I Bring the Fire Part III: Chaos

by C. Gockel

  “Fine, just get out of our way,” says Steve. The plumbers fall to the side, and Steve and Thor push through. They are almost to the main exit when Steve hears someone shout. “He’s on LaSalle Street. CNN has live coverage!”

  Steve turns his head and brings his hand to Thor’s shoulder. For a moment they both stop, mesmerized.

  Loki is on the screen. Steve’s breath catches in his throat at the sight. Loki’s armor is so black it gleams blue. Upon his head is a helmet with long curved horns. With the smirk Loki’s wearing, he looks every bit a monster from a nightmare.

  “The helmet...” someone gasps.

  Beside him Thor hums. “Horns. Foolish for battle. And look at the armor on his left arm? It isn’t like the rest—the joints are uncovered, and it looks like he’ll be vulnerable from below. Not dwarven or elven made, that is certain.”

  Steve snaps his attention to Thor. The large man is eyeing the television screen, his expression calculating. Turning his attention back to the television, Steve sees what Thor means. The plates on Loki’s left arm don’t fit him like a second skin like they do on his right.

  Thor speaks again. “Why bother with armor at all? He divined how Frigga made Baldur invulnerable. He could do the same for himself.”

  “What are you saying?” says Steve.

  Eyes still on the screen, Thor tilts his head. “He plays a game. Perhaps one he doesn’t want to win.”

  There are sounds of explosions from the television. Steve turns his head to see police cars on fire, and police with raised guns screaming, frost rising from their bodies.

  “A bad game,” Steve says.

  “But one we must play,” says Thor, before stepping through the revolving doors. With one last glance at the screen, Steve follows.

  x x x x

  With one arm Amy leans on the rolling stand of her IV drip. In the other she carries Ratatoskr. She is moving as fast as she can— which isn’t very—down the hallway that separates Loki’s bedroom from the rest of his apartment.

  “Ow! Norn’s webs, woman, why didn’t you leave me on the bed?” the squirrel grumbles.

  “Have to get away, have to get away,” Amy chants to herself, even though she can hear gun shots in the background.

  Entering the foyer, she tries the door, but the handle doesn’t budge. She pounds on it and screams, but there is no answer on the other side. Dropping her forehead to the door, she lets out a frustrated groan.

  “Think most people had the sense to get the fuck out of here,” says Ratatoskr. Amy glares down at the squirrel. He gives a little squeak and rubs a paw over his nose. “Just sayin’.”

  Lifting her head, she looks towards the living room. She can send an email to Steve. A part of her wonders what good that will do anyone. Grimacing, she presses the little button that administers morphine and marches on.

  As she enters the living room she lets out a breath. She sees the sun shining on buildings and the Board of Trade...it may be the drugs, but it looks like it is leaning to one side. Still, the window is not showing the world through Loki’s eyes, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

  No sooner has the breath left her lips, than the window shimmers and she’s staring at a pair of double doors swinging open, and then she’s looking across a city street at a mural of Icarus and Daedalus above the entrance of a building. Her legs feel weak, as though they might melt beneath her in dread as Loki turns southward. Suddenly, she’s staring down the long canyon of LaSalle Street, dark despite the sunny day, eerily empty of people and traffic.

  “Awww...” A long string of angry squirrelese flows from Ratatoskr mouth. “I don’t want a front row seat in Loki’s brain!”

  In the distance she hears the wail of police sirens getting louder as Loki begins to walk towards the Board of Trade four blocks or so away. She tilts her head. The Board of Trade is tilted a bit from this angle, too.

  At the periphery of her vision she sees police cars pull up on West Washington to the right and left of Loki. Men run out and shout, “Freeze!”

  “Puppets of the oppressors,” says Cera’s voice. “Let them freeze.”

  “No, Loki, no!” Amy screams.

  For a moment, the forward motion of the scene stalls, but then the police officers start to scream. Their breath turns frosty as their bodies turn to ice. Their cars explode one by one.

  Loki begins walking southward again through the frozen statues of police and burning husks of cars, towards the leaning Board of Trade. Through the smoke Amy makes out the shape of a press van.

  “Parasites,” screeches Cera. “We will kill them.”

