I

It was quickly discovered by the humans that the road to heaven was paved with bad intentions. Of course, the idea of heaven varied from species to species, culture to culture, but the statement rang true. Whatever seemed least appropriate, whatever seemed least socially correct often held the grandeur of heaven in its eyes as the ultimate reward, the ultimate result to all their folly and all their fighting.

It certainly had a better ring to it than the opposing statement.

Loki sighed as he fiddled with his scepter, toyed with the ideas and plans swirling through his mind, building like a tornado. He knew what he was going to do, knew just what needed to be done; he was waiting for the perfect moment. The calm before the storm, where he could carry out his experiment in peace, undetected, before his ascension attack began.

Before he took what was rightfully his.

The woman with light brown hair and pale skin brushed past him, dumping her wrapper in the trashcan near his table and exiting the coffee shop without so much as a backwards glance, even though her eyes danced to him often in the hour she spent picking at a pastry.

He stood, tossed his black coffee in the trashcan, clutched his masked scepter, and followed her.

He strolled behind her for three blocks before she began to notice his presence. As her discomfort grew more and more obvious, Loki toyed with the idea of continuing his stalking under the cover of magic, but he eventually ignored the growing urge and remained visible.

It became a game of sorts for the god of mischief to anticipate her actions.

She would duck into a random store, and he would predict which objects she gravitated to, when she would flutter anxiously out the door and into the steady stream of people flowing up and down the sidewalks, or when she would break away from the "flock" to cross the threshold of a building. Some strange joy and comfort flitted over her features whenever she stepped under the doorway, as though she believed it would protect her, as though it gave her safety.

Of course, it quickly fell away when Loki crossed the same symbol of sanctuary without trouble.

It amused him that she placed so much power over something so insignificant. What did she think he was, a vampire?

Dark amusement surged through the god. He was a far more dangerous creature than some silly little leech.

Her tactics changed after seven ducks and dodges into stores; she began interacting with her surroundings, her crowd. It wasn't much, just a brush of the arm here, an "accidental," light collision with a fellow shopper there, a casual question that frequented the lips of a tourist (even though it was plain she was anything but), a trip here, a purchase there.

It didn't make things more challenging; Loki continued to trail her with ease. It did, however, make things more interesting. He stifled the urge to appear at her side and snatch her away, or to just send the both of them somewhere else with the snap of his fingers in favor of observation.

Her final tactic surprised the god at first. She gravitated towards a bookstore, but, instead of going in, she stood outside of the shop, leaning against the wall and checking her phone in perhaps one of the most forced, unnatural poses he'd witnessed. Loki broke through the crowd, approaching the bookstore. With every step closer, his heart beat just a little faster, and she looked a little more unwoven, until she almost completely abandoned all pretenses of ignoring his presence.

She looked up and met his gaze. He understood instantly why his brother fell under her spell. Those brown eyes stared at him, large, glimmering with fear and intelligence; for a moment, he couldn't break away from her demanding stare.

He reached her, walked past, and entered the bookstore.

Her frustration and shock might as well have stormed up to him and slapped him; he could sense her turbulent emotions as strongly as though they were his own—which they could have been. He didn't want to dwell too much on it. Fingering a Tolkien tome, Loki wondered absentmindedly whether she would dismiss the interaction as a misinterpreted coincidence or whether she would come into the bookstore.

Of course, the possibility that he pegged the wrong woman never occurred to him. He was a god; he didn't make mistakes.

Besides, there was no way he saw so much of his brother's tastes in the wrong woman.

A pleasant chime rang through the store, and Loki looked up—into the eyes of an old man.

Loki bit back a disappointed snort. It seems he overestimated her. He waited for forty-five minutes in the tiny, comforting store without the woman's appearance before he slunk out, strangely disappointed and dissatisfied.

As he left the store, he glanced at the spot on the wall where her lithe body had contorted itself into a still, "casual," leaning position and grimaced when he found it bare.

His options for snatching the woman grew duller. Now, the predominant options were visiting her apartment, where he knew she occupied during this time of the day, or waiting for another excursion to try again. Neither appealed to the god, but he chose the former; he was already in the mood to take her, and he didn't want to set it aside yet again in favor of another opportunity.

He wanted her, wanted the experiment, and he wanted it then.

A teenage girl bumped into him as she rushed into the store, curly hair flying and a beaming smile contorting her features into a repulsive joy, and Loki realized that he stood frozen in the center of the shop's entrance.

