The German square was quiet now, the only sound the distant wail of sirens and the cooling hiss of the Mark VI's repulsors. Steve Rogers walked over to the center of the plaza, his breath coming in ragged, white plumes in the cold night air. He looked at the kneeling figure of Loki, then at Leander.
Leander didn't wait for a command. With a sharp flick of his wrist, the silver rods at his waist didn't just expand—they liquified, flowing through the air like quicksilver before snapping into a set of heavy, vibrating shackles around Loki's wrists. The metal groaned as it tightened, calibrated to resist even Asgardian physiology.
Only then did the Mark VI retract its weapon pods with a series of satisfied mechanical clicks.
Leander's palm opened slightly toward the museum steps. The Mind Scepter, which had been abandoned in the dirt, trembled for a split second before leaping into his hand. It hummed against his skin, a low-frequency vibration that felt like a predator purring.
"You alright, kid? You look like you're staring into the sun," Tony's voice crackled through the suit's external speakers.
"I'm fine, Mr. Stark. Just admiring the craftsmanship," Leander replied, his eyes tracing the intricate, alien metal of the scepter. "How did you find us? I thought you were still busy 'consulting' in Malibu."
"Fury sent a 'priority one' ping. Apparently, the Cap here was having a bit of trouble with the local talent," Tony said, his faceplate sliding up to reveal a smirk.
Steve looked at Tony, then at Leander. There was a palpable tension between the man of the past and the man of the future. "Mr. Stark."
"Captain. Great suit, by the way. Very... patriotic. Did the Smithsonian miss a display?"
The exchange was brief, but it set the tone for the flight back. They loaded Loki onto the Quinjet, the God of Mischief sitting in a corner, head bowed, seemingly defeated.
"Did he say anything?" Fury's voice came through the comms as Natasha banked the jet toward the Atlantic.
"Not a word," Natasha replied, her eyes fixed on the horizon. "He's being too quiet, Director. Even for him."
"Bring him in. We're losing light and the sensors are picking up atmospheric disturbances. Move it."
Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken questions. Steve Rogers stood by the viewing port, his arms crossed. He kept glancing at Loki, then at the teenager sitting opposite him. Leander wasn't resting; he was obsessed. He held the scepter across his knees, his fingers tracing the glowing blue casing that housed the Mind Stone.
Steve leaned toward Tony, whispering low. "Something's off. He surrendered like he was checking into a hotel."
"What? You think Reindeer Games has a hidden deck?" Tony replied, leaning back in his seat. "He's a diva, Cap. He saw the Iron Man, he saw the Golden Boy, and he realized his Broadway run was over."
"I don't think it's that simple," Steve said, his voice grim. "This guy... he's a warrior. He fought like he was testing us. Not like he was trying to win."
Tony rolled his eyes. "For a guy who's been on ice for seventy years, you're surprisingly cynical. It's called a 'crushing defeat.' You'll get used to them."
Leander tuned them out. His vision was currently shifted into the golden spectrum, a perspective that allowed him to see the flow of energy rather than the form of matter. He stared into the heart of the scepter.
The Mind Stone.
It wasn't just a battery. It was a consciousness. Deep within the blue containment shell sat a pale yellow gem, suspended in a vacuum of its own making. As Leander watched, he felt a shiver of cosmic dread. He thought of the intelligence behind this—the "Mad Titan" Thanos. Why would someone like that give away a weapon this powerful?
Loki was a pawn, clearly. But a pawn for what? If Thanos wanted the Earth, he would have come himself. No, this was a delivery service. The Mind Stone was being used as a lure to draw out the Space Stone. It was a gamble on a universal scale, and Earth was just the poker table.
Leander's brow furrowed. He extended his right hand, his fingertips inches away from the glowing blue core. He wanted to feel the frequency. If he could mimic the resonance of the stone, he could potentially—
"Leander! Don't."
Tony's hand clamped down on Leander's wrist. The elder man's face was uncharacteristically serious. "I've seen that look before. It's the 'I can fix this' look. That thing is an alien reactor, kid. Don't touch the spark plug unless you want to lose the arm."