  “No, don’t!” shouts Amy, shaking her IV stand.

  “Why, why, why....” It’s Loki’s voice, sounding distant, and faint.

  “The revolution must be televised!” Amy says. She gasps for breath, not really sure where that came from. But Loki’s voice echoes through the apartment, a little louder this time. “She’s right.”

  “Whoa,” says Ratatoskr, trembling in Amy’s hands. “He heard you!”

  “Yes,” says Cera. “I understand! We will show them our full power, by destroying this monument to capitalism!”

  Amy straightens. “Oh, shit,” she says.

  “You took the words out of my mouth,” says Ratatoskr. Without looking down at the squirrel, Amy rolls the IV stand over to Loki’s desk and plunks down on his chair. The computer’s screen flickers to life and she does her best to type in the password with one hand. From the window comes the sound of an explosion. She glances up to see the buildings on either side of Loki collapse. Debris falls down in destruction so fast and forceful the chunks of cement and mortar look like the foam of falling water. “He’s destroying the buildings,” she whispers.

  Squeaking, Ratatoskr says, “Hopefully, not this one.”

  The password works, and Amy’s suddenly looking at live streaming aerial footage of Chicago on CNN. As the window shows a curtain of dust and debris, the scene on the computer shows buildings toppling one by one down LaSalle. Amy’s heart feels like it’s in her throat, and then she hears the voice she’s never heard before echoing through the apartment. “Please, St. Jude, help them. Help those people...”

  Another voice rises in chorus. “Dear God, make it stop.” Another voice comes, sounding suspiciously like Arabic, and then another, and another in still a different language, until there are so many it is like the sound of rushing water.

  Ratatoskr meets Amy’s eyes. “Prayers,” whispers the squirrel. “Those are human prayers!”

  “They’re watching CNN,” says Amy.

  A voice rises among the rest, male, English, but heavily accented and vaguely Indian. “Fuck you! I did not leave India for this!”

  “I agree with that one,” says Ratatoskr.

  “What is that?” says Cera’s voice loud and clear above the din.

  “They are praying for me to save them,” says Loki, and Amy can hear the quirk of his lips in his voice.

  “We are saving them!” says Cera. “They will see!”

  Loki doesn’t respond.

  On the monitor in front of her Amy opens her email and desperately types out a message to Steve. She winces and grips her side. What is she thinking? Circuits are probably jammed, it will never get through. She closes her eyes and says a silent prayer that it gets through—and hears it echo around her in the room. Lifting her eyes to empty air she presses send and flips back to CNN.

  From the aerial view provided by CNN, Amy sees two buildings topple a block away from the Board of Trade, the blocks in Loki’s wake completely decimated.

  “Fuck!” says Amy.

  “Amen,” says Ratatoskr.

  x x x x

  Steve and Thor stumble out of the building, through the throng of reporters, and into the middle of LaSalle Street. Steve sees the exhaust of cars—cabs, maintenance vehicles and a few police cars—but he can’t hear their engines. The buildings on either side of LaSalle are crumbling and drowning nearly all other sou
nds. A human-shaped shadow highlighted by shimmering blue approaches through the dust at a leisurely walk. Steve’s jaw tightens. Loki.

  His phone buzzes in his pocket, but it is on the periphery of his consciousness. Thor is shouting to some agents by the door, “Evacuate the building!” A few people who ignored the evacuation orders days ago are running from the remaining buildings on LaSalle.

  Steve’s phone is still buzzing. Why is it still buzzing? He pulls it out of his pocket. He doesn’t have to click on anything. It’s lit up, a message seemingly scrawled across the surface in glowing blue pen.

  Cera is controlling Loki. He’s fighting it. You have to HELP him outsmart her! Amy

  It’s obviously magic. But how and why is this message coming through? Steve looks up to see two more buildings crumble only half a block away as Loki approaches. People running down the sidewalk fall over in the debris and dust.

  “We have to talk to him,” Steve says, looking at his phone.

  How Thor hears his words, barely-audible above the destruction, Steve will never know. “Aye,” shouts Thor. “But first we must clear the dust.” Thor raises his hammer. The sky darkens too quickly to be natural, there is the crackle of lightning, and the boom of thunder. The skies open up and Steve is instantly soaked. His hands flex by his side, but he doesn’t grab his gun.

