"It worked," Pietro says exultingly, dressed simply in jeans and a form-fitting blue and grey shirt, as the girl comes up alongside him. She places the second fire bomb carefully on the ground and glances over at the rapidly fleeing Carnage. "It actually worked."
"I told you that you shouldn't doubt me, Pietro," the girl said, grinning, and my eyes are finally able to identify her.
It's Cassie Lang, Scott Lang's daughter. Her long brown hair is tied back in a low ponytail and she wears a T-shirt and jeans, her Army jacket thrown over her outfit and gauntlets wrapped around her wrists. There's a long dagger in her hand that she now tucks into her belt, with Carnage gone from sight.
"I know," Pietro says, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and giving her a side-hug. It's such a brotherly thing to do. At least, for brothers whose sisters aren't goddesses of death.
Then again, I have seen his sister in action, and she's not exactly a normal one, either.
What is normal?
Both Cassie and Pietro turn to me as I just lay there, continuing to blink. Pietro lifts an eyebrow and cocks his head to the side and Cassie puts her hands on her hips. It takes me a minute before I realize they are sizing me up.
"I thought Asgardians were supposed to be impressive," Pietro says, smirking. "You know, like Thor, god of thunder, or Hela, goddess of death."
"What did you expect, Pietro? He is just the god of mischief, after all. Nothing impressive there." Cassie laughed. "Let's get him to safety before Carnage forgets he's scared of us now. We can continue ribbing him later."
I'm not even sure what to say. For a moment there, I forgot I am injured but when I attempt to move, a spike of pain shoots through my abdomen and I wince, gritting my teeth together. Cassie notices instantly.
"Pietro, help me get him up," she demands, and there's a note of firmness in her voice. She's not going to take no for an answer and the way Pietro quickly comes to my side shows me who's in charge in their alliance.
Together, the two of them pull me up and I bite my tongue so as not to yelp. Pietro loops my arm around his shoulders and looks at Cassie.
"Take him to our hideout," she instructs.
"Are you sure you'll be all right on your own?" Pietro asks, his brow furrowing.
Cassie grins at him. "Of course. I still have a fire bomb, and you're fast enough to return for me before Carnage's fear wears off." She holds up her wrists, displaying her gauntlets. "Besides, my dad didn't let me come in here empty handed."
Pietro nods, wrapping his arm around my back, and then jumps into motion. I say jump because there's no other word to describe the transition from standstill into that tear-jerking run of Quicksilver's.
Blue and white flash past me as I'm torn through the air, half-carried, half-dragged by Pietro. I'm quite proud of myself for not screaming, all in all, but when Pietro comes to a stop not a minute later – but it feels like infinity – I'm in a basement. He drops me on the floor, gives me a quick, appraising look, nods when I gasp for breath, and then he's gone within the blink of an eye.
I'm still lying on the floor of the basement when Pietro returns, this time with Cassie in his arms. She laughs as he stops, breathless. "I can't get over that speed, Pietro."
Pietro grins at her in the way I've seen him smile at Wanda, the time he was drawn at the reaping and he glanced back at his sister with a reassuring expression. Also in the times after the entrance and interviews, where he had hugged Wanda and given her a light kiss on the forehead. Cassie has taken Wanda Maximoff's place to Pietro because she's someone he can protect, look out for. To him, protecting Cassie Lang is the only thing he can do for his sister now that he's in the Contest of Champions.
As Pietro lets Cassie down, she immediately beelines towards me as Pietro checks the door. Kneeling beside me, she sees the blood staining my tunic and her eyebrows knit together. "How badly are you injured?"
"I'm not sure," I say honestly. "Carnage hit me with one of his blades."
"Not good," Pietro voices from where he stands by the door. "Those blades are nothing to laugh at."
"I need you to take off your tunic," Cassie says, her voice no nonsense. "That's the only way for me to see the extent of the wound."
"I'm a fast healer," I tell her.
