1964-04-27 - Pretzel Stand Go Boom
Summary: Reality eating dimensions with tentacles, a few zombies, and a dog named Kevin.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
strange loki kai bucky 


News travels quickly through the Mystical community. First it was a sighting, the uncertainty level that of Bigfoot. Next another repetition, in hushed tones delivered to the corner booth he generally occupies when present at the Bar With No Doors. Once was bad enough; twice is concerning as hell to him.

The third report brings him out the front doors of the Sanctum and onto the front porch. Strange pauses in zipping up his black blazer as he glares down the sidewalk. There, on the corner, is an abnormal sight.

A rolling pretzel stand. They normally stay on the fringes of the neighborhood, finding better flow of foot traffic in the hours of work commuting. This one, painted in bright orange vertical stripes on white, is garishly present. Someone who didn't know the good Doctor well would likely think the man has some sort of irrational fear of change in Greenwich Village.

No-no. This is guardian recognizing a predator on his turf. The crimson scarf about his neck is unsettled as well; it makes minute rubbing motions along the tendons that parallel veins and he grimaces. "Settle down…" His baritone is near-whisper, and as the relic does indeed lay inanimate again, he narrows glowing eyes towards the corner. Already a line is forming because…let's face it: when you're high, pretzels are the bomb.

*

Boy are they ever. Kai doesn't see potential danger. He sees potential pretzels. Suddenly, he wants pretzels. So much. And they're close to the Sanctum he was going to visit anyway. Something about being high as a kite makes him want to visit the Sorcerer Supreme, or as Kai thinks about him: surrogate big-little brother, who seems older but is in fact much younger. "Look, baby, they got pretzels!" He stares at Loki and whispers, "Pretzels." Then he's off, bounding toward the stand.

*

Loki is walking along with Kai, an amused smile permanently on his face, because kai is high…and that's funny, and then Kai is super excited about pretzels, and /that's/ amusing, and also because it helps cover for all the jumbled memory garbage trying to settle itself in his mind. Nothing's in order or context, yet, and magic is like playing with fire, and half is still missing and…and…its a mess. But, if he just focuses on Kai, he can function.

*

Loki says, "Get as many as you like.."

*

"Oh…seven hells, really?!"

The Sorcerer's huffing exclamation leaves him as he sees familiar faces join the growing line at the stand. Seriously. Someone in the cosmic other-realms is yanking his chain. The Elf and the Prince and both far too close to that stupid pretzel stand that is bothering him on some Mystical level. It's making his teeth itch in their sockets. Beneath the cover of the leather blazer, the Eye of Agamotto vibrates like a pager in agreement. Its citrine wink is muted to all but the Sight. Twitching his nose in a sniff, not too unlike a boxer readying to enter the ring, Strange patters down the steps and begins to stride down the block towards the stand.

It's still a good distance off, beyond a crosswalk and yet another half length of houses, set up in just the right place to net a good number of passersby all drawn by the blissful idea of salt and butter on carb-laden bread — even melted cheese if one puts down a few extra cents. The gentleman in the shade of the umbrella popped open rotates them on the heating apparatus, making sure they are golden before tossing them in melted margarine and sea salt. Fine ingredients…very fine. Perhaps a little too fine if one takes a moment to weigh the general income of a pretzel stand. Most of the folks in line, like Kai, are floating on some sort of euphoric high, and most won't notice that there's a crackling of inky blackness growing at the outer corner of his eyes. Maybe he's just weary…maybe it's a medical condition…bro, maybe it's the weed and you should buy from a better dealer next time.

*

"You're the swingingest," Kai tells Loki, and there he is, waiting on his turn for buttery-carb deliciousness. Kai watches the man doling out pretzels, willing him with his mind to move faster. It doesn't work, but that doesn't stop Kai from giving it his best shot. When he notices the inky blackness, one of the few people who do, he says in a low tone, "Wow, like, wow. Far out." He must be tripping. "That's out of this world. Cosmic."

*

Loki is still a little…out of it, so it takes him a moment to recognize that there might be some sort of dangerous thing at work. He frowns at the inkiness, then, and reaches out to curl pale fingers around Kai's arm. "Perhaps…it would be better…to sate your appetite somewhere else." Suspicious Loki is suspicious…

*

Relief provides a hit of cooling balm to his nerves a-jangling as Strange approaches the crosswalk. He can see what appears to be the Prince intervening with Hjuki — er, Kai, right — in the line and the body language seems prohibitive. It makes sense: both the Asgardian and the Sorcerer should alert to the abnormality currently eating the pretzel seller from the inside-out. A taxi blares its horn in warning and the good Doctor is quick to jump back; the wind of the vehicle's passing is enough to drag at his clothing.

"I was walking there!!!" He can't help the shout, his Midwestern accent standing in for the quintessential Bronx. No rude gesture, however. Just a glower to peel paint. Glancing both ways now and waiting for a moment of clear streets, he then gets to jogging with those long-legs of his, fighting the urge to break into a sprint. The crimson scarf is bright enough, tending to catch in any breeze, that it might visually signal his approach even if his shout didn't reach the line.

The pretzel maker is in the middle of salting a pretzel when he hears Kai's comment. "Yeah, it's on tha stand, what'd'ja expect?" His tongs tap-tap towards the front of the stand, where indeed, "Cosmic Pretzels" is emblazoned in black paint. "How many'd'ja want, kid?" His abnormal eyes shift to Loki's hand wrapping around the Aflheimian's arm and he scowls. "Ain't gonna let yer little brother have a pretzel? He waited in line long 'nuff. I can smell 'im from here. Juss let 'im have his pretzel, yeesh." The blackness creeps tendrils further into the whites of his eyes. They actively begin to curl around his irises, not too unlike an encroaching octopus upon hapless prey. The man's nervous system reacts; he jerks in places, drools a little at the corner of his mouth, but whatever spreads fights to keep its hunting blind alive and functional. "That'll be two dollars," the seller slurs, his face beginning to droop loosely.

*

"Four," Kai says without pause. Then he laughs. Cosmic Pretzels. "Serrure, I'm starving to death," he complains, still giggling a little. He holds up four fingers to the pretzel pusher, even as he lets Loki draw him back. He'll get there, pretzel man. He just needs to confer with his 'big brother.' In low tones, he tells Loki, "I'm kind of stoned, man, and I need pretzels. He gives Loki the big blue (and slightly bloodshot) eyes."

