He really should have stayed home. But no, of course the god pretending to be king had got bored and sneaked off on an adventure. That was a long story in itself, but the crux of it was that he had run across some of Thanos’s lesser minions and the lot of them, including him, had received a vision. Much of it was abstract and yet they all knew with utter certainty that the outcome, the fate of the universe, hinged on the survival of one person.
You have got to be joking.
So here Loki was, arms hooked into a slightly gooey alien scuttleship that was not so dissimilar from a Chitauri chariot, pursuing a squad of monsters through Midgard’s stratosphere. They had only one target in mind and it was in the shape of Stark’s private jet.
Snarling, he shot down one of the other scuttle riders. Another managed to loose a barrage onto the plane. Loki’s breath caught. If the Iron Man perished, the coming battle would be lost. Luckily the fuel tanks had avoided damage but the craft was in severe danger and already plummeting. He had to get closer.
Loki rammed into the side of the creature nearest the jet and clambered onto its scuttle, shanking it with a dagger. Teeth bared, he shoved the grotesque thing off and took control of its vehicle. It was then that Loki looked up to see a window into the plane ahead of him and a face staring back. A very familiar one.
Beyond the roar of the gradually crashing plane, the whine of the alien engines and the whipping wind, there was no chance the man could hear him. Lip reading was another matter.