Cassie sits back on her heels and plants her hands on her hips. "Take. It. Off."
"You better do it," Pietro advises.
So I sigh and slowly pull my jacket off, wincing with the movement. Pietro zips over to the rough table in the corner as Cassie cocks her head, waiting for me to finish. There's no embarrassment in her expression, no sheepishness. She's all attitude, all business.
My tunic goes the way of my jacket and Cassie helps me back against the wall, where I lean my head against the cool concrete. The red wound across my stomach is quite obvious against my pale skin, blood still leaking from between the slits.
Cassie examines the wound. She gently touches it, careful as she looks to see the extent of the damage and I hold myself as stiff as a board, trying not to flinch and make the pain worse.
"It looks like your tunic took the brunt of the blow," she says, looking up at me. "But it's not going to heal as quickly as you think it will."
"Slow is not good," Pietro comments. "If Carnage finds us, I can't carry both of you and fire won't work forever, Cassie."
Cassie nods. "Well, let's hope Loki has good sponsors," she says. "Hungry?"
I furrow my brow. "No. Why are you two helping me, anyway? You could have just let me die." I cannot wrap my head around their kindness to me. It doesn't make sense.
"Because of Carnage," Pietro answers, turning to look at me. He places his hands on the edge of the table. "Because we cannot beat him by ourselves. We help you, and you help us."
"Loki, how do you beat a symbiote?" Cassie asks.
"I don't know," I answer, confused. Is this a trick question? "The only symbiote ever seen in action is Eddie Brock's Venom, from the twenty-fourth Contest, and he won."
"Exactly," Cassie says. "We do know they don't like fire, or loud noises. But what we don't know is if that is enough to kill them. So we're going to have to experiment a bit and hope we get lucky."
"One person cannot do this," Pietro remarks. "Two, yes. Three, better."
"You just need to have someone watching your back," Cassie says with a slight grin. "Like a partner."
"I had a partner," I murmur, thinking about Peter and the look on his face when Killmonger stabbed him. It still hurts and I feel drained.
Cassie and Pietro exchange a glance. "Dead?"
I nod.
"Then maybe you need a better partner?" Pietro suggests. I shoot a glare at him and he offers, with a mock apologetic smile, "Too soon?"
"He died today," I growl. "So yes, too soon."
"Still," Cassie says. "You can stick with us, help us beat Carnage. Or you are free to leave. Your choice."
Although the answer seems clear, I do take a moment to weigh my options. Despite the fact that I almost want to leave, to get away from people who help me and defend me and then die in the end, because that's all that's been happening lately, I know that probably isn't my best choice. I would have died facing Carnage today if it hadn't been for Cassie and Pietro, and I know that. And since I doubt the third option of a portal sucking me into a friendlier zone is going to happen anytime soon, I only really have one choice if I want to go home and see Gamora, or anybody else for that matter.
It's not like I want Carnage surviving, after all.
"Fine," I say. "Partners."
Cassie grins and Pietro pushes away from the table. "Good!" the girl exclaims. Her expression sobers. "And, uh, sorry about your partner."
There's silence for a moment before I ask, "What now?"
"You rest and heal up," Cassie replies. "And we hope Carnage doesn't suddenly grow immune to fire."
Pietro makes a face, like That better not happen. "I'm going to run perimeter, Cassie," he tells her, and takes off out the door, leaving behind the dancing blues and whites in his wake.
I clumsily pull my tunic back on, opting to leave my jacket off as I slide down the wall, resting my head on the thick, uncomfortable material. But I'm so tired that I barely notice it and I'm asleep before Cassie can say anything else.
Peter Parker perches on a building in my dream, no handholds or footholds or anything. He just sits there, his fingers stuck like glue to the window of a skyscraper and his feet touching the side below the glass casually, his legs crouched. He's so far above me but I can see him perfectly, looking down at me through the eyes of his mask.
"Mr. Stark told me I could win," he says, his voice sounding faraway and hollow. "But I think he was wrong."