"I was just... testing the thermal output," Leander lied, his golden eyes dimming back to brown.
"Test it on the Helicarrier. Under a blast shield," Tony ordered.
Outside, the sky had turned a bruised purple. Suddenly, the jet jolted. A crack of thunder so loud it shook the floorboards echoed through the cabin.
"Where did that come from?" Natasha shouted from the cockpit. "The radar is clear. No rain, no fronts, just... static."
Another roar of thunder followed, and a flash of lightning illuminated the cabin with a harsh, violet light. Loki, who had been motionless, suddenly flinched. His entire body tensed, and a flicker of genuine fear crossed his face.
"What's the matter?" Steve asked, his hand going to his shield. "Scared of a little lightning?"
"I'm not overly fond of what follows," Loki whispered.
Tony and Steve exchanged a glance. Leander, however, was already looking at the ceiling. His internal sensors were screaming. A massive surge of electromagnetic energy was converging directly above them.
"He's here," Leander said, standing up. "Natasha, someone's landing on the roof. Open the hatch before they tear it off!"
Before she could respond, the entire Quinjet groaned under the weight of a massive impact. The metal of the roof dented inward. Tony snapped his helmet shut, the Mark VI's eyes glowing white. Steve strapped his shield to his arm.
Tony hit the ramp release. The hatch hissed open, letting in the freezing Atlantic wind.
A figure dived from the darkness into the cabin. He was a mountain of a man, clad in silver-scaled armor and a crimson cape that billowed like a flame. His blonde hair was wild, and in his hand, he gripped a short-handled stone hammer that hummed with the power of a dying star.
Thor.
Tony stepped forward, his repulsors whining as they charged. "Hey, Goldilocks! You're breaking several FAA regulations—"
CLANG!
With a casual backhand of his hammer, Thor sent Iron Man flying into the back of the cabin. He didn't even look at the red-and-gold suit. His eyes were locked on Loki.
Thor reached out, his massive hand closing around Loki's throat. He didn't say a word. He didn't offer a parley. With a roar of effort, he ripped Loki's metal shackles apart like they were made of wet paper and leapt back out of the open hatch, vanishing into the storm.
"That guy..." Tony groaned, pushing himself up from the floor. "He just stole my prisoner."
"Is he a friend of yours?" Steve asked, looking at the empty space where the "God" had just been.
"Doesn't matter," Leander said, stepping toward the hatch. "Thor is here for Loki, and Loki has the location of the Cube. If they leave the area, we lose the only lead we have."
Leander tossed the Mind Scepter onto a seat. With a thought, he commanded the metal frame of the chair to extend two rings, locking the weapon firmly in place.
"Stark, wait! We need a plan!" Steve yelled as Tony began to walk toward the edge of the ramp.
"The plan is 'Attack'!" Tony shouted back, his jet boots igniting. He shot out of the plane, a streak of fire in the night.
Steve sighed, looking at the parachute packs on the wall. "Does anyone ever listen to the guy with the shield?"
"I'm listening, Captain," Leander said, his golden wings snapping into existence. The brilliance of his feathers illuminated the dark cabin. "But Stark is right about the clock. This is a family dispute, and Asgardian families tend to level cities when they argue. I'll keep them from killing each other."
"Leander, wait—"
"Don't worry, Cap. I'll bring them back in one piece."
Leander stepped off the ramp. For a split second, he was in freefall, the cold wind whipping against his face. Then, his wings caught the air. With a sound like a whip cracking, he accelerated, a golden needle chasing a thunderbolt.
Steve Rogers didn't hesitate. He grabbed a parachute, strapped it on with a grimace, and ran off the edge of the ramp. He was a soldier. And soldiers didn't stay on the sidelines.
High above the dark forests of the coast, the chase was on. A God, an Iron Man, a Golden Boy, and a Captain were all converging on a single point, and the mountain they were headed for wasn't going to survive the meeting.