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Loki liked to think that, in all the nine realms, he had the market cornered on magic. After all, whether he was called Asgardian, Jotun, a god, or even an alien, he was anything but human. In the many, many years he had roamed the cosmos, he had only ever known one person with magical abilities to rival his own; the woman that, for all intents and purposes, was his mother: Queen Frigga.
She had taught him everything he knew, from a young age. She had seen his potential from the very beginning, and she had been the only one willing to give him a chance to thrive. Though many knew that Loki had surpassed his mother’s abilities as he grew older, in his mind, Frigga would always be the superior sorcerer.
But now, she was gone. Snatched from the realms too soon at the hands of Kurse, now ascended to join the ranks of the most honored of the departed in Valhalla.
Loki, too, should have died by Kurse’s hand on Svartalfheim. Deep down, he knew that. He had sacrificed himself, willingly, to save Thor; and the woman he loved, Jane Foster. But even in his last moments, Loki had thought of his mother. He had felt the magic she had bestowed upon him running through his veins, and in the end, he had refused to die. Because if he died, so would Frigga’s magic. There would be nothing left of her legacy, and Loki would not allow that to happen.
So he had changed his plan.
He had never intended to return to Earth. He had meant to rule Asgard under the guise of Odin, with no one the wiser. He had even been watching the antics of Thor and his mortal companions, the ones that called themselves The Avengers, from afar using his magic. But it was only a matter of time before yet another complication arose.
Loki knew that he needed to retrieve the scepter. Many called it his, but he knew it had never truly belonged to him. He had merely been a vessel, granted the ability to wield it. No, it belonged to someone far more powerful than even the greatest sorcerer in all the nine realms. Someone who even Loki had come to fear.
He couldn’t hide from Thanos forever. It was only a matter of time before he came looking for him. Perhaps, Loki thought, if he at least had the scepter, that it would be enough to appease his former benefactor.
Well, at least, it was worth a shot.
And so, the god of mischief once again found himself paying a visit to Earth. It was easy enough to cover his tracks on Asgard; with a proper diversion and a clone bearing Odin’s appearance left on the throne in his stead. Locating the scepter, however, turned out to be a bit more challenging of a feat.
It took time, but inevitably, Loki was able to track the scepter’s whereabouts to what he surmised was the new headquarters of the Avengers. He had to give them one thing; it was certainly a lot more subtle than a giant tower.
However, their security tech could have used some work. Still not entirely impervious to magical infiltrations; when would they ever learn?
Once Loki was inside, it didn’t take him long to find the scepter. It was being kept in a secluded, yet surprisingly spacious room in the basement of the building, almost akin to a storage room. The door would have been impenetrable for a mere mortal, but for the god of mischief, all it took was a simple spell to dissipate it and leave the doorway open.
Inside the room, the scepter itself was encased in glass, placed upon a podium in the center of the room. They might as well have gift-wrapped it for him. Loki was almost disappointed: it was going to be too easy.
That’s when he sensed it. A sudden, immense magical presence, the likes of which he hadn’t felt since Frigga was alive. And yet, at the same time, it was so noticeably different from the aura of an Asgardian mage. It was something greater, and yet more twisted, like the results of an experiment that had gone horribly wrong.
Something that was powerful enough to tear apart the very fabric of reality.
He turned towards the now-open doorway, and belatedly realized it might have been a better plan to phase through the door rather than dissolve it completely.
Through the shadows just beyond the doorway, he saw her. To the untrained eye, she might have been mistaken for a completely ordinary human woman; average height, physically slight, with a small, pale face that was partially hidden by a curtain of dark brown hair.
She was clothed completely in red and black, and it was clear from her attire that this was the mantle of an Enhanced individual. She wasn’t someone he would have recognized from the battle of New York, and yet he knew who she was. Even to the gaze of someone who had no idea who she was, they would know from just one look at her that she was affiliated with the Avengers.
And yet, there was something sinister about her. It was impossible to tell what color her eyes really were, for at the moment they were glowing a brilliant red. Her gloved hands were extended at her sides, and with each small twitch of her fingers, visible, tangible waves of scarlet magic began to appear to weave themselves around her hands, as if she had conjured them out of thin air.