He stepped away from the large doorway and began walking to the woman's apartment.

It took far longer than it should have for Loki to realize that something wasn't right.

He brushed through the crowd effortlessly, the herds of humans parting just enough for him to walk along the sidewalk without touching anyone; it was a subconscious, submissive gesture. Normally, it would've gone unnoticed (there was little point to notice them, after all); normally, he would've gone almost unnoticed, the only acknowledgement appreciative glances from the humans.

Normally, Loki didn't feel a blazing glare boring into the back of his skull.

He knew it wasn't a serious threat; it would've bothered him more if it was. Were it a serious threat, Loki wouldn't absentmindedly wonder why it struck him just as strongly without the tainted maliciousness or the like; he'd analyze the sensation and conjure an array of possible responses.

It took far too long for Loki to see that the woman turned the tables; now, she tailed him.

Once he understood that she was behind him, he altered his steps, diverging from her routine trek to her apartment. His eyes snagged on the places she'd normally weave through, avoid and enter, to get to her apartment as he took a different, shorter route. Instead of going her own way, she followed his alterations to a T.

Adrenaline laced with some strange heated urge thrummed within his veins, and he fought to conceal his anticipation, fought to stick to luring and not jump to her side and demand attention, demand full and total—

Loki brushed his emotions aside; he stood in front of her apartment.

Striding up the five steps to her door, fiddling with the door (a quick flick of the wrist conjuring the key), he slipped into her residence and clicked the lights on. Her home smelled of coffee and firewood; faintly, the god detected the subtle scent of books that littered her home. They were everywhere: they rested on counters and tables, atop and between cushions, supported tea cups and one another as a stack or two towered from the otherwise normal additions to the apartment. The scent stirred a faint memory within Loki, a memory of a time when he surrounded himself by the tomes of old for hours and hours...

"What are you doing in my apartment?" The woman asked, her voice, although curious, nonchalant, as though she hosted gods on a regular basis.

(Which, Loki supposed, she did, in a way.)

Loki turned to face her. "I need your help, Jane Foster."

"My help?" She crossed her arms. "Why would you need my help?"

Loki stepped forward once, twice, thrice... "I need assistance; you need my brother."

Jane's eyes widened as she heard the unspoken words. A thin veil of wariness covered her burning curiosity. "I still need to know what you want me to do before I decide."

No you don't, Loki sneered. You'd never refuse me, not with him on the line. "Take your time deciding; don't mind me," he replied, purposefully ignoring the implied question. The god strode forward, watching as her eyes widened and her body tensed; he passed her without a second glance and entered her kitchen. East of Eden sat beside Cat's Cradle on the table, next to a half-empty mug of lukewarm tea.

He could feel her follow him into the kitchen slowly, her thoughts a whirl as she forced herself to consider every variable in all continuations of their conversation.

Loki knew one outcome she hadn't calculated—yet.

Clutching his scepter, the god spun and tapped her chest with it, watching with glee as her brown doe eyes shifted into darkness before settling on an unhealthy, murky, icy blue.

"Too late."

II

She stared at him obediently, brown flames doused by frosty ice.

She would do whatever he asked, without complaint, without hesitation.

Without fire.

Loki bit back a sigh and ordered the woman to fetch him her astronomy journal his brother had retrieved for her months ago. She complied immediately, speeding into her workroom and back into the living room, clutching the thick book in her pale hands. He took it from her, careful not to brush her skin.

"Has my brother contacted you since he left?"

"No," she droned.

"Come here," he beckoned, and she slunk to his side. Flipping absentmindedly through her notes, he paused as a familiar drawing crafted by a familiar hand, spanning two pages, grabbed his attention; the more he stared at it, the more he felt like Thor was mocking him. "Did my brother draw this?"

"Yes, he did. Thor drew it for me."

"Tell me what he told you and what you understand."

She began recounting the intricate details of their impromptu conversation, and Loki listened to his brother spin the same flirtatious monstrosities that later graced the banquet halls as precursors to raunchy tales and shuddered.

The more she said, the angrier it made him. It was strangely infuriating, listening to his bloodthirsty ape of a brother woo an intelligent (for a human) girl in the same manner he would a random wench. His blood boiled as she dissected Thor's conversation objectively; he wondered what she would've said voluntarily about the situation.

