Chapter Text
Prologue
Heimdall stared emotionlessly into the vast abyss; the nine realms existed independently, functioned with little (if not any at all) knowledge of their neighbors, and oblivious to the fact that the gatekeeper kept a watchful eye upon them.
His gaze was upon Midgard, a section illuminated by cracks of lightning; it was in that desolate unwelcoming wasteland that drew his attention, and took note of the staggering figure whose body was battered and tousled beyond its standard princely appearance. The figure favored their left leg, wrapping artistic hands about their thigh, and took cautionary step after cautionary step.
But it was of no use; bright lights suddenly flooded the barren ground, blinding the figure and stripping them of all their devices. Midgardians in uniform descended from mechanical chariots, large flying contraptions that circled overhead; many held weapons, shouting indiscernible words and commands that baffled the figure temporarily.
The chaos, the cacophony of noise continued until a lone figure dressed entirely in black leapt from a ladder hanging from one of the many flying contraptions. He strode with a purpose, coat bellowing behind him in the now violently blowing wind; his face set grim, one eye focused upon the foreigner, the other covered with a patch, yelled out a very familiar name.
"Loki Laufeyson, I thought we saw the last of you,"
"Why Director Fury, your organization has proven its worth," the fallen prince of Asgard returned, hands tightening around his thigh further. "I've only just arrived."
"Well, I'm glad I could provide you with a welcoming committee," the one called Fury smiled grimly, whilst reaching into his coat. "Once we sent you off with the tesseract, I really didn't expect to see your face again. And to be honest, I would have preferred it that way."
"Fate plays many a tricks, Director Fury,"
"So it does, so it does," the Midgardian pulled out a shiny black object and pointed it at Loki. "But fate isn't the only one at the party, Laufeyson. Karma decided to pay you a visit as well."
Before the younger prince could retort, a brilliant light erupted from the end of the weapon the Midgardian held, followed by a deafening boom. There was a moment of pause amongst them, until the prince jerked his hand towards his throat which was painted the darkest of reds; he had been struck and was momentarily stunned, his wicked and calculated eyes now wide and pained.
The prince made an uncivilized sound, causing further blood loss, and took a defiant step forward. But the weight of his injury proved too much; he fell to his knees and toppled headfirst to the unforgiving ground at the Midgardians' feet. He lay motionless, perhaps dead but the likelihood was very slim.
"Call the medics," Fury said to a woman in a defensive stance, holding a weapon of her own. "This son of a bitch isn't going down without a fight, Agent Hill."
The woman surveyed Fury with disbelief, before lowering her weapon, and stalking away with an authoritative stride that parted the semi-circle of Midgardians. They were now enthralled with the bleeding prince, whose blood scrawled unheard tales and lies across the earth.
"Move him to a remote section of headquarters, after they dig out that bullet from his throat," Fury told the nearest bystander, who was a mild looking man in professional Midgardian garb. "And don't give me that look; you've been waiting for months for that, Agent Coulson."
"I won't confirm or deny it, Director," Coulson said.
Fury peered over his shoulder at the scene, smiling grimier still. There was obvious satisfaction in attacking the fallen prince; indeed, Midgard had suffered greatly at Loki's hands. As quickly as Fury had descended upon the scene, he left in the same way. His coat flew behind him, face returning to its serious and hardened state, and he was up in the air in a matter of moments; holding onto the ladder of the flying contraption, and being pulled into its belly.
Another group of Midgardians with a variety of strange contraptions, raced to aid Loki. Heimdall stared upon the prince's motionless body, before turning his gaze to the cosmos in front of him. He had seen the ambush against the prince, as several enraged citizens of Asgard had intercepted him before the guards returned him into the dungeon. Albeit, no one had attempted to intervene; certainly no one made pause as they tossed Loki into the abyss.
Thor, Lady Sif, and the Warriors Three had taken on adventures elsewhere; and the All-Father had fallen into Odin-sleep only days earlier. It would be some time before Thor returned, which left Loki to the devices and mercy of the people who he had attempted to enslave not so long ago.
"Be well, little prince," Heimdall said hollowly, as he turned his eyes elsewhere to Thor and his band of friends who chortled in merriment, none the wiser of the anarchy that descended upon Asgard.