*

Loki frowns and pulls Kai back. "No. Somewhere else. There's something going on here…I can feel it, but not exactly what." He says softly, but urgently, backing away from the pretzel cart and forcibly dragging Kai despite his great desire. He really doesn't deny Kai much, so…he figures he gets one now and then. The honking car makes him jump and he looks to see Strange. Now he's just /certain/ something is up that's bad. That guy has…'bad stuff happening' written all over his hasty face.

*

The pretzel seller weaves in place before jerking ramrod straight, as if someone pulled tightly on strings directing his body. "What's wrong with tha pretzels?!" His voice raises loudly. By the reddening of his face, he was already a yeller to start with and prone to flushing in anger. Were it not for the totality of glossy blackness removing all normality in his eyes, the stand minder would look to be near through a bottle of gin for all that he continues slurring, nearly spitting. "There's nothin' wrong with tha pretzels! You wanna pretzel, go elshewhere!!!"

The loud voice reaches Strange's ears even as he sees the tongs rise up in a threatening gesture and the sense of wrongness shifts into fifth gear. His ear ring as if having experienced a smashed gong at close range and even as he's coming to an abrupt halt, his own shout carries:

"Your highness, CLEAR THE STAND!"

Hopefully the Asgardian has the same reflexes that the Sorcerer has seen from the older, blonder relation. The spell hastily cast sends a sheer wind gust slicing towards the stand. Upon impact, pretzels and seller go flying. Anyone standing close enough to get caught by the outlying reaches of the invocation stands a good chance of anything from being spun on their feet wildly to being knocked butt-over-tea kettle.

Where the stand once stood hovers a bowling ball-sized perfect sphere. No, not sphere, a gouge in reality that is at once three-dimensional and inverted, showing naught but pitch black. One might not be wrong if there's the sense of something looking back.

*

Anyone else standing behind them in line either stands there in stunned bewilderment or scatters too, frightened into flight by the alien presence of both magic and a rip in reality.

*

Kai's eyes widen. "Those aren't pretzels," he murmurs to Loki. Then he tugs at his sleeve. "I want scones," he says. "I want scones, can we get scones?" He stumbles back, into Loki, and turns to scrabble at him. "I don't want these pretzels," he says with growing agitation.

It's hard enough to stay high when one is from the higher realms. Burning through adrenalin doesn't help. Kai's starting to come down from a bad trip.

*

Loki yells at Kai, finally, "What is wrong with you? Is this the drugs?" It maybe doesn't count as their first fight, but as the cart starts exploding, Loki's aggitation is apparent. They catch the tail end of…exploding dimensions and are showered with demon pretzels and Loki is shoved against a nearby car, which dents the hell out of it. He holds his free hand out in front of him and tries to cast something, but it seems to be sputtering at best at the moment.

*

Strange grimaces for how he hears the clanging thud of the Asgardian Prince against the car frame, but by how the fellow caster has hands out and remains on his feet, he's cognizant enough to attempt magic. With scattered potential buyers and pretzels alike, the stand looking like a ransacked mess, and the body of the pretzel seller lying prone on the sidewalk not far away, the Sorcerer bolts as fast as he can to Loki's side.

"Apologies, your highness," he mutters, giving the Asgardian a quick side-glance before giving the spherical black hole his full focus. His own hands, also raised, have formed defensive mudras — an shielding spell awaits fruition on the tip of his tongue. "Have you seen anything like this before, either of you?" He does include Kai, even if he's well-aware of the fact that the Elf looks fit to split in burgeoning fear.

The perfect orb emits a low-key hum now, expanding and contracting by centimeters at a time. It feeds on whatever is nearest to it, which apparently includes the metaphysical structure of the reality around it, down to the atoms in the open space around it. The heavy stare from within dares anyone who grants it attention to come closer, perhaps playing on basic instincts to swat at a bothersome fly to make it go away. The movement of the air around the three of them is slow at first, hardly noticeable, but picks up as the seconds pass — and it's indicative of a vacuum.

*

Kai slams into the car beside Loki, not quite as hard nor as durable, but well enough he's on his own two feet still. Nothing sobers him up like Loki's yelling. Some part of him is still very cognizant that this Asgardian, for all his affection, is still ranked so very much higher than the elf could dare to dream of. He stands up straight, squares his shoulders, and says, "My apologies, my prince."

He swallows and shakes his head at Strange and says, "I don't even know what 'this' is." It was supposed to be pretzels. Is it too much to ask? "Those people," he says to the onlooking bystanders. "Someone's got to get them away from that thing." He's still a little buzzed, but clearer thinking is getting the upper hand.

He starts to go to a nearby woman, calling to her, "Run! You've got to get away from here!"

*

Loki frowns and just…you know…he would have loved watching Kai suck cheese off a pretzel. Just…licking all that salt…and running his mouth up and down that curvey part…but no, it has to be a sphere of evil instead. He lets go of Kai once they are somewhat away from the danger and the chance that he'll try to injest evil snacks is low, and looks to the efl first. "Help them…but…do not show /it/ to anyone right now. Its too dangerous. I can feel the pull of it." Loki then looks to Strange and nods affirmative, then negative, then affirmative again. "I…want to say…yes, but, I cannot grasp it entirely." testingly, though, he rips the mirror off the car he slammed into and tosses it at the orb to see what happens.

*

OMNOMNOM.

Er…KZZT.

That side mirror disappears entirely, sublimated upon impact and then absorbed into the depthless blackness. It grows a centimeter more in diameter for the successful incorporation of the matter and Strange sucks in a hissing breath.

"Son of a bitch, it got bigger." About his hands, the air begins to glow and give the impression of crackling. It's a humdinger of a defensive spell in the case of a sudden twitch by the black hole. Malevolence oozes from it and having gained power for the mirror, there's the impression of attention shifting from person to person on the scene. The spotlight, anti-bright, forcing the feeling of gut-watering fear upon them for all the second (or seconds) it remains on them before passing on. No one would be maligned if they quivered under its focus.

The Sorcerer dares to look away from it to see what Kai is up to. "As he said, get them away!" Perfectly logical, no reason not to echo the opinion on how to immediately manage the situation. The air continues to gain speed, as if someone turned on a giant fan behind them, and loose fabric begins to riffle for the motion.