Her expression was stern, and there was a threat behind those glowing red eyes that was not lost on Loki. All the same, he smiled at her.
“You must be the witch I’ve heard so much about.”
Almost in response, the woman lifted her hands and fired a blast of magic in Loki’s direction, with one swift flick of her wrists. In the split second it took for the attack to register in Loki’s mind, he had used his own magic to make himself intangible, and the magic passed right through him without harming him.
Even through the brief contact with the witch’s magic, Loki could tell that the blast was not any specific spell. The magic itself seemed to be a physical thing that would have knocked him backwards had it struck him while he was tangible.
The woman didn’t seem too surprised by the counter, and slowly she stepped through the doorway, beginning to cautiously move towards him. Her movements were as methodical as a carnivore in the wild, stalking its prey.
“I know who you are,” she said, her voice lilting with a Slavic accent.
“Do you, now?” Loki asked, inclining his head slightly as he watched her move closer. Despite her hostility towards him, his seemingly cordial demeanor did not waver.
“I have seen the footage,” she continued, by way of explanation. “You are the man who rained down hellfire in New York, four years ago.”
Loki huffed a soft laugh. “Has it really been that long?”
The witch’s eyes narrowed. Clearly she didn’t share in his amusement.
“You tried to rule the world.”
Loki smirked, deliberately dropping his voice an octave. “And I would have gotten away with it, if it weren’t for those meddling Avengers!”
Once again, Loki’s sense of humor was lost on her. “Why are you here, Loki?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I want this back,” he answered, gesturing towards the scepter. “And you’re here to try and stop me.”
She didn’t respond with words. Instead, she brought both of her hands forward and spiraled them around each other, quickly bringing up another ball of chaos magic. In almost the same instant, she swung one of her arms outward, shooting her magic towards Loki again. This time, Loki teleported himself out of the way of the blast, reappearing on the other side of the room, directly behind the witch.
“Boo.”
She whirled around to face him, putting her own body between Loki and the scepter. He thrust his own hand forward, casting a pale green bolt of his own magic toward her, but the witch was too quick and too clever for him. With a swing of her arm, she conjured up a shield made from her scarlet magic, protecting herself and the scepter from the attack. In fact, the magic in the shield was so strong that it absorbed Loki’s spell, rather than merely deflecting it.
Loki’s interest was peaked.
“Impressive,” he mused, raising an eyebrow at the girl. “But can you do this?”
With a gesture of his hands, several identical clones of himself unfolded from his form like a deck of cards, until they surrounded the witch in a perfect circle.
For a moment, Loki could tell he had disoriented the girl. Her eyes darted back and forth as she turned, searching for some clue as to which Loki was the real one. But soon, her expression turned to one of sheer, steely determination, and with a yell she threw her arms outwards, sending an explosion of scarlet out around herself in all directions.
Each of the clones quickly dissipated into the air, and the brunt of the blast hit the real Loki squarely in the abdomen. With a grunt more out of shock than actual pain, Loki was sent reeling to one side, his back making impact with the wall. He recovered himself quickly, straightening up with an icy glare at the witch as she turned to face him once again.
Even through his anger at having his magic bested, Loki couldn’t help but crack a smile.
“Remarkable,” he breathed, a grin beginning to spread across his face. “Let’s see what else you can do, shall we?”
“Enough talking,” she stated coldly, as she took a bold step forward.
Still grinning, Loki lifted his hands, conjuring up his throwing daggers. One by one he swiftly threw them at her, and one by one she deflected them with her magic, telekinetically sending the knives skittering harmlessly away across the floor as she advanced on him.
Once she was close enough, Loki switched up his tactic, darting his arm forward to grab her wrist as she was readying another ball of magic. Catching her off guard, he gave a tug and spun her around, her back hitting his chest as he brought up another knife to hold it just level with her throat.
He huffed out a breath, and it was ice cold against the back of her neck.
In a tactical error, he had left her other hand free. Without hesitation, she lifted it and pressed a blast of magic straight into her own chest. The scarlet strands of magic passed straight through her, as if her body wasn’t an obstacle whatsoever, and hit Loki with enough force to make him let go of her other wrist and drop his dagger. It clattered to the floor, and, now free, the witch wheeled on him, her face twisted with rage.
