Steve's chest was still heaving as he looked at me. "What do you mean, a bigger problem?"
"Thor's presence just vanished from my senses," I said. I turned away from the howling wind of the breach and headed toward the interior bulkhead. "I believe....Loki is out."
Steve's expression hardened instantly. He tapped his earpiece, already moving to find Stark.
Leaving them to secure the exterior, I stepped back into the ship. The interior of the Helicarrier was in total chaos. The corridors leading down to the detention block were completely torn apart by secondary explosions. Emergency lights cast a harsh, strobing red glow over sparking wall panels and the bodies of unconscious SHIELD personnel.
I ignored the blaring sirens and stepped through the warped blast doors of the brig.
The room was empty. The massive glass cage was gone, dropped entirely out of the ship's belly.
Phil Coulson sat slumped against the far wall. The oversized prototype gun he had used to blast Loki lay on the floor nearby.
A dark pool of blood spread across the metal grating beneath him. The blow had gone straight through his chest.
Kneeling beside him, I saw his glassy eyes struggling to lock onto my face. Every breath he took was a wet, shallow rattle.
"Mr. Raizel," Coulson wheezed. A faint, bloody smile tugged at his mouth. "You missed the show."
"Stay still, Phil."
"I'm off the clock," he breathed, his gaze drifting toward the empty air where the cage used to hang. "It's okay. They needed a push. They lack conviction."
He was making his peace.
"Not today."
I placed my bare hand directly over the gaping wound on his chest.
Reaching into the core of my power, I commanded the blood spilling from his body. The spreading crimson pool on the floor suddenly halted, then reversed. It drew back up, defying gravity, weaving back into his veins. I used his own life force to seal the damage as his blood flowed back into place..
The wet rattling stopped. Coulson took a sharp, clear breath. The deadly pallor of his skin faded as normal circulation rushed back.
He looked down at his ruined suit, soaked in blood. The fatal hole underneath had closed into a thick, raised scar.
Looking back up at me, the strict SHIELD protocol completely dissolved from his face, leaving only raw shock. "How... what did you just do?"
I moved my hand to his forehead, pressing two fingers to his temple.
"You took a hit from a god," I said, holding his gaze. "That was brave."
A gentle pulse of energy slipped into his mind, wiping the last minute away. His eyes rolled back. He slumped limply against the wall, slipping into a deep sleep. I slowed his heart rate to an incredibly faint, shallow rhythm. To anyone else, he was a man taking his final breaths.
Heavy boots echoed down the main corridor.
Rising quietly, I faded into the deep shadows of a secondary maintenance shaft. The darkness completely concealed my presence.
Nick Fury rushed through the blast doors a second later, clutching his injured side. He took in the empty bay, the missing cage, and finally locked his one good eye on Coulson.
Dropping to his knees beside his agent, Fury saw the blood stain and the massive hole in the jacket.
"Coulson," Fury said, his voice tight. He hit his earpiece. "I need a medical team down at the detention block. We have an officer down."
"Already on the way," the dispatcher replied.
Fury pressed his hands hard against Coulson's chest to stop the bleeding. He met torn fabric and slick warmth. As his fingers pressed against the skin, he froze.
There was no open wound.
Quickly wiping away a layer of wet blood, Fury uncovered intact skin and a large scar that looked years old. He pressed two fingers to Coulson's neck, finding the impossibly faint pulse.
The Director stared at the scar, his mind racing. A spear through the heart didn't leave a sealed wound seconds later. Someone had intervened.
Medics were shouting down the hall. Their footsteps grew louder.
Fury looked at the blood coating his hands and the floor. He remembered the arrogance in the lab just minutes ago. His team was divided, bickering, losing a global war before it even started.
Reaching into Coulson's inner jacket pocket, Fury pulled out the small stack of vintage Captain America trading cards. Phil had carried them all week, waiting for the right moment to ask Steve for a signature.
Fury deliberately smeared the edges of the cards in the excess blood on the floor.
Coulson would survive. He would be quietly transferred to a secure ICU. Stark and Rogers didn't need to know that. They needed exactly what Coulson had said.
A push.
Gripping the bloody cards, Fury stood up. His expression hardened into absolute resolve as the medical team rushed into the room.
From the shadows, I turned and walked away.
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