The woman Kai approaches lets out a scream of being startled, having been staring at the black sphere, and runs away, throwing her pretzel at him in the process. Whether or not it impacts is up to Fate; if so, there's cheese involved with said impact.

*

Kai's lips twitch, but he still doesn't dare lean on levity while his prince is in a state. He's still not sure what the mercurial fellow might do when he's angry. So he merely says, "Of course, my prince.

When the woman hurls the pretzel, Kai tries to catch it. It might not be too late for him! He has the thing just at the tip of his fingers, but the cheese is so hot and melty, it causes the pretzel to slip from his fingers. Tragedy! The pretzel splats on the ground, and Kai responds, "Damn it!"

But there are more people to help, and he runs to them each in turn, pulling them out of their trances and telling them to run. In some cases he physically drags them away. He accepts the screams and peltings as his due. Heroing is thankless business."

*

Loki notices that the 'suck' of this black hole seems to be growing. "You have power. We need to move it where it cannot draw anything in. We know not what will occur if it manages to get large enough for…" Here Loki shudders and pauses in his words, then grips the car, thinking, dredging, trying pull out something useful. But, he's still clearly struggling with the arcane, as much as he'd love for no one to know that. Still whipped from the previous night's performance, apparently.

*

In Kai's case, heroing might be thankless, but it's not cheese-less. By the time he manages to get the majority of the bystanders shooed away, he might be sporting a few splats of melted dip that would be considered fashionable for their utter unpredictability of impact upon his clothing.

"Move it…" Strange echoes, glancing over at the Asgardian Prince with a slowly-growing grin. "Gods below, I forgot how canny you are, your highness." The smile has aspects of a fencer's salute to it.

A sudden strong influx of wind marks a kick up in the power of the black hole. The jilted stand begins to shift along the concrete, its metallic parts making grinding screeches for the drag. So too does the prone body of the pretzel seller begin to shift; limp-limbed, bleeding from vacant eyes and nose and ears, it's clear that he's dead — but this malevolence doesn't mind. Anything is fuel.

Strange bends his knees and leans away from the thing, hands upraised. In a sudden infurling, the crimson Cloak is clasped upon his shoulders, overtop the blazer, and providing counter-pull. "If you can keep anything from slamming into me," he calls over the rush of wind, squinting at Loki, "I can flip the thing into the Mirror Dimension!"

*

Kai says a quiet farewell to this psychedelic button-up shirt he's enjoyed so much as the cheese's oils soak in. Betrayed by cheese; sure he's still alive in the wake of this attack, but is it really living? "Oh, no," he says when he sees the pretzel seller is dead. He goes about getting the last few people out of there.

The last one, a young woman in heels, starts to get picked up in the brisk winds. She screams, and her pretzel hits the ground at Kai's feet. Cheese spatters on his shoes. To his credit, he doesn't notice. He jumps up and grabs her ankle, pulling her down into his arms. He doesn't even look up her skirt.

He's quick to carry her out of the wind's reach. "Hurry now," he tells her, "you're all right. Go!" He sags against the dented car near Loki and tells him and Strange, thoroughly unnecessarily, "That's all of them."

*

"I can do that…sorceror." Loki stretches out his arms and grabs the door of the car, pulling the vehicle as a blocker for Strange against smaller objects. He's also exceedingly heavy, and he moves from where Strange is, closer to Kai, whom he also knows is heavy, and starts grabbing debris that looks light enough to be carried off. "Will it harm that dimension? Can you…leave it there?"

*

CLANG! There goes a garbage can from the sidewalk glancing off the car's hood. What a divot — at least it doesn't hit anyone!

Strange ducks instinctively before glowering at the two from other Realms. It's a passing look, his expression then squared back to keen intensity that grants his eyes a scalpel-edged glint. "I can play inversion with the best of them, your highness! It can enjoy feeding upon itself!" His words are almost ripped away for another up-kick in the wind speed. Now everything loose is beginning to rise or flap about, from clothing to hair to newspapers. "Kai, now that they're gone, try to — "

The Cloak needs to rev up its efforts as his dress shoes begin to lose purchase on the cement. The pretzel stand is lifted and sucked into the stygian depths. The pretzel maker's body isn't far behind. The impact of both against the illogical surface of the sphere sprays up silver shards and red droplets before these too disappear. It gains another two inches in size, now nearing a beach ball, and the Sorcerer is hard-pressed to keep his balance. The man's mouth forms some sort of curse word before he flashes teeth in a snarl of defiance. "Don't let anything interrupt me!" Maybe they can pick out his request through the sounds of various objects tumbling towards the black hole. Winding through the wind is an otherwordly howl that serves to crawl beneath skin and dance along nerves.

*

Kai grimaces as the pretzel man's body is sucked up into the void. That man was someone. He had friends, a family. There might be a wife and children at home who will never know he didn't just up and leave them. "Try to what!" he calls above the howling of the wind.

Don't let anything interrupt the Sorcerer Supreme. That much Kai can do! It's a good thing, because there's a bike whose lock snaps, and it comes hurtling toward them both. Kai doesn't think, he reacts, namely by whipping into the bike's path, turning his back to it, and bracing. It hits. Hard. It knocks him to his knees, the handle bars smacking him in the head before bouncing off into the whirlwind.

Kai blinks a few times, disoriented, but the sorcerer remains undistracted, and the Alfheimian, higher creature that he is, is able to pull himself to his feet, rubbing the back of his head. Ow.

*

Kai gets a bike. Loki gets a /tree/. There's a hole in the ground where the tree used to be as it gets tugged right out of its little 4x4 square and yanked into the trickster. He would LOVE to not be hit, but if he doesn't get hit, then he has to /stop/ the tree some other way. He lets out a strained sound as he braces against the ground and holds his hands out to 'catch' it. The concrete is kicked up as he fights against the now extreme amount of drag and…he's rather concerned that Strange will get tugged in too. "KAI…Kai get the wizard! Hold him fast!"

*

The bike frame is bent for the glancing blow from the Alfheimian; it would have concussed a standard human being, definitely broken a bone or two. His density serves him well. KZZZT — into the black hole it goes. Thank the gods that Loki catches hold of the tree! Without his interference, the Sorcerer in question, just reaching the stage of beginning his spell, would have been buffeted off his feet and likely to his doom.