Before Loki had a chance to think of another approach, or even make another quip, the woman extended a hand towards him, the palm of her hand flattened, her fingers elongated, and his entire body suddenly seized up. He couldn’t move any of his limbs, and he struggled even to draw breath. It was as if an invisible hand had wrapped itself around his heart, threatening to squeeze at any moment.
Slowly, the witch raised her other hand, her fingers curling inward like a claw, and more and more scarlet magic began to cover Loki’s body, holding him in place.
In that moment, the god of mischief experienced something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Fear.
The woman’s expression shifted; as if she could tell exactly what he was thinking. Within moments, it became clear that, in fact, she could.
“I can see your fear,” she said, her voice scarcely above a whisper. “Your pain…your anger…” As she spoke, her voice gradually began to grow louder, as she sifted through his mind. “Your…jealousy, and your grief. How you have suffered…”
Briefly, something passed over the woman’s face that almost looked like sympathy. However, it dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, and was once again replaced by a look of contempt. “…How you wish to inflict that suffering onto others. You think that holding power over others will bring you peace. That you will prove yourself to those who have wronged you.”
Her expression grew even colder. “You’re wrong,” she told him. “All that you have done is show them that you really are nothing but the monster they thought you were. If you truly wanted to prove yourself, you would show them how wrong they were.”
She suddenly went silent, hesitating. She had seen something in his mind that she hadn’t been expecting.
Then the moment passed, and her face hardened with anger once again.
“You do not deserve redemption.”
She began to move her hand, and Loki was helpless but to comply with her magic. He bent at the knees, his body starting to tremble involuntarily.
The witch stared him in the eyes, and he stared back up at her with awe and disbelief.
“Kneel,” she whispered.
He had no choice but to obey, and at the will of her magic, the god of mischief sank to his knees before her. Her hold on him loosened imperceptibly, just enough to allow him to breathe once again.
He was close enough to her now to see the color of her eyes. Not the glowing red they took on when her powers manifested themselves. Even as she held him there, paralyzed by her magic, her eyes were a deep forest green.
“Who are you?” he asked, with what strength he could still muster.
She was silent for a moment, and then chose to give him an answer.
“I am the Scarlet Witch.”
“Your name,” Loki insisted. “I must know.”
“Get used to disappointment.”
He sucked in a breath, his eyes wide as he regarded her with something just on the cusp of reverence.
“You…” he gasped out, “…are spectacular.”
Her hand tightened into a fist, gathering a tight ball of scarlet magic around it. The magic hit his face before her punch did, and it was unclear which of the two was what rendered him unconscious.
He sank to the floor as she withdrew her magic’s hold on him, and for a moment, all she could do was stand over him, gasping for breath.
A moment later, Steve Rogers came dashing through the doorway, and stopped short to take in the sight that greeted him.
“The scepter is secure,” she told him.
“And it looks like you’ve apprehended the intruder,” he said, once he had processed the initial surprise. “Well done, Wanda. You didn’t even need my help at all.”
In spite of herself, Wanda gave a small, proud smile.
She took a step back to let Steve pass her, and watched him scoop the Asgardian up in a fireman’s lift.
“What will you do with him?” she asked, unable to repress her curiosity.
“Take him in for questioning,” Steve answered. “He’s supposed to be under Asgard’s jurisdiction, but since no one can get ahold of Thor…we’ll have to make do.”
Wanda nodded.
“I understand.”
She lingered behind a little longer to collect herself, even after Steve had left the room, taking the unconscious Loki with him.
She couldn’t deny to herself that what she had seen in Loki’s mind had shocked, disturbed, and infuriated her. And yet, what deeply unsettled her was the great potential for good she had seen in him. It had almost saddened her, how a man with such goodness in him had chosen to do evil.
On top of all of that, perhaps most unsettling of all, she was struck by the way he had looked at her. When she held his life in her hands, when she had revoked all control away from him and brought him quite literally to his knees. The look in his eyes had not been fear, or anger. Instead, he had looked at her like no one else ever had, not even Vision.
Of all people, the man who called himself a god had looked at her as if she were a goddess.