge. “Insanity shall be the speed of my axe! Insanity shall be the surety of our purpose and the furor in our hearts! Loki! I pass noble Skæva to your care. When Quinn and Mjolnir are ours, take them far from this place. And now, the storm!”
Skæva’s hooves pawed the air, his mane rippling as he shrieked in unison with his master. A blast of energy from the tower sent them spinning, the three of them in free fall until the horse regained his bearings and fixed their course for the edge of the helipad. The sudden wave that had blown them back came from the column of blue, purple, and silver light created by the hammer and the machinery drawing power from it. Sound seemed to get lost in the wormhole as it formed, for now, twenty meters or so away. Loki could see Quinn clinging fiercely to Mjolnir, her hair flying wildly about her, eyes clenched shut, her mouth fixed open in a constant scream of fear.
Rūna pulled her feet out of the saddle stirrups and, holding a handful of the horse’s mane, crouched, ready to spring. Loki let go of her, abruptly aware that she was armed and armored, and he had nothing but his jeans, a black shirt, a pair of reliable, green Chuck sneakers, and his wits with him. From inside the ruined, glass walls of the office came a figure with red hair, the gale and storm whipping around the helipad yanking her hair free of its sleek style.
“That’s the woman who called us,” Loki shouted over the din.
“An innocent!” Rūna screamed back. “Take her to safety!”
With that, the Valkyrie was battle-bound, soaring from the back of her mount, both hands holding Jarnbjorn above her head as she landed lightly, ducking, rolling, and then leaping up into a run. He watched her pelt across the helipad as Skæva swerved hard to the right, carrying him to Pepper Potts where she huddled against the doorway leading into the office.
“How do we stop him?” Pepper asked, eyes wide with terror.
Loki extended his hand to her. “You don’t. You’ve already done your part; Rūna and I will do the rest. Come!”
“No! I can’t leave him! I won’t give up on him…” She twisted toward Stark, tears gathering in her eyes. “Please, you have to understand, this isn’t like him. He’s still in there somewhere, I swear. Under all that metal, there’s a good man trapped inside.”
Loki nodded grimly and gestured for her to join him again. “It isn’t safe here for you.”
At last, she relented, with one last glance at Stark and the Destroyer. Loki reined the horse around as soon as Pepper had climbed up behind him. He didn’t relish the thought of leaving Rūna alone in the fight, but more innocents would only complicate matters and make it harder to focus on their true objective, Stark. Skæva trotted off the edge of the building, momentum carrying them down in a corkscrew, Pepper Potts clutching Loki’s shirt and cursing as they dove and dove, the street, cars, and a surprisingly robust police presence coming up on them fast. Skæva unfolded his ivory wings at the last moment, floating down to the pavement near one of the barricades and an open spot in the road.
“Remember what I told you!” Pepper called, her voice somewhat lost as Loki left her behind to fly back to the top of the tower.
By the time they crested the edge of the helipad, the beam of dark energy, siphoned from Mjolnir and into the devices, had crystallized into something that looked almost solid. Loki had never considered the Bifrost this way, from the exterior, watching as the tunnel between Midgard and Asgard formed and stabilized. There was little time to consider its terrible beauty; through the wobbling, water-like surface of the wormhole, Loki saw the circular weapon on the Destroyer’s chest begin to glow fiery red. It seemed the machine suit Stark wore, rebuilt from the Destroyer’s remains, was pulling dark energy from the hammer, too. A strange cocoon of lightning had emerged from Mjolnir, enveloping itself and Quinn, shielding them. Yet the hammer jolted hard from side to side, and like Stark, it appeared warped by the Bifrost. But it also appeared to Loki’s eye that it was beginning to break apart.
Stark rose twice as tall as himself before, suspended in the massive casing of the Destroyer. Atop the horse, Loki raced across the helipad. The aperture on Stark’s chest fired, tearing through the wormhole, disrupting it, and leaving a wound as the solid beam of red energy blasted toward Rūna. She ducked, flattening herself against the ground. Stark must have been keeping her at bay this way, using the laser to protect the continuity of the wormhole as it formed.
Now, however, he had two Asgardians to contend with.
“Uncle Loki!” he heard Quinn shriek from within the watery twist and snap of the Bifrost.
“Too late,” Stark warned, a contorted, mechanical voice vibrating out from the Destroyer. “Time to storm the gates. I’ll give your family my regards.”
“No!” Rūna charged once more. Stark had integrated the same magnetizing and repulsing technology from his first suit, grafting similar systems onto the heavy mitts of the Destroyer. His image doubled, tripled, quadrupled as the Bifrost stabilized, yet Loki saw Stark’s hand extend, sucking in the helicopter before firing it, sending the vehicle spinning nose over tail toward Rūna. This time, she was ready, aluminum and titanium rent asunder, metal sheared, sparks exploding, Jarnbjorn cleaving the thing in half with one of the Valkyrie’s powerful downward swings. The two halves of the helicopter spun out into the void, then plummeted toward the city.
More of his powers returned by the second. He didn’t question it, only gratefully drew upon them, imagining himself in two places at once. One Loki charging toward Stark, the second true Loki racing toward Quinn in the Bifrost on a mighty steed. He reached the column of light a heartbeat before Rūna, with bold Skæva lowering his head, preparing to ram the machine at full speed. The horse did not flinch, slamming its side and left wing into the Destroyer. The impact did nothing to the machine, but the sudden stop sent Loki soaring out of the saddle.
The Destroyer caught him, sweeping his other fist through the mirror image of Loki. The noise inside the wormhole was incredible, painful to withstand, but he had to concentrate before Stark squeezed him in half. He gritted his teeth, magic thrumming in his hands. The lightning gathered around Quinn and Mjolnir snapped at his exposed flesh, singeing his shirt, burning his lashes, searing against his arms. He called the spectral hammer to his aid and swung it, hard, against the Destroyer’s upper right arm.
The conjured hammer left a deep dent, and Stark grunted from within the machine. He pulled Loki to him with the force of his vortex gauntlet. Rūna appeared within the shifting walls of the wormhole, but she was too late. The gateway was ready. Loki felt the sickening, insistent yank of the Bifrost as it carried them toward Asgard. He looked frantically toward Quinn, but there was no point in telling her to let go of Mjolnir—the hammer had encased her within its shield. She probably couldn’t let go even if she wanted to.
“You aren’t invited,” Stark muttered, releasing Loki. Before the machine’s fist could fire him back out of the Bifrost with the repulsing mechanism, Loki summoned a burst of magic, guiding it outward from his chest, loosening the Destroyer’s grip enough to crawl through the gap. He grunted and swung his weight to the side, climbing onto the Destroyer’s back.
Rūna dodged out of the wormhole an instant before the siphoning devices reached maximum output. As Stark, Loki, Mjolnir, and Quinn barreled through the tunnel, he saw the flash of Jarnbjorn far below, Rūna hacking at the machinery from outside the inexorable drag of the Bifrost. They were moving fast now and would reach Asgard within moments.