If he had been my brother, saying something like that, if I had seen him lying dead on the floor of the quadrant, I know I would have said something like Of course he was wrong; you're dead, you oaf. But to Peter, I can't say that and I am furious for even thinking it.
Could I say that, even if it was to my brother? After the death I've seen in this arena, could I watch Thor die and act like it was nothing?
No. I could not. No matter our differences, I still love my brother. I would mourn for him, I would avenge his death.
Like I will avenge Peter's.
"I was wrong, too," he says. "You're not going to win, either. You're not the god of death. What are you?"
I furrow my brow, confused, because now it's Hela standing on the side of the building, two spikes jutting out from the wall supporting her. "What are you the god of again?"
Then suddenly I'm not in the city, I'm on the mountain back home in Asgard, and Gamora is sitting on my chest, her hand against my throat, and she's leaning down towards me, her eyes bright and the silver implants over her eyes glinting in the setting sun.
"What are you the god of again?"
I can't breathe, I'm choking, but Gamora won't let me up, won't release my throat.
"What are you the god of again?"
Gamora leans still closer, her face an inch away from mine, and all I can see is her. Her green skin, dark red-dyed hair framing her face in waves, the silver above her eyes that is subtle yet always draws my attention, her eyes. Especially her eyes, boring into my green ones, holding me accountable for every failure over the course of my entire lifetime.
I find myself wishing to stare into her eyes and not see this accusation of failure.
Her lips part and then a deep, creepy voice leaves her mouth, her face contorting as she speaks. "You're my bestest friend."
I bolt upright, sweat dripping down my forehead. No matter how much this Contest has messed me up, I can't understand how that voice could have echoed inside my head, coming from Gamora, no less.
Its origin is found when the voice comes again, over from the corner where Cassie lies sleeping. I stand, wincing as pain cuts across my midsection, and slowly make my way towards her, a dagger appearing in my hand.
Her arms are holding an ugly stuffed rabbit to her chest. I furrow my brow. A stuffed animal? Here in the Contest? And she sleeps with it? Where did she get it? Why does she have it? I have so many questions.
It's an understatement to say I'm confused.
"Don't."
Pietro's voice startles me and I spin to see him watching me from the doorway. I wonder if he's been here the entire time, or if he just got back.
"Don't what?" I say softly.
"Don't wake her," Pietro orders. "Why are you up?"
I gesture down to Cassie's sleeping form. "Some voice –"
Pietro chuckles. "Oh, her rabbit. Her father sent it to her, you know. A reminder from home."
I look down at Cassie again, with her father's gift, and I feel jealous. Her dad, or rather Hank Pym, pays to send the small stuffed toy to her, simply for comfort in the arena.
I haven't received one thing from my father in here.
A clink sounds from over by the table, as if challenging that thought, and Pietro and I both look over to see a small container sitting there that wasn't there before, the blue of a portal just disappearing. After exchanging a glance, the two of us walk over to the table.
Pietro picks up the canister and pulls off the note. "To Loki – use wisely. PS – Wanda tells Pietro –" his voice stumbles over his name. "– to keep running fast. And tell Cassie her parents are proud of her."
The note is signed Hela, Thor, Valkyrie, Wanda, Zemo, Scott, Dr. Pym, Hope, Steve, Sam.
Wow. A champion-studded note. I'm in the middle of wondering how many of those champions actually signed their names to the note and how many was just Jane trying to alter her handwriting for each name when Pietro opens the canister. "Excuse me, I believe that's mine."
"But what is it?" he asks as I take it from him and peer inside. I pull out a small bottle of a thin liquid, knitting my brow.
"I don't know," I say. As I say it, a cannon goes off in the distance.
Both of us look up at the ceiling of the basement but of course, we can't see anything. "What time is it?" I ask.
Pietro shrugs. "The middle of the night. Three died today, Brock Rumlow, Erik Killmonger, and Peter Parker." He gives me a curious look. "Which one was your ally?"
