Madness of the Serpent

Impact

The spirit reached backwards to pry loose Loki's steel grip from its hair, and it was rewarded for this gesture by being roughly thrown towards the ground. Its hands instinctively reached forward to stop its fall, but the action was met with bright pain as it collided with a dark glass table in a lowered portion of the room. The sharp, brittle material bit into its palms and fingers as it landed on the shards in a collapsed heap.

Attempting to resist the uncontrollable instincts that threatened to overwhelm all rational thought in its singular desire to blindingly flee in panic, it tried to push itself to its hands and knees, shuddering at the sight of crimson liquid smearing the brown fibrous flooring.

This effort to recover from the fall was met with a brutal kick to its side, bright red pain exploding across its vision as the spirit landed on the hardened tiles outside of the lush, carpeted part of the room. The ability to breathe was temporarily halted as it lay on its back, the left half of its ribcage throbbing with intense agony as its lungs struggled to function.

Loki's eyelids were partially closed, his jaw slightly jutted forward as he stared down at the spirit with quiet, contemptuous malice. He appeared completely unmoved by its small, desperate gasps for breath.

"I would hear you beg for mercy. Your cries will fill my ears with the sweet melody of your unraveling." His tone and the dark hunger of his eyes filled the spirit with a strong foreboding.

"It does... not wish to fight," it managed to interject, panting as it successfully drew in air, its hands holding the burning portion of its flank.

An eyebrow was elegantly raised, as if to ponder what an odd thing that was for it to say.

"Oh, there will be no fight. No struggle, no conflict. Not when our minds will be as one."

To demonstrate his commitment, Loki brought the sceptre forward in both hands, flipping it so the blades pointed downward, aimed directly at its heart.

The triple blades winked in the sunlight, silver edges eager to bite and slice, though it suspected he did not intend to use the blades for their intended purpose. Despite Loki's violence and brutality, he did not seek the spirit's destruction – he sought its absolute control.

The tip of the blade flashed downward, and it released its throbbing ribcage to grasp the golden handle, the creased metal sliding against its palms before coming to a full-stop.

Loki's eyebrows flared in surprise, then creased in frustration as he attempted to thrust the blade down into its body.

The spirit held him at bay, grabbing the handle with its other hand and bracing against the floor with strained muscles as renewed strength and vitality flooded its form. The blade tip grazed against the front of its suit, but the Jotun-Asgardian could not bring it down far enough to make the required contact with its flesh.

It felt the thrumming under its palms before it heard the weapon begin to gather power, the orb glowing with a painful brightness as the grimace on Loki's face turned into a twisted grin. It gripped the metal tighter and focused its consciousness, struggling for control as the energy reached a feverish, teeth-vibrating pitch.

In one final, frantic effort, the spirit gave a strained cry from its lips as it seized the energy under its hands and propelled it back along the shaft. Blue fire sparked up his hands and into his arms as Loki shouted in startled pain, his body thrown backwards to land roughly on the ebony polished floor.

The spirit slowly rose to its feet, breathing hard as it held the weapon between its hands, staring down at the fallen Jotun-Asgardian. Faint wisps of smoke were curling from his palms and armored forearms, and he panted as he looked upwards into its face, his eyes widening in alarm.