He vanished in a blink—and reappeared behind Coulson. The spear's blade glinted, its edge aimed straight for the agent's chest.
—but before it could pierce Coulson, a sharp twang split the air.
An arrow streaked down the corridor, glowing with crackling energy before exploding mid-flight. The blast threw Loki backward, slamming him into a bank of consoles with a snarl. The shockwave hurled Coulson too—he crashed hard into the wall, his weapon clattering to the floor.
"Sorry, Coulson!" Clint shouted, jogging down the corridor with his bow half-drawn, smoke still rising from the detonation. "Didn't exactly have time for precision."
Coulson groaned, pushing himself up against the wall, clutching his ribs. "It's okay… beats getting skewered by an alien staff."
"Appreciated," Clint said, keeping his aim locked on the flickering spot where Loki had fallen. "But don't get comfy—he's not down."
A faint shimmer rippled through the air, and Loki's voice drifted from nowhere and everywhere at once. "Clever," he said mockingly, "but not clever enough."
A blur of green energy flashed, and Loki appeared again—his staff raised high. Clint loosed another arrow, but this time Loki caught it midair with a grin. The arrow detonated anyway, throwing him off balance, yet he recovered in an instant, rage twisting his face.
"You annoy me," Loki hissed.
"Yeah, well," Clint replied, reloading, "that's kinda my thing."
Before he could fire again, Loki struck. A wave of telekinetic force slammed into Clint, flinging him across the hall. His bow skidded away as he hit the floor hard, coughing as the air left his lungs.
Coulson, bloodied but defiant, lifted the prototype weapon he'd dragged from the corner—an experimental plasma cannon reverse-engineered from Red Skull Tesseract tech. He steadied his grip, even as his vision blurred.
"Agent," Loki said, turning toward him with a mocking smile, "you really think you can threaten me with—"
FWOOM.
A beam of pure energy erupted from the cannon, slamming into Loki's chest and sending him crashing through a reinforced wall. Smoke and sparks filled the corridor.
Coulson staggered forward, still holding the weapon upright. "So that's what it does," he muttered with a faint smirk.
But then—behind him—a faint shimmer.
Loki reappeared, grimacing, his illusion having absorbed the main blast. This one was real. He was injured, but standing. And his fury was palpable.
Coulson barely had time to turn before Loki's spear struck.
The blade pierced through him—clean, swift.
Clint's eyes went wide from across the corridor. "Coulson!"
Loki withdrew the spear, his face calm again. "So sentimental," he said quietly. "They never learn."
Coulson slumped against the wall, blood staining his suit, but a faint grin touched his lips. "You're going to lose," he whispered.
Loki tilted his head. "Am I?"
Coulson's trembling hand lifted the remote he'd hidden behind his back. "You lack… conviction."
Click.
A shockwave of stored plasma energy discharged from the weapon's core—one final failsafe. The explosion blasted Loki through another bulkhead, sending him crashing into the observation deck below.
The alarms blared. Clint crawled toward Coulson, calling for medical. "Hang on, Coulson, you're gonna be fine—just hang on!"
But Coulson's eyes were already dimming. He gave the faintest smile, voice soft and calm even as the chaos raged around them.
"Tell them… it still means something."
His hand fell limp.
Clint closed his eyes, fists tightening as he tried to steady his breathing.
Across the shattered deck, Loki straightened and turned back toward the console. His lips curled into a cold smile as his finger hovered over the glowing control rune.
"You should have stayed in Asgard, brother," he murmured.
Then—he pressed the button.
The clamps released with a metallic clank, and the glass cell containing Thor dropped away from its mountings. It plummeted downward through the open shaft, spinning wildly as it fell toward the city below.
At that height, even the God of Thunder would be reduced to dust.
Loki watched with cruel satisfaction, his expression devoid of hesitation or mercy. The faint echo of Thor's roar—half fury, half desperation—faded into the wind as the cage vanished from sight.
He turned, brushing off the dust from his coat, just as a distant blast rocked the deck. The turbine had restarted. Tony and Steve had done it.
But by the time the two heroes reached the detention level, the scene that awaited them was anything but victory.
The corridor was wrecked—walls scorched, consoles shattered. Clint stood over Coulson's body, his head bowed, his expression hollow. Smoke hung in the air like a mourning shroud.
Tony stepped forward, his armor scorched and battered from the turbine fight. His usual smirk was gone. His eyes—usually bright with wit and defiance—were dark, unreadable.
He looked down at Coulson's still form and said nothing.
No jokes. No quips. Just silence.
Steve knelt beside the fallen agent, his expression still as he saw the wound. He reached out, pressing a hand over Coulson's chest as if willing his heart to start again—but there was nothing.
The comms crackled faintly in the background—Hill's voice, distant, strained. "Engine three stable. Casualties… pending confirmation."
Tony turned away, the servos in his armor whirring quietly. His shoulders slumped—not from exhaustion, but from the weight of something heavier.
Steve rose slowly, his voice low. "We were too late."
Clint swallowed hard, barely able to speak. "He tried to stop him. Coulson shot him—hit him hard. But Loki… he still got away."
Tony's gauntlet flexed, the repulsor light dimming. "Then we make sure he pays for what he did."
Steve nodded, eyes cold now. "Agreed. We end this."
The three men stood together in the flickering red light of the emergency beacons—each carrying a piece of the same loss. The Helicarrier groaned beneath them as it stabilized, but none of them noticed.
Back in the control room, the atmosphere was heavy. The usual chatter of the crew was gone—replaced by quiet movements and the hum of machinery.
Hill approached slowly, a data pad in her hands. Her voice, though steady, carried a faint tremor.
"Sir… Agent Coulson has fallen."
Several nearby agents stopped what they were doing, their eyes lowering, some turning away as grief rippled silently through the room.
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