It would normally take a flick of mudras to flip the dimension about them to the Mirror Dimension, but this is replicating and flipping the dimension inside of the dimension while inverting the properties of the first dimension to bend every rule of Earthly physics, and…frankly, it takes a bit more time to line up those ducks. Squinting until all that can be seen are glowing slits for eyes, Strange's mouth moves but no audible sound can be heard over the yowling of the wind. The sensations of the spell might be felt like the impacts of heavy items upon the ground, in the ribcage like a subwoofer; for every hard syllable, a thud. There's a rising squealing SHRIIIEEEEEK from the black hole and…

Like a kraken formed of oily smoke, tentacles writhe forth from it! The first dives for an obvious object — a parked car already barely staying in place for the weight. Matter crunches first before being sheared through, dissolved and absorbed by the impact of the curling about it. Next to go? That tree. Loki might feel a radioactive chill eminating from the swirl of solid-smoke that yanks on the tree. Suddenly, it's a supernatural tug of war! Giving in means releasing the tree to its doom and possible impact with the Sorcerer deeply distracted by his spell. Holding on means digging in heels and praying to Hela that she doesn't take interest in anyone's soul anytime soon!

*

Kai reaches for Strange to hold him in place, but then there is a tentacle. "What the hell!" Kai cries out, er, heroically? He's no great sorcerer nor a wielder of high magics, but his thinking goes like this: darkness hates the light. Moonlight erupts from him, covering him in a nimbus of silverblue.

It may be the magic, not the moonlight itself, that saves the elf's life as he lunges forward and punches the tentacle. "Stop! Existing!"

*

Loki keeps holding on, while the tentacles try to drag him and the tree into the void. He also gets flashbacks, traumatic events, that make him gasp. His expression shifts and the sidewalk has two ditches being carved out by his feet. Branches fly off, his hair is toussled into a true rat's nest, too, and his pale fingers dig into the tree, holding it with all his Asgardian strength as the leaves are sucked off it. "ReeeeooooaaaaahhhhhhHHHHHH!"

*

With fists a-flying, the Elf goes on the offensive and the tentacles find it…offensive. His magic-shielded fists, glowing with the silvery light of the moon, slam into one of the sturdier-looking tentacles. The problem with this? Matter vs anti-matter plus some light-bending and excited molecules. KAHWHAM!!! The sound is like canon-fire, the resulting ambiance near-blinding, and while there's no smoke, there's the scent of burnt ozone as the tentacle disintegrates backwards like a cigarette burnt through in fast-forwards. Backwards momentum throws the Elf violently away from the point of impact. Violently.

The Asgardian's battle-roar is met with another shrill cry like metal upon metal that crawls up everyone's spine. His tentacle seems to want to simply spite the Prince, not shearing through the tree trunk it grips. More tugging, violently, but ultimately stymied by the sheer power of Loki's strength.

The Sorcerer Supreme is nearly finished with the spell. His silvered temples have partially greyed out for his efforts and one can see the crystalline fracturing of the air around the throbbing sphere of blackness. The malevolence inside senses this and tries to double its efforts. Two more tentacles appear, thrashing out blindly! The crimson Cloak valiantly keeps him from sliding forwards, its loose folds pulled nearly flat towards the black hole, but inch…by…inch, he's beginning to slip.

*

He really has no grasp at all of the totality of the situation….nor why there's apparently a wizard there fighting. But the sight of both friend and benefactor fighting this….whatever it is, is enough to get the Soldier involved.

The old saw goes that when all you have is a hammer, ever problem looks like a nail. That's certainly true here. For there's the rapid series of reports that comes with someone firing a pistol, the rounds aimed straight for that black sphere. Will it hurt it? Most likely not. Will it distract it? Hopefully so. Bucky doesn't look angry or afraid, per se. He looks puzzled and a little annoyed, as if trying to put together a model kit where all the instructions are in Mandarin.

*

Metal buckles and shears as Kai's through it with enough momentum left to smack the brick wall behind with an audible crack. He crumples to the ground, and the groan shows he's at least not dead. Yet. But he is out of commission, a puddle of glowing elf.

He reaches feebly for a shard of metal stuck in his arm and plucks it free. Not the best choice. Now he's bleeding. He groans and just kind of lays there for awhile.

*

Loki is going to have to let go of the tree. He cannot keep it up. But, he absolutely cannot let it hit Strange. When he hears the gunshots, he glances in Bucky's direction…and that's when he sees Kai, slumped, bleeding, against the wall. His pale goes paler, and his resolve might as well be made of vibranium. Tearing up the sidewalk even more as he goes, he shifts his position, still holding the tree, until its clear of the line of Strange, and then, the trickster pulls out one of the OLDEST tricks inthe book. Heavy resistance, making the monster pull so hard that when he abruptly lets go…it might just whack its own self with a tree.

*

With the arrival of the Russian assassin and the hailstorm of bullets, the tentacles are now finding it very difficult to remain within this dimension. Combine this with the Mystical pressure of the dimension itself beginning to fold like paned, melted glass around it, heedless of its attempts to out-absorb the slagging, what tentacles are present writhe madly. The projectiles shot at it are absorbed, but still manage to distract — distractions must be dealt with — violently, as always. That car sheared in half earlier lies puddling oil and various engine fluids. The front half is picked up and thrown with the fervor of an infuriated toddler at Bucky, intent upon splattering him like rotten fruit on the pavement beneath its impact.

The Alfheimian lies down to the count, still breathing. Concrete bears the scars of the Asgardian's shifting in place. The tree released from Loki's grasp like a pebble from a slingshot rides the momentum of the tentacle's grip and indeed, it does smack into itself! Unfortunately, the black hole acting as central node eats up that noble plum tree, still barely leafing into spring-green. Omnomnom!

With a final Word spat out, Strange finishes his spell and breaks his wrists to put a punctuated period on it. The black hole wavers and drowns beneath the enfolding of the Mirror Dimension's encroachment on it, but it fights! It fights to stay within the dimension and still, those two tentacles search him out. The wind speed drops dramatically, blocked off in odd spots as it is, and instead becomes focused beams. As Strange slumps in moderate dizzines for utilizing such willpower in one sitting, a tentacle makes a lucky swat. THUD, like the sound of a fist hitting a punching bag, followed within a blink by the impact upon metal. The car blocking debris proves his backstop and the wind is very much knocked from him. He too slumps, propped up by a hip and a hand as the other grasps at the Eye. He gasps for air, of no use to anyone until he finds his breath.