She probably would've spoken of it with a secret smile, a blush and an averted gaze, perhaps with a slight stammer...

Bile stung his throat. "My brother flirted with you, then?"

She didn't even flinch as he bluntly interrupted her. "Yes."

"Did it work? Were you attracted to him?"

A pause; "yes." Her skin remained pale and smooth, and her eyes met his unflinchingly, without passion or adoration or courage. Just the empty blankness custom to his design, just an apathy that left him strangely disappointed.

Rage smothered him; he couldn't breathe as he searched her mind and found his findings lacking. What use she could be to him was irrelevant to the mission at the moment. It wasn't even guaranteed that she was a necessary presence in the plans; she brought nothing to the table that couldn't be obtained through other people.

Except for his brother's attachment to her.

Why couldn't Thor have fallen for someone else? Why couldn't he have fallen for Sif? Sure, ensnaring her would've been much more challenging, but she could fight; she could help; she didn't affect him quite like she did.

"Get out of my sight," Loki snarled as he dashed to her front door; he heard, faintly, the sounds of her shoes scraping the wooden floors of her hallway. "Stay inside your apartment until I return."

The sound of the door slamming behind him echoed throughout Loki's thoughts as he wasted hours wandering the streets, but his rage faded into steel apathy slowly as the minutes slipped away from him, laughing at his foolish behavior.

How shameful it was, that such a commonplace girl brought him, a god, to such pathetic emotions. She had no right to do that, and surely he was better than that. Better than his brother; he would not fall for some pathetic woman.

How shameful it was, that his feet, rather than lead him to safety, brought him back to the apartment. As Loki's eyes caught the woman's residence, he frantically searched his memories for a moment where he'd decided to return—and found none. It was entirely instinctual, and nothing frightened him more than the knowledge that, in a time of emotional turmoil (brought about almost entirely by her), he all but fled to her.

He paused before her door, considering fleeing, but instead letting himself in. Her comforting scent assaulted his senses, his eyes latching onto the familiar cluttered surfaces. His gaze snagged on new items, too: the science textbooks, identified either by the ridiculous covers or intricate diagrams and descriptions left open randomly; the notes he examined earlier, weighed by Thor's overbearing, childish handwriting, or beautified by her cluttered scrawl; the spots in the carpet worn from her pacing (how much of that was from worrying about Thor, and how much of that was from worrying about her work?).

Loki smirked wanly.

At least he was still better than his brother.

He returned to Jane, despite everything logical within him screaming to do otherwise.

His departure five minutes later was forced by the frost giants, and, even though the meeting was sure to end badly, even though he knew they were impatient and he was otherwise occupied, he knew that he would return to her.

He'd make sure of that.

III

Loki bore the dark, cold glare with tumultuous emotions. Deep down, he knew associating with the frost giants was nothing but foolish, knew that calling upon his kin would end in nothing but death. Deep down, he regretted ever calling for their help; he knew they would use him like this, rip him from reality whenever they liked, manipulate him so obviously, even though he was supposed to have the upper hand. He loathed his reliance upon their power; however, he knew its worth.

He couldn't rule without them reinforcing his wrath.

Still, he hated them, and still, he longed for their blood, almost as much as he longed for theirs, for hers. Steeling himself, he began conversing with the giant, carefully layering his words in loyal anger and self-assurance. He played the game, waiting for the right moment to speak his mind.

There was the matter of Thor's wench that needed discussing.

The giant knew Loki hadn't any updates or pleasantries; the hour was too close for wasting time (yet here he was, preparing to demand something that greatly hindered the mission, his quest). Loki was summoned simply to be reminded of this, as it was clear his ally detected Loki's hesitation, his potential vulnerability. Loki was summoned to begin their attack, yet he intended to bargain for more time, just a pinch, to manipulate and observe.

At the end of it all, Loki wasn't quite sure why he needed more time with her, more time to experiment. Thor didn't even know where she was—or who she was with—and pretending this was some mind-game to distract his brother from his true intentions wasn't something he could fully believe, much less the cautious ruler the trickster depended upon.

"I need more time—just a bit; my preparations are almost complete."

"What more must you do?" The icy gaze narrowed still, hands clenched, and body poised to attack; his voice was raspier, deeper, the kind of tone that proceeded a dagger.

Loki tilted his head ever-so-slightly upward. "My time with the apes demands assistance; they have the—"

"I know this already. Do not waste my time repeating yourself."

