Contest of Champions

28

I'm lying on my bed, damp with sweat, when my door is opened and Erik beckons to me. "Loki, it's time," he says, a bit heavily. "Come on."

Without a word, I swing my legs out of bed and walk to the door. Erik lamely pats my shoulder as I stride past him and we head out to the balcony, where a small Q ship sits, ready to take me to the arena. Erik and I stop about fifteen feet away and a tractor beam shoots down, settling around us and pulling us up towards the circle-shaped ship.

Is this what being brought into Asgard by the Bifrost felt like? I wonder as I'm propelled up through the air, the soft golden light painless but powerful. Only when Erik and I have been brought into a hold does the beam shut off. The semi-lit area holds just one seat.

As I sit, a door off to the side slides open and an elderly man with white hair and a mustache slowly walks through. He looks bizarre with haphazard, slightly rusted-looking dark metal shoulder plates over a red breastplate that features yellow and white markings. Gaudy red glasses frame his eyes and a strange, slightly frightening contraption hides his right hand, serrated blades jutting out from it.

Noticing my sudden tension, Erik leans over and whispers, "He's just going to fasten your shock device to your neck."

Ah, yes, the little handy device used on the contenders to keep track of our whereabouts, neutralize our bodies once we're dead, and for any other little housekeeping chores they neglect to mention in the volunteer pamphlet.

It didn't use to be shock devices. Contenders used to be affixed with a miniature arc reactor, courtesy of Howard Stark and Stark Industries. But when Tony Stark happened to reconfigure the reactor to power the weapons he created in the arena and, in so doing, won, Thanos had them replaced with the shock device.

"Now, hold still," the man advises. "My hands aren't as steady as they used to be."

I don't even have time to respond before the man lowers his contraption to my neck, binders snapping out of the chair and holding my arms down. I freeze in place, knowing better than to dare to move.

The serrated blades pinch in towards one another as a shock device shoots out from the middle of the contraption and rests in between the blades, which nick my skin as they pause against my neck. With a quick, outward flick, the blades release the device and it whirs as it affixes to my skin, the little pincers slipping under the skin. The device lights up briefly with blue light before it extinguishes, the whir silencing.

The man looks at Erik. "Now, shoo."

The binders snap back from my wrists and I stand, very conscious of the device attached to my neck. Erik gestures to me and we leave the hold, descending down into a roomy chamber where there are several chairs and a table.

Although the room is lit, the lack of windows makes it feel very dark and cramped. I sit, arms crossed over my chest in case more hidden binders lurk beneath the armrests, and look at Erik. "What can I expect now, Selvig?"

"Breakfast," Erik tells me. "And then you'll be in your designated holding chamber to await entrance into the arena."

Suddenly, tension and, yes, anxiety, pour over me, hitting me like a slap in the face. This is happening. This is really happening. Soon, very soon, I'll be in the arena. I'll be in the arena.

My vision blurs over and I'm frozen in place, unable to think or move. It is only when Erik grabs my shoulder roughly that I jolt up and out of the chair, stumbling forward and slamming into the table. I end up on the floor, somehow, one leg underneath me and the other splayed out, hands reaching for daggers that don't appear.

"Loki?" Erik asks, standing and staring down at me. "Are you all right?"

I find my tongue. "I'm about to die, Selvig. So yes, I'm clearly fine."

Erik crouches down beside me and then rests one knee against the ground, balancing himself. "Loki," he says, then hesitates. Instead of finishing, he just sighs and offers me his hand. "I can't offer you any words of assurance," he tells me. "You are about to enter the Contest of Champions. You are about to face death. I can't say anything that will change that."

I don't take Erik's hand; I shove myself up and dust myself off. "I'm fine," I say, although I'm clearly not. And that is the end of our conversation for the rest of the trip to the arena.

When the Q ship lands, Erik and I are directed to the hold where we had entered the ship and a tractor beam grabs ahold of us and transports us down out of the ship, leaving us right side up in my holding chamber. The light dissipates and we're free to move again.

My outfit for the Contest is laid out on a table in the chamber and Erik carefully picks it up. He nods approvingly and hands me the clothing.

Supple Asgardian leather rubs against my hands as he gives it to me. My eyes must light up as I realize that it is simply...perfect.

A thin, deep green tunic goes on first, with the black leather tunic layering over that, the strips interlacing together at the center of my abdomen, and the same interweaving of leather strips over green crosses down my arms, strengthened by gold gauntlets strapped around my forearms. On my chest rests a golden collar.

Over this tunic is a black leather jacket, styled like a Midgardian trench coat. The turned back lapels of the jacket are a beautiful green, and the edges are rimmed with tiny, dull studs that are reminiscent of the zipper tracks on one of Jane's old jackets that Thor keeps in his room. Resting on my right shoulder is a thick leather and metal pad, held there by a black sash that buckles to the belt, which is designed to blend in with the uniform. Dull gold marks the center of the sash. My trousers are simple black leather, and my boots are more of the same.

I smile as I look down at the outfit. "Selvig, did you have a hand in this?"

Erik nods. "Of course, the final product isn't completely mine, but it is based off of one of my designs for your arena costume." Removing something from his pocket, he steps towards me and pins the Yggdrasil pin Nebula gave me to the sash. "And there's your token."

"Ready for mission in five."

The voice echoes in the chamber as Erik and I glance up. I breathe out, in a slow and controlled manner. As my fingers rub across the pin, Nebula's words race through my mind. "It was a reminder to my father not to fail. It can be a reminder to you, as well."

Whatever it takes, right?

Erik points to the other end of the chamber, where a circular metal pad sits, waiting for me to step on it.

I do.

"Remember –" Erik goes to say, but the tube that rises around me and shuts me off from the rest of the chamber mutes his words and the white mist that fills the tube prevents me from lip reading. So I use my imagination and fill in the rest of his sentence.

What are you the god of again?

The white mist around me chills me. It's supposed to dampen any magic you control to prevent you from leaving your podium until the gong sounds, and it also keeps you from killing anyone from your initial spot. I'm not completely sure, but my theory is that this was put in place after Hela killed all those contenders without stepping off her podium.

My podium begins to rise, moving up through the mist and slowly spinning to ensure I end up facing the right way. I clench my hands and unclench them, forcing myself to review my promise to Gamora. I have to remember that I have sworn to win, to return. That's the only thing that matters. That, and proving to Odin that I am a worthy son.

Whatever it takes. Whatever it takes. Whatever it takes.

The podium breaks out of the ground and the white mist disperses, although its affects will remain until after the gong sounds.

Whatever it takes.

I have to do whatever it takes.