  “Loki!” Thor shouts towards the horned figure glowing in the middle of the street just a few yards away. Loki stops walking forward. The roar of collapsing buildings is replaced by the sound of rain pounding on the pavement and screams of the wounded. Along the pavement beside them, rainwater begins to swirl, running brown with dust.

  “Hello, Thor!” Loki shouts, his voice ringing with laughter. “Ready to die, son of the Tsar of the Nine Realms?”

  “If you truly wanted that I would already be dead,” Thor shouts back.

  At this distance, Steve can see the wide, maniacal stretch of Loki’s grin and the glint of teeth beneath his horned helmet, the strange plating on his left arm glowing very brightly. “Maybe I just want to play with you!” Loki shouts. “You know how I love games!”

  Steve hears the wail of police sirens through the rain. And then there are explosions in the distance and the wailing disappears. The only sound on the street is the sound of people screaming and calling to one another.

  “I know there is still good in you, Loki!” Thor shouts.

  “Good? Thor, have you been talking to the Christians?” Loki laughs. And then he leans forward and screams. “This isn’t about good or evil! This is about power!”

  Coming forward fast, Loki whips his left arm in a wide circle and the rain stops.

  Thor raises his hammer and nothing happens. “Let the sunshine in!” Loki screams—and beams of sunlight break through the clouds. Steve finds himself, Thor, and Loki, now only a few paces away, in a natural spotlight.

  Taking a deep breath, Steve wills himself to ignore the screams around him. He takes a step forward and a makes a stab in the dark. “After being a pawn of Odin your whole life, you’re going to be a pawn of Cera, Loki?”

  Eyes leaving Thor, Loki shouts, “We will kill you, too, Steve Rogers!” Then his head ticks to the side, as though something’s in his ear, and he starts to grimace.

  Steve’s gaze slides towards Thor. Thor’s hammer is above the warriors head. The large man is pulling on the handle, as though the hammer is suspended on an invisible string.

  Loki laughs, and Steve’s attentions snaps back to him.

  “We should kill you instantly,” Loki says. “But no, I say a game is better, a game is more fun.”

  Steve is aware of shadows on the periphery of his vision, agents from the FBI, and maybe police officers slinking through the alleyways of the remaining buildings, guns raised. Steve is torn between telling them to run and being afraid of giving them away.

  Smiling, Loki says, “Did Amy ever tell you about the story Thor Versus Captain America?” He giggles and raises his eyebrows. “I was the good guy in that one! Thor was in league with the Nazis...which is oddly appropriate considering his activities during the 40s.”

  “Loki!” Thor says, his voice low and steady. “Stop this.”

  Steve’s eyes go to Thor. Thor is still trying to pull the hammer out of the air, his face contorted in a grimace, a sheen of sweat on his skin.

  Loki takes a menacing step towards Thor. In the distance, another building tumbles. Trying to distract Loki, or buy time, Steve says, “The name of the story is Thor Meets Captain America.”

  “Liar!” screams Loki, spinning to Steve. “We shall watch you kill each other!”

  “Run, Agent Rogers!” Thor shouts. He’s still hanging onto his hammer—and the hammer is rushing through the air in Steve’s direction.

  Steve dives to the ground, asphalt and pebbles digging into his hands and pain shooting through his side as Thor and the hammer hit the ground where Steve just stood, lightning rippling up along Thor’s body. Loki laughs. Steve is once more aware of screaming. And another sound, one that he recognizes from his time in Afghanistan. Jet fighters.

  So Big Brother has been paying attention.

  “Hey, Thor!” Steve shouts, scrambling to his feet. “Try and get me!” Turning, Steve runs.

  Loki laughs. “That’s the spirit.”

  Turning into an alley, Steve hears Thor grunt behind him and nearly collides with agents and police in front of him. “Incoming, take cover!” Steve shouts.