"Peter Parker," I say quietly, looking back at the bottle. "Is it too much to hope that the cannon belonged to Carnage?"
Pietro laughs harshly. "Yes, I believe so. Don't give me false hope."
I gently shake the bottle, watching the liquid slosh up the sides of the bottle. "What is this?" I wonder aloud.
"Medicine?" Pietro guesses. "Like Cassie said, you needed it."
"It could be," I muse. Pulling out the stopper, I take a whiff and smell nothing. "No scent."
"Let me see," Pietro says, taking the bottle. He swirls the liquid around inside like he's at a wine tasting and then sniffs. Eyeing the bottle dubiously, he hands it back to me. "You're right."
"Who's right?" Cassie asks sleepily, sitting upright and rubbing at her eyes.
"Loki," Pietro says. "He was sent something."
"What?"
"We don't know."
Cassie stands and comes over to us, the rabbit tucked in the crook of her arm. The face of the stuffed toy is ugly, its mouth toothy and bared, and I can't understand why she seems to love it.
Then again, it is from her father.
I try to remember something my father has ever given me that I cherished like that and I come up empty.
"Can I see?" she asks, and I hand her the bottle. She examines it for a moment before giving it back to me. "I don't know what it is, but it's probably medicine."
I look doubtfully at the liquid. "It could be poison."
Pietro looked puzzled. "Why would your sister send you poison?"
It takes me a minute to realize he's actually serious. "Because...she's my sister? Not every sibling pair is close, Pietro."
"Would she really send you poison, though?" Cassie asks. "I mean, aren't you on the same side? And you're the last Asgardian, too. It's not like she's picking sides between you and Sif. Besides, would Thor let her send you poison?"
"Hela would tell Thor it is medicine. You don't know my sister. She'd probably enjoy watching me drink my death."
"Why would a sponsor waste money on poison?" Pietro asks. "I doubt that's allowed. Otherwise everyone would send it to who they hated most, hoping they drank it, thinking it was medicine."
"Did she send a note?"
I nod. "It said use wisely."
"Oh, and Cassie, your parents are proud of you," Pietro adds. He shows her the note.
Cassie reads it and a smile spreads across her face before she carefully folds the note and tucks it into her pocket. Neither Pietro nor I object. "Loki, do you think it's medicine?"
Pietro peers into the canister. "Oh, look, another note." He pulls it out and hands it to me. "Perhaps this explains it."
I open the note.
Drink up, Reindeer Games. I feel like I owe you one. – T.S.
Cassie peers at the note, lifting up onto tiptoe to see over my arm. "Reindeer Games?"
Pietro almost falls over laughing. "Reindeer Games? What sort of name is that?"
Great. Just great. I'll be forever known as Reindeer Games now.
But I decide to trust the former champion and I lift the bottle to my lips, taking a sip of the liquid. It's tasteless, slipping down my throat easier than anything else. I drink about half of the bottle and then stopper it.
Pietro and Cassie watch me warily as I stand there, waiting for the effects to kick in. Within moments, I feel a strange sensation in my abdomen and my fingers instinctively feel through the rip in my tunic for the wound. Underneath my fingertips, the skin mends itself, growing itself back. It's as if Carnage's blade had never struck me.
Carefully, I slip the bottle into my pack, tucking it into the coffee thermos from yesterday. I can't believe it was such a short time ago when Peter was alive and we had yet to spring our plan, the plan that would kill him. I angrily screw the cap back onto the thermos and grab my jacket off the floor, slipping it on and fastening it back into place. If I had had that medicine yesterday, Peter might not have died.
I know that line of thought is irrational – my wound wasn't fatal, but Peter's was. But I still can't help but be angry. Angry at Stark, angry at Carnage, angry at Killmonger, and angry at Thanos and his damned Contest of Champions.
"What now?" Pietro asks and the two of us look to Cassie.
Cassie thinks for a moment. "Well, I think weshould kill Carnage."