*

Despite his recent stresses, as it were, the Soldier steps and turns on a heel, with the contemptuous grace of a matador confronted with an inferior bull, letting the flung car speed past him close enough to ruffle his hair. And then he's moving in earnest at a measured run, but still firing. Look at me, you creepy thing. Leave the wizard and the elf alone, you bastard.

*

Kai croaks, "Bucky?" as he spies the Soldier, drawn by the sound of gunfire. He wheezes for breath and tries to get up, then changes his mind and lays down in his little brick divot. "He's so cool," he groans to no one in particular. Then he lies there, just… just going to rest for awhile.

*

Loki bursts into a sprint. He's not really thinking about it, now, just operating on instinct. The spell is going to work, it just needs time…and that /thing/ is distracted by the bullets. He moves his hand sharply in front of him, then back, then snaps the knuckles upwards. His fingers glow gold a moment and then, ringing the creature, appears a dozen images of his own self. Targets. Empty targets to buy them all that liiiiittle bit of time they need. Targets that cannot feed it. He presses backwards, then, shielding Strange with his own body while his eyes dart often to Kai in his safer location.

*

Bullets zip into the tentacles that attempt to remain free of the reality nearly closing off around it. Through the appearance of translucent jelly, the black hole chews and gnaws, but its growth is impeded by the sheet atmospheric and metaphysical weight of the Mirror Dimension-within-Dimension attempting to close off. Damn that gun-toting assassin! The tentacles are needing to retreat, to hermit-crab away back into their nebulous centralized darkness, and can't reach the back half of the car to attempt another smushing.

Even the illusions are torment! Swatting at what it can sense, it drags through them and erases them, sucks up the ambient realignment of energized light refraction, but there are so many of them! Like a stomach prevented from expanding further by tight jeans, there comes a disturbing gurgling growl. One tentacle is snipped and disappears from existance as quickly as a shadow thrown into light. The remaining tentacle is hell-bent on ending at least one of these loser's existances! It sweeps out wide, taking out the majority of Loki's illusions and seems to suddenly figure out that the original now stands between it and the source of the powerful magic at the crux of its demise. It rears back, like an angry cobra, and the muffled cry is set to shread eardrums.

Over by the busted brick wall, a little black nose sniffs at a crystalline fruit that has rolled out onto the sidewalk. A few more twitches of that schnoz, a sneeze, and then the delicate closing of teeth around it. The scruffy terrier-mix, no more than 25 pounds in total and nearly all skeleton, trots over to Kai where he lies and drops the apple right before his face. The dog then sniffs at the Elf with utmost care before licking his nose, its bushy tail wagging furiously.

*

All he can do is be a diversion….and as it swipes at Loki's dopplegangers, Bucky stops running, all the better to stand and brace that pistol. Not quite point-blank, but….the mortal's determined to be the nearest thing to it. After all, if he gets hurt, there's at least one healer on hand. One magazine runs out, and he slaps another another into place. "C'mon, c'mon," he mutters at it, irritably. Like it's a pet refusing to behave.

*

Kai peers at the schnoz, and he spies the nearby apple. He closes his hand over it and drags it close to his chest. He's already starting to get some of his oomph back, but he's still better off laying down and getting licked. There's a rather nasty, twisted shard of metal in his thigh, broken glass stuck here and there, cuts and abrasions aplenty.

The schnoz though. Is that…? Kai's nose is licked and he wrinkles his nose. "Nice doggie," he murmurs. What can he say to a fellow sad stray?

*

Loki reaches back to grab hold of Strange. He waits…waits until the last moment as that tentacle comes down, and it shrieks at them, then he yanks the sorceror supreme from his nice, chill leaning spot, trying to tumble them both along the ground towards the wall so that hopefully all that tentacle will have revenge on is the car that was behind him. He is a quiet fighter, it seems, not a lot of chitchat. But, maybe its because the tentacle monster doesn't seem to have a lot of ways you could insult it.

*

Full of bullets and seizuring in little twitches, the tentacle is nearing its end. It manages to descend with all the fury it can manage, the last frantic attempt of the dying creature to take down another with it, and smashes through that car. What is smashed is left hissing in the wake of its destruction, nearly a third of it crumpled to the pavement, and then the last runnel of reality closes about its thick stump. Snip — as cleanly as a pair of scissors through paper, and the spell completes its task. The black hole, filled with malevolent hunger to consume all and home dimension to those tentacles, is trapped within a trap, eating at itself madly, for time unending. Because karma is a bitch.

Strange, yanked to one side abruptly, can do naught but go with the motion. Both practitioners end up beyond the half-crushed car, a fair ways from the divot left in the concrete, and it's in the critical next few seconds of silence that he finds his voice again.

"Thank you," he manages before coughing from where he rests, half-sprawled again on the sidewalk. The crimson Cloak tenderly touches at the near-back of his head, where a nice goose-egg is forming. He winces, teeth flashing in a grimace.

It seems as if the world around them gives a grateful, weary sigh. The presence of the invading force is no more. The little terrier, finished sampling Kai's nose, moves on towards the visible ear because ear wax is delicious!

*

The problem is, these days, that he can't tap into those skills, those reflexes, without courting the appearance of the Soldier. So James's expression is almost nonexistent, and he checks and reloads the pistol, before turning his attention to the others. It's Strange who gets the closest scrutiny, though he doesn't approach. Instead, he's looking to Kai, for the moment. The dog gets a puzzled little frown.

*

Kai groans, because the tickling snout makes him laugh, which makes all the aches in his body throb. "No, hee hee, don't do that, hee hee hee ow." He pats the dog with a shaky hand and murmurs, "You're a nice doggie. I'm going to call you Kevin."

He sits up with a grimace, apple clutched to his chest (for all the good it does), and he asks, "Is it over? I'm all right." One by one, the unsteady hand that was petting Kevin starts gingerly seeking out protrusions of metal and glass to pull out one by one.

*

Loki practially shoves past Strange once the threat is ended, and gushes as he rushes to Kai. "Kai!" The darkhaired god exclaims, and is pushing at Kevin the dog so that he can see all these injuries. "You /lie/….I see you bleeding…"

*

Shoved basically onto his back by the abrupt departure of the Asgardian, it leaves Strange to indulge in a moment or two of lying there. The ground, even riddled with little holes and littered with various objects sucked out of place by the black hole, is comfortable when one is tired. It's the crimson Cloak that helps him to sitting upright and his groan is quiet when he touches that goose egg again.