  Their eyes are wide. Steve turns to see Thor, still holding onto his hammer, flying through the air about seven feet above the ground, coming right at him. “Run, that’s an order!” says Steve. The agents turn and run, but Steve turns and runs towards Thor, diving down just before the hammer hits his head. Thor and the hammer collide with the ground in a rumble of thunder and a flash of lightning. At the opening of the alley Loki laughs, but his voice is drowned out by the sound of aircover drawing closer.

  Loki looks up, momentarily distracted. From an alley across the street comes the sound of gunfire. Steve is close enough that he hears bullets colliding with Loki’s armor as he stares up into the sky—and then a nearly simultaneous chorus of screams just before the roar of fighter jets becomes nearly deafening. A bright lights streaks towards Loki and he holds out a hand and laughs as an explosion erupts just a few feet in front of him, flames licking out in a sphere. It takes a moment for Steve to understand what he’s just seen. Loki just deflected Hellfire missiles—it shouldn’t be a shock.

  A chill runs through his body. For a moment all he can do is stare in breathless horror. He’d imagined Claire would be safe because she was in Lake Forest...nowhere in the world is safe.

  Shaking himself, Steve turns to see Thor struggling to his feet, and then he hears a boom in the sky and looks up to see five F-15 Strike Eagles on fire, shooting through the sky like falling stars.

  “This is so much fun!” screams Loki. And then the sound of the fighters colliding with buildings becomes too loud to hear anything else.

  Steve turns to find Thor beside him. Steve bows his head to the ground, completely at a loss as to what to do...and then he sees something black sliding along the pavement a few feet behind Loki. A manhole cover.

  “What are the sewage thralls doing?” Thor rumbles beside him.

  An orange hard hat and the muzzle of a shotgun peek up just at the level of the street behind where Loki is staring at the downed fighters. The man raises the gun. A shot might have been fired, it’s hard to hear, but what is definite is the sound of Loki’s scream as he clutches the underside of his left arm, his armor pulsing with light.

  x x x x

  Pain rips along Loki’s left arm as a bullet slips beneath the plating, and the magical energy flooding his body retreats for a moment.

  “What is that?” Cera screams.

  “Pain,” says Loki. Turning around he sees a brightly colored helmet and the muzzle of a shotgun slip into a manhole. Loki hears a mumble of “Shit. I missed.”


  “How dare he!” Cera shouts. “How dare one so low make us hurt. The fool is the very people we will help! Kill him!”

  Loki gasps. In the back of his mind he hears whispers—calls in every human language to every conceivable deity and saint. He hears St. Jude, Jesus, Jehovah, Allah, Shiva and a string of other names that could be Hindi. He hears a few calls to Ananse, Iktomi, Odin and even...

  “Loki!” It’s Amy’s voice.

  “What are you waiting for?” Cera says. “Stop him!”

  What is Loki waiting for? He snarls and winces in pain. Why does he have his mind back? Is it the pain keeping Cera at bay?

  At the corner of his vision he sees Steve approaching, gun raised, speaking into his phone. And Thor is behind him, hammer in hand. Loki has relinquished his hold on Mjolnir in his distraction. Shadows of humans are emerging from the remaining buildings around him, weapons drawn. Part of him wants them to succeed—but knows that is an impossibility. Almost against Loki’s volition, the wound in his arm is healing. Cera is invincible.

  He hears Amy’s voice again, begging him. “Please, Loki, don’t be the destroyer, be the transformer.”

  There is a ping of a bullet on the back of his helmet.

  “Enough of this game! Stop them!” Cera commands.

  Loki feels the flare of magic in his body again, as he—no Cera—readies to attack.

  Steve is right, he is just a puppet—has always been a puppet. Loki was the source of Asgard’s greatest treasures, its greatest defender, and yet all this time he’s been regarded as a fool. His lips curl. And with good reason. He hasn’t been playing the game, he’s been played. Cera is using him, just as Odin had, just as Amy said Cera would...just as Thor said she would. Why had Loki been so blind? Was it his desire for vengeance, or just because it is his nature to destroy everything and never get anything right.

  “Stop the games now,” Cera screams. Magic ripples and pulses along every cell in Loki’s body. Loki feels a cry of despair and frustration rising in his chest. He’s had enough of this game too—enough of all games. Throwing up his arms, Loki screams, “No! Stop everything!”