Annoyed, Loki bit back a harsh retort. It wouldn't help, in the long run, he knew. Hell, it wouldn't even help the short term. It would only allow for a brief release of a much greater emotion, one that demanded more action. It wasn't just about the interruption, the helplessness, the facade of obedience, willingness—it was the random, horrifying urge to continue interacting with Jane that fueled his aggravation.

He knew their time was up. He knew he needed to stop trifling with her, that there was no excuse for his actions. His scepter worked perfectly fine, and testing it was unnecessary.

Getting back at Thor, that was definitely worth it. But was he really hurting him? Jane said Thor didn't visit her—ever—so how much could he care for her? Was it all a ruse to distract Loki from his mission?

No. No. Thor wouldn't do something like that; he wasn't smart enough, wasn't quite as ruthless as a ruler needed to be. Besides, Thor probably didn't even know whether or not Loki was actually alive.

The frost giant stepped back, and Loki's body instinctively tensed, jerking his mind back to the present.

The creature, who clearly had had enough of the empty words, asked the dreaded question.

"Are you postponing our plans for that woman?"

Replying in the affirmative was sure to end with someone or something's termination, and Loki couldn't make the necessary attacks without their support. Replying in the negative would end all interaction with Jane Foster indefinitely. He'd have to go for something in-between, or something completely different.

A diversion wouldn't go unnoticed, though. His attachment would be more obvious than if he just said "yes"; diversion placed more value on her place in his time than he wanted to give her, than she deserved.

Loki smiled. "Not postponing; I'm merely ensuring my brother will not return before he should." As if she knew when he'd return for her.

A dark eyebrow rose, and the frost giant's face morphed into cold bemusement. "She must be quite the lucky mortal to have two Asgardian princes skulking about her apartment." Loki restrained a grimace, barely covering it with a devious, apathetic smirk. "I'll start the plan without you in a few days if you don't report back and follow our plan."

Loki stepped away from the frost giant, inching backwards, warily keeping his eyes trained on the features guarded by false, nonchalant emotions.

"If you aren't a part of the plan, all protection I've given you will be lost. My warriors will kill you on sight, and I will ensure that no crack or crevice in all the universes will provide respite and safety."

IV

The icy realm melted away into the comfortable, if not compact, apartment Loki reluctantly subconsciously bookmarked as a "safe place." Loki felt himself stiffen as her presence overwhelmed his senses.

There was a slight after-scent of her lingering in the room, a result of a rushed exit. His orders to stay away from him, spoken before his excursions, still had a tight grip on her. He could feel her now, standing in her room, emptily gazing out her window. He could almost see her unaltered self staring at the sky, see the way her eyes would gleam, her posture poised yet eager, skin some mixture of moonlight pale and rosy blushing, hair wildly shoved away from her face.

He imagined her gazing at them, at the blazing stars, untainted by his brother. He imagined her staring up at them, a mixture of adoration and aggravated determination pushing her to analyze the heavens and demand answers for that which seemed incomprehensible to most. He imagined her actually succeeding, imagined her eyes bewitching the stars, forcing them to confess whatever secrets they held.

Loki shook his head, repulsed with himself and his thoughts.

Gods didn't need to stoop to their level, shouldn't stoop, yet there he was, entertaining frivolous fancies of her past.

Running his hands through his hair, Loki paced the cramped living room angrily, quickly, a panther ensnared in a jail, displayed for the world to see.

His vulnerability was obvious; pathetically obvious. He couldn't stop thinking about her, couldn't stop wanting to be near her, even though he'd only officially been in her presence for barely a day, and that was hardly the appropriate amount of time for this level of enamored idiocy.

But damn it all, one look at her, and all he could do was yearn for knowledge, for the understanding of why she chose this life, why she chose the stars over people, why she decided on this as her scientific study, why she didn't become a doctor or a lawyer instead of a glorified stargazer.

A glorified stargazer that had ensnared Thor, the "mighty" god of thunder, for longer than a night.

Loki monitored his brother during his time with the woman (one should never ignore a threat, no matter how weak), saw practically first-hand how her enthusiasm and determination enslaved his emotions, demanded he make some insignificant promise he'd never actually fulfill, and Loki had laughed. Sure, the woman was attractive, for a human, but there was nothing so special to earn this kind of attention. Sure, he'd been more than a little annoyed that his brother was enjoying his time on Earth with her, so much so that he'd hoped his assassin would kill her, too, but that didn't mean she was worth this much attention, that she could make him weak.