"Gods below…where the hell did that come from?" His eyes, back to their usual steel-blue, linger on the empty space once occupied by the antithesis of space. The good Doctor has some vague memory of hearing gunshots, but who was doing the…shooting? His face turns full to the man standing there, gun fully loaded and held with masterful ease, and there's a crystalline moment of deja-vu. Oh yes. The Sorcerer with the steel-safe photographic memory knows that face. It last glowered at him over a vial of holy water and he remembers the thump of a duffelbag of bills onto the Sanctum foyer floor. "I don't have any silver bullets on me right now," Strange comments quietly as he slowly gets to his feet. Ow. His back hurts.

Kevin the terrier dances lightly away from Loki's outstretched and stands a few feet away, politely demurring to simply stand there and wag his tail, one ear perked and one ear drooped — perpetually. He tilts his head to one side…and then the other, never losing sight of the one who dropped that Shiny Fetchable Thingie.

*

The Soldier regards Strange with that wolf's stare, far warier than the newly-dubbed Kevin. But then, Bucky isn't part Jack Russell. "I don't know you," he says, softly. "Use the apple on him," he orders the Prince, with an utter lack of deference. But all the while, his focus is still on Strange. "What did I go hunting that I needed silver bullets from you? Werewolves?" Apparently entirely serious - there's that automaton's deadpan. Nevermind that he just saw Strange banish something like an Elder God. He paces towards the Sorcerer, without any sign of fear, the pistol still loose at his side….and then he suddenly dashes forward, firing. Strange would be entirely reasonable inthinking the Soldier wants to cancel his debt by cancelling the Sorcerer himself. But there's a metallic clang just beyond Stephen, and slurred groans as something undead pushes itself up from beneath a manhole cover. There's a hint of the reek of the sewers. "Serrure, get Kai out of here," he says. A glance to the side, as if instinct says Steve should be there. But no, it'll be him and the magician….for there's an eager pack of zombies shoving its way out from below.

*

Oh, is that what Kevin wants? Kai can't help but smile a little. When Loki comes to him, he gingerly shows off where he's injured. Short answer? Lots of places. The wounds without detritus sticking out of them are already starting to close enough they no longer bleed. It must be nice being from the higher realms.

"Just help me pull these out," he tells Loki. "Did you see Bucky? He's so cool. Look, he's being cool now." there's James being all soldiery and not in the bad way. He lets the hand holding the apple drop, and it rolls from his fingers. Luckily, there's Kevin to dive in and snap it up. Then he lays it before Kai and looks at him, wagging. Again! Again!

Kai laughs a little and leans against Loki, then groans as the zombie pushes himself up from the manhole. "I hate those guys."

*

"yes…Yes he is very skilled." Loki agrees, touching the apple for the first time, ever. Its almost like he's afraid of what it might do of him. "Come…we should do this in the apartment. They can…handle those creatures well enough I would think."

*

The Sorcerer gives the gun-wielding man a flat look. "You offered me an entire bag of cash for blessed silver bullets, sanctified oil, and holy water to hunt down an ancient vampire. How did you manage to forget that?" His grumpy tone will need to be forgiven. Strange is tired, running low on reserves of mortal energy after such prolonged spellcasting, and nursing a hell of a headache. Apple?

The good Doctor glances over to see that, indeed, Kai is still sprawled on the concrete. It takes him a critical second to connect indent in wall, complete with missing bricks, to the Elf now being worried over by Loki and attended by a…stray dog, what the hell? When he looks back, the gun is raised and a finger on the trigger. OH GODS. The crimson Cloak swirls out between stunned Sorcerer and the handgun that barks out repeated shots. By the second shot, Strange is curling up a shoulder towards the man and hoping that the relic catches other bullets.

No impacts, no shocking blossoming of pain anywhere on his body that he'd expect from being shot, and he looks up over the edge of the furled-out Cloak to see the shooter now aiming clearly past him. The absolutely dreadful curse on the tip of his tongue is aborted and Strange dances away with adrenaline-fueled grace from the sounds emerging from the rattling manhole cover.

"When it rains…it pours…" he grumbles, sounding very unamused now.

*

Kevin the stray dog is more than happy to tag along with the Asgardian prince and the Wonderous Owner of the Shiny Fetchable Thing. He prances along, uttering little yodels of delight, that tail ever-wagging.

*

That stupid uppity piece of upholstery, getting in his way. Nevermind what he's seen of Strange's abilities, gut instinct's filing Strange under 'noncombatant in need of protection'. Bucky paces forward, that gliding tread, not running, but closing the distance on the zombies, trying to brush the Cloak out of his way. "You're blocking my line of fire," he tells it, jaw tight. And then, as an aside to Strange, "I've got a bad memory. I guess I killed the vampire, since I'm still here and I don't want to drink anyone's blood."

*

Possibly to Loki's dismay, Kai insists they can't just leave Kevin outside all on his own, so the little dog with his fierce yodels comes up the stairs with them, and Kai calls him a good doggie. Eventually the moonlight will fade, and Kai will figure out why the dog howls. In the meantime, Kai just kind of accepts it as 'this is my life now.'

*

Dark brows rise up even as the first zombie finishes doing the same. It opens an overly-stretched mouth for the torn cheek flesh and utters some gargling rasp. These ones are filthy as well as rotted. And Strange thought the last ones smelled awful.

"If you killed Dracula, the whole world owes you a favor," the Sorcerer replies shortly. "And if not, I will be calling in that favor." He's more than happy to stand to one side and let the gunman shoot it out with the zombies. In the meantime, he can work on thinking of how to hamstring these particular creepy-crawlies. Previously, he had a Varg to do it for him.

*

There's a shrug from the Soldier, as he gives him a glance. The center mass hits are staggering them, but not slowing them. Not that they're advancing at speed, but there's a kind of inexorability that's frightening. He hesitates for a moment, aims carefully, and puts a round right into the darkness of that yawning maw. "Haven't seen these assholes since Wewelsburg," he says, under his breath….and then blinks. Apparently it's one of those moments when memory feels like yielding a nugget of old experience.

