Who: Stephen Strange and Sif Where: Central Park, NYC; Yucatan Peninsula, Mexico; the Outer Dimension When: Basically during everything else that is happening: Malaysia, Afghanistan, etc. What: Fighting drug lords and monsters Warnings: Violence Status: COMPLETE
There were only two Asgardians in all of New York City, which made it a little bit easier for Stephen to keep track of where they were in case he needed one of them.
Central Park - that's where Sif was. On the South side of Turtle Pond, to be exact, approaching Belvedere Castle. How appropriate.
Stephen descended from above through a space between the canopy of tree branches, and touched ground within a few feet from Sif. He extended his hand to her. "I have need of your sword, Lady Sif. Preferably along with the rest of you. If you dare join me on a campaign.
She supposed she ought to be used to the comings and goings of sorcerers by now. Still, the lofty appearance of Strange gave her pause, an outlier to her otherwise bland day. The term campaign never failed to send her blood singing -- but.
"It seems sorcerers share similar traits: a complete disregard for anyone else's time save their own."
"I'm sorry, am I interrupting something important?" There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but playfully so. The only thing of interest that had happened in the past few weeks was the unscheduled appearance of Odin, and even that proved to be relatively uneventful. "I know your mood, Lady Sif. Quiet strolls in the park may be good enough for the maidens of the court, but not a warrior like yourself. You seek more enlivening sport, which I am now offering."
"Your enlivening sport has a way of resulting in my public disgrace," Sif replied archly. It was, perhaps, a good thing she would not be visiting the courts of Odin soon. The gossip would undoubtedly deafen.
"What do you seek, sorcerer? We are a in a city of warriors -- why ask me?"
“Come now,” Stephen reasoned, trying to help Sif put things into perspective. “You can not blame me for events unforeseen. How could we have known the All-Father would choose that exact time and place to arrive? Remember, I too faced the All-Father with the evidence of our sport plainly visible on my face. Do you not think I wasn’t humiliated, as well?” A ghost of a smile appeared as his voice spoke fondly, “And, if I recall correctly, you came willingly into my chambers. We enjoyed ourselves, quite thoroughly.
“Shall I count the reasons?” Stephen ticked them off with the fingers of his hand. One: “If by warriors, you speak of the Avengers, they are busily engaged in their own pursuits. Time is