Faintly, the sounds of Jane breathing, moving around in some strange mimicry of restless pacing tore Loki from his thoughts. He didn't have much time left—a few days meant anything from two days to five with them, and that was assuming they would be patient and curb their annoyance—so he needed to get as much information he could. There could've been something she missed earlier, some hint or crucial piece of information that would give him the upper hand and ensure victory.

Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that.

"Jane," Loki demanded, "come here."

The door to her bedroom opened quietly, softly, and her steps rustled through the hall like dead leaves whispering in the wind. She stood before him, staring unabashedly into his eyes, patiently waiting for his request.

She was a scientist; she would be able to analyze, hypothetically of course, how the human race would react to an alien invasion. He asked for her opinion, and she told him how humans reacted to terrors their kind inflicted upon one another, how they acted towards the idea of anything else, animal or otherwise, harming their way of life, how they assumed it would be triggered by something they did. Some mistake or "breakthrough" in, most popularly, the scientific field.

Loki scoffed. She hadn't told him anything new; he was familiar with their selfishness, but it still annoyed him. This had nothing to do with anything they'd done except exist. Humans weren't powerful or dangerous enough to actually trigger something so extraordinarily catastrophic, or, at least, nothing to make another, more powerful, more advanced race, look at them with approval and desire.

That certainly wasn't what Loki was doing. They were merely a stepping-stool, a means to achieving his rightful place as ruler. They meant as little to them as a herd of pigs.

And so did she, he prompted himself as he watched her babble apathetically, icy eyes locked on his only as an act of submission, voice lively only to mimic her vibrant personality as she continued, informing him that the humans would try to fight back, that they had some scraps of an idea to assemble a force of "superior," well-endowed humans to fight back should things go south.

("Oh, really? How can you be certain?"

"I've been researching the people who took my supplies and notes, and with some help from a few people, I hacked their systems. Someone was very eager to give me information, though I don't know why. But what I found was this plan to use a group they call the 'Avengers.'"

Loki leaned forward. "Tell me everything you found.")

It seemed she had some use after all, Loki admitted. He didn't think that would be the case, but the information she gave him definitely required the plan to be revised slightly. He'd expected some form of retaliation, it would be foolish not to, but now that he knew exactly what he was up against, he wouldn't have as difficult a time dealing with humanity's defenders.

Loki smirked. He'd have some fun toying with them.

Jane's voice, scratchy and rough like sandpaper, fell silent shortly after she described every potential member of the retaliation team, after she described the rest of humanity's response to an attack. By the time she finished, Loki's plan was almost completely revised.

Euphoria buzzed through Loki; nothing was more pleasurable to him than having the upper hand, than knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would get everything he wanted in due time. Grinning, he stared down at Jane, and he felt the strange urge to kiss her.

Curiosity urged him on; why not enjoy what Thor enjoyed? Why not see just how alluring she really was?

She would do anything he wanted right now, anyways.

There would be no resistance, no unwillingness, just immediate gratification.

(No fire, no anger, no satisfaction, no completely unwilling reluctance, no melting, no shared bliss.)

Bitterness tinged his bliss, and he hated it, hated how quickly she ruined him. He didn't care about her or Thor anymore, didn't care what consequences would come of this moment.

He kissed her boldly, brashly, forcefully, and she responded mechanically, complying with his dominance automatically, simply following his lead.

(She wouldn't have done that; she would've challenged him. She would've fought fire with fire.)

He pushed harder, snaking his arms around her as he shoved her against the wall, trying to force resistance out of her. She didn't break the kiss, didn't do anything but continue to slowly and steadily respond to his fervent movements. Her heartbeat remained steady and calm.

He could feel his heart burning, rushing, racing, demanding everything from her, demanding everything from him.

He wanted to push her farther, wanted to do more, to take advantage of her willingness.

(She never would've allowed him to kiss her without this enchantment.)

Loki pulled away from her, a bizarre emptiness erasing all previous elation and arousal and bitterness. This was something he knew would happen; he knew her reaction would be stiff and robotic, but he found himself slightly surprised, slightly disappointed, for a second. Glancing at her, he found that she was still standing beside the wall, no longer pressed against it, but still there, as though waiting for his next order, his next bout of emotional weakness. Perhaps he would've gone back and finished what he started before all of his emotions faded away, their screaming pain demanding he give them some form of satisfaction, but now he didn't care. Disgust sought to feel the detached emptiness, not quite succeeding, but rising enough that he couldn't stand the thought of her presence much longer.