*

Critical shots that might drop a living body make no difference when the usual manner of animation is lost. Never mind the heart. Joints creak and squish as the last of the three rises to full height. One of them was once a businessman, still wearing the remains of a suit. Another a jogger; her jacket shows gaping holes and old blood stains, her pants and shoes now muddied. The third isn't much older than twenty, perhaps a college stoner caught in the Park on a dare or on general stupidity. All three show active interest in the shooter and behind and beyond him, the Sorcerer as well.

The one shot in the mouth now sports a clear hole through to the back of the skull. The spinal cord was missed, alas, and one can see the back half of the tentacle-split car through the gory tunnel.

"Wewelsburg?" Even Strange can admit confusion in the moment. He eyes the zombies with caution. For some reason, these are shambling…not the intelligent bullrushers he's encountered at the Park. What is slowing them down…? The Cloak's collars flutter in agitation and he mentally soothes the relic even as he raises one scarred hand to his waist, ready and able to at least throw a levenbolt towards the group of undead.

*

"Fuck," says Bucky, under his breath. "Help me out here, Houdini," he adds, in a tone pitched for Strange's ears. He lowers his aim - he can kneecap one, perhaps, keep it from being able to come after them. Tightly, he explains, "Himmler's castle. Absolutely riddled with every kind of occult nastiness Himmler and his cronies could come up with, and they came up with a *lot*," A nod at their shambling companions. "Like those. I was one of the ones who helped clear it." …..how does that make sense? This guy's about twenty-five, at first glance. Impossibly young to have been in that war.

*

The nickname given to Strange earns the sharp-shooting young man a snort. "If you cleared out a castle of undead, I'm not worried. You keep shootin' there, Ranger." He reaches back to feel at the goose-egg on the back of his head. "Ow…" It's a breath of sound.

One of the zombies utters another guttural growl, angered for the projectiles having split open skin. It can't feel pain, not necessarily, but the general weakening of its infrastructure means that hunting down its prey is made more difficult. Uh-oh… Instead of clumping, the trio begins to fan out, attempting some bizarre slow pincer movement. Strange frowns, still very much unamused.

"You could…shoot out a kneecap, perhaps? And you'll need to explain to me how you don't look as old as you should be." This sounds more like he's intending that he gets his answer on that, one way or another. The gun-wielding young man doesn't exude any magical aura whatsoever.

*

No, nothing occult about him. Not a hint of it. "Can't you shoot lightning or something?" Bucky demands, like Strange is just slacking on the job. He unloads more rounds into the one he's already working on, trying to destroy the knee joint. And then they're spreading out. "We need to find somewhere better to fight from," He's glancing around for some kind of shelter - a doorway, an open building. Even if they can get into the entryway of an apartment complex. "Later," he adds, curtly. "I can't answer any questions if these guys bite my face off."

*

The tendons finally give to the brutal onslaught of carefully-placed shots in the one zombie's leg. A sickening crackle and now this zombie is doing some awfully-awkward-looking drag-lunge-step move while the others continue staggering forwards at Bucky and Strange.

The Sorcerer huffs, now retreating backwards himself. The crimson Cloak riffles its hem, ready at a thought to lift its master into the air and beyond reach of grimy clutching hands. "Lightning wouldn't do much. Their nerves don't conduct electrical impulses like they used to when they were living."

Still, never one to turn down a chance to utilize his abilities for the greater good (and let's face it, the assassin asked for lightning…), a shifting set of mudras means the summoning of a surujin, chain-linked plasmal bolt in fluid sparking gold. Wielded like a bullwhip, it cracks against the skull of one of the nearing zombies and sends it stumbling in disorientation. "Keep them at a distance. Wear them down." This is the council given from the one who isn't going to run out of bullets.

*

"I only got so many rounds, buddy, who do you think I am, the Punisher?" Buck's taking care….but he's also looking around for alternative weapons. He's got knives galore, but who wants to get in range of those nasty hands. "That's better," he approves, when Strange breaks out the occult weaponry. Then he's leaping up onto a parked car, for a moment, all the better to make himself hard to reach. Aiming carefully at them, making the rounds count. "God, what I'd give for a rifle and a high place," he mutters.

*

The zombies continue to drudge forwards, even with the bullets buried in visible splintering points on heavier bones and the sharp CRACK of the surujin. Strange knows it well enough, having dealt with zombies before. The Mystical weapon keeps them at bay, but doesn't dismember them — not without severely weakening the main joints first.

"Maybe you should consider other weaponry besides guns then, hmm?" He can gain the high ground at the moment of the crimson Cloak's enacting of powers. "Look, I can recite another spell, but I'm running out of ammunition myself." He risks a glance up at the soldier atop the parked car. This particular model sports half of a steel sign-post buried in its passenger-side door. Classy!

*

Another rapid scan of the environment….and his gaze settles on an office building. "There," he says, "Can you make it? We're gonna need to run. But I think I can wedge the door, if we can get in…..God willing, these bastards will balk at stairs…." He indicates it with his free hand, and slides down along one side, landing on the ground again. He pats down his pockets. "This is my last mag," he adds, pulling aface.

*

Strange gives the sharp-shooter a scowl. "What, you think this silver hair means I'm slow? Hell no."

And he snaps the feet out from one of the zombies to make an elegant point.

Another mental nudge and swish, he's off the ground entirely courtesy of the Cloak. With feet naturally inclined to point in this stance, he's one tall, lean line of Sorcerous…irritation, framed in red. "Let's go then," and he jerks his head towards the building last considered by Bucky.

*

Bucky whistles at that, impressed. "Man, whatcha been waitin' on?" he asks….and then he's taking off at a sprint. No time to pick the lock when he gets there - a few efficient blows of that metallic hand are enough.

*

"You have your ammunition, I have mine, and we both are going to run out soon here if nothing is done," comes the terse reply from behind Bucky. The Sorcerer has time to admit the efforts of that metallic arm — wait, metal arm?! — before the incoming groan makes him spin in mid-air to face the approaching zombies. Two in the lead, one dragging behind, and the shambling has become a heavy-footed jog. "Alright, inside, let's go!"

*

The Soldier takes off like a shot, getting them through the door. And then he's in a hurry to find anything that'll brace it behind them. The office building, it's after hours. So everyone's gone home….and thank god, the cleaning service isn't there yet. He's already dragging a desk as if it weighed no more than a child's toy, heading for the door. "If we can get out of their sight, we might be able to shed 'em," he advises Strange.

*

"Fine by me." This comes from an office chair rolled into the corner of the entry room. Strange sits in it and sighs tiredly, resting his chin on his palm. The crimson Cloak lays in with deliberately-graceful form about him, giving more the impression of royalty upon a throne. Well…if the Sorcerer has any idle thoughts on it.

Closing off his eyes, he allows himself a frown of concern. The thump on the back of his head is giving him major grief. "When you're done moving furniture, come over here and be quiet. They're simple things, relegated to their hind brains now. Out of sight, out of mind." He massages at one silver temple as he says this, the other hand drumming fingertips on the arm of the chair.

From outside comes the persistent thud of fists against glass doors. The zombies know something came through the doors, but…what's a door? Handle? There is a thing between them and their prey. Thud…thud…thud… Metronomic and fair to give anyone else a headache — and increase any current headaches.

*

He's not so proud he doesn't just hide behind a desk. Even if it doesn't entirely confuse the idiot shamblers outside….Buck's checking what's left of his ammunition, counting his knives,and taking in what he can use against them.

*

Thud…thud…thud…

…was that the sound of glass cracking? Strange's eyes slowly open and shift towards the front doors, beyond sight and the edge of the wall.

Thud…thud…thud-krkle…

A disgruntled and muffled cuss word behind his hands that he drags down his face.

Thump…thump… And then the damning sound of a pane of glass giving. The muted groans become audible again. The Sorcerer looks silently over at the sharp-shooter behind his desk. Another thud and the shifting of shadows on the opposite wall as one zombie attempts to breach the ragged glass still welded to metal door frame.

"I'll be honest with you…whomever you are." His baritone is pitched just loudly enough to reach Bucky. "I have one more spell in me. One more. It's either a full-frontal assault or a perfect retreat. I don't want to leave them walking around. No one should deal with them unprepared."

*

"I'm James Barnes," Bucky says, mildly. "And you're right. Why d'you think I didn't pick up that phone and call the cops? They wouldn't be able to deal with this." He sighs. "Fuck. What a way to go - I survive Torch, Overlord, and Husky…..and then this." Whereupon he picks up an office chair, one made mostly of metal….and proceeds to tear off a leg for use as an impromptu club.

*

"Oh, we'll survive." Strange rises to his feet and carefully rolls his neck and shoulders. "I'll be very tired, that's all." What this entails, he doesn't expound upon. "What else is new though… The Sorcerer Supreme can sleep when he's dead." A faint laugh via an exhale.

The air around him seems to gain a twinkling, dust motes of Mystical energy snaking around his form in a maelstrom. "If you'll lay them down, I'll lay them to rest. Permanently." Power bleeds into his eyes again, paling them to frosted-violet.

*

Bucky slants a look at him. "You are a creepy bastard, you know that?" But his tone is almost admiring. "All righty. Into the valley of death rode the two idiots. Let's do this." A few shoves of more desks create something of a barrier, and then he's settling himself again. Waiting for them to come.

The Sorcerer smiles in a thin, grim line of lips. "I'll take it as a compliment. Do let's."

It is no hallucination if it seems that he draws in the literal light around him and dims the room down to the near lack of visibility of a loss of power.

Thus, the first zombie shambles into easy, silhouetted view after cutting itself near to pieces on the broken window frame. Shreds of flesh hang loosely about its upper arms and shoulders. Is that intestine hanging from its torso? Gross. The other one is shortly behind it, raising up both hands as it emits a moan of…triumph?

This leaves the third outside, still trying to climb in and finding itself without a leg to stand on.

*

The legs, go for the legs. The crack of pistol shots is loud, loud in the room. Buck's placing his shots with deliberation, taking out the vulnerable joints of the knee. And when the pistol clicks on empty, laying into them with his metal arm. You can't infect vibranium alloy by chomping on it.

*

POP-POP, POP-POP-POP!!!

One zombie loses a kneecap entirely and falls to a ooey-gooey heap on the carpeted floor. The other thumps over too, after a moment, and both lie on their backs like overturned beetles. The problem with the ligaments kept intact at the major leg joint is that it's difficult to get upright again.

Well, not a problem for the Soldier and the Sorcerer, that is. The final zombie manages to get hung-up — hung-over? — on the window-frame, impaling itself on a shard of stubborn glass. No pain, just an inability to continue further. It makes grabby-hand motions at what it can see of Bucky.

*

It gets gross - between his hand and the length of metal chair arm, he's able to finish destroying their legs….and then their faces. It may not put them down in earnest, but if they can't run and they can't see or bite….then he's stepping back, the metal arm covered in reeking gore. "I smell like I just lost a fight with a sewer rat," he mutters. No injury, plenty of indignity. "Take it away, Merlin," he says.

*

Strange nods to himself. "That will do, I think." There's an eerie echo to his voice. With that comes the concentration further of the light, until it forms a pattern of golden cat's-cradle strands about his hands.

"Wicked creatures, undead be,
No more with life, thus I decree!!!"

The mantle provides the extra surge of empowerment and the hum of the spell cascading out before him sounds like high-powered lines subjected to their limits. The zombies writhe as the tiny trailing comets surround them; empty sockets and holes glow near-blindingly from the inside out, and then…

Silence. Inanimation. Corpses are now corpses and the Soldier smells like one. Success. The sweet…er…not-so-sweet smell of success.

*

There's an expression of fastidious disgust, and Buck's looking around for the bathroom. For all the world like Lucy after being licked by Snoopy. "Nice work," he congratulates the Doctor, a little deadpan. And then looking down at his arm, "….'m gonna need a whole box of Q-tips to get that crap out."

*

The good Doctor sways on his feet, clutching his head. He needs to catch himself on the edge of the desk with his free hand. Even the crimson Cloak's collars seem to droop a little.

"Hydrogen peroxide," Strange mumbles, squinting blearily at the Soldier. "Gets the blood out. I'd know. Surgery ward." Terse to an extreme, he reaches out and circumscribes a Gate upon the surface of reality beside him. It opens upon the Sanctum, specifically the Loft, and the scent of sandalwood and incense drifts in overtop the general funk of squished zombies. "James? Yes, right, James. We'll talk, James." It's a promise given the tone. "If you'll excuse me, I have a headache." Understatement of the century. The last thing seen before the rift in reality closes off is the hem of the crimson Cloak, fluttering behind its master.

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