His skin, his lips, his hands, thrummed with the warm memory of her. He wanted to rip his flesh off—he would, if he thought it would help rid him of the sensation.

He couldn't remember the point of involving her in the first place anymore. Why had he entertained the notion that she wouldn't hurt him? That he could just waltz into her life, like his brother did, and expect her to crumble while he stood tall?

She was the one perfectly calm. She was the one who made him lose credibility, respect, dignity in the presence of his powerful allies.

He was a fool. He underestimated her, and, while Loki was a prideful, sneaky, brilliant god, he was one who could admit to making such a grievous mistake, if only to himself. Loki would never risk his goals, his power, for this sniveling beast. Loki would never almost completely sabotage both the plan and himself like this for some "experiment" he convinced himself was necessary or wise.

Willing his scepter to appear, Loki mulled over which punishment she would receive. Should he allow her to wallow in compliance? Make her do despicable, desperate things? Or would he release her from the spell? If he left her in it for long, her mind would be a complete wasteland. There would be nothing left of Jane to salvage, nothing left for his brother to use until he was finished. If he released her now, her mind would be scrambled, but she would recover within the week, her memory fully in-tact.

She would know what she did, how she betrayed Thor, betrayed her race with information she wasn't even supposed to have. She had a (brief) affair with someone else, with Thor's brother.

Or. Thor wouldn't have a mortal fawning over him anymore. She would be completely mad, and he wouldn't be able to fix her, console her, be with her. She would tear him to pieces emotionally. This was, of course, assuming Thor actually cared deeply for her.

What were the chances of that, though? Loki was sure of her affection, but Thor's? Which would provide the most pain?

Loki strode forward, gripping his scepter tightly, staring into her blue blue eyes. He couldn't wait to see how devastating his punishment would be.

He tapped the tip of his staff to her chest, and she gasped, the blue melting away from her eyes, replaced with warm brown. Warm, devastated, confused, brown.

Jane blinked, nausea and anger clearly overwhelming her as she fought to decide one reaction to the god of mischief smirking down at her.

Loki's lips twitched, his smirk widening as he ached. Her features contorted into such abhorrent emotions hurt him more than he'd anticipated, actually injured him—if there was emotion to be expected, it was satisfaction, but even that he didn't anticipate. He thought their parting would be apathetic on his part. Staring down at her, he felt nothing but annoyed pain laced with bitter contempt.

Her eyes, blazing with rage, flickered to his lips, and it was clear to him that she was remembering being shoved up against the wall, their bodies colliding in one-sided frenzied rage and desire, remembering with a flicker of arousal displayed in the dilation of her pupils, her flushed skin, her quivering body.

Loki stepped closer, and Jane's eyes widened as she barely bit back a gasp. Terror and guilt and anger and anticipation continued to mar her features, but before she could act on one of them (before he could do something rash), he stepped around her and left the apartment without a single word, his throat aching. For the first time in centuries, he couldn't trust his voice.

He was almost to the street before he heard the sound of glass smashing on the floor and the scream of a wounded, humiliated animal.

Loki convinced himself that his smirk was still in place as he retreated from the human world.

V

Three agents semi-disguised as scientists strode up to a semi-nice apartment on a sunny, warm day in the middle of the week. They didn't notice the man dressed in a black suit, black hair slicked back and a dark green scarf draped around his neck, follow them into the apartment soundlessly. They knocked on the door, and a woman, disheveled and clearly shaken, allowed them to enter.

They left within the hour. Three days later, she left alone with a suitcase and a large bag.

The man in the suit walked behind her as she walked to the street and hailed for a taxi. No one noticed the man, except for the woman, who, when stopped and waiting for a cab, glanced at the crowd around her. She saw him, held his eyes for a few seconds before her lips twisted into a frightened grimace.

He remained where he stood, watching as she left, watching until he couldn't see the cab. He turned and walked the opposite direction, back towards her apartment, before vanishing completely, his being summoned to another dimension in the heavens.

His last thought before the giants spurred him into action was that giving up his brother's girl to attain the heavens felt anything but noble or glorious.

He felt like he'd just made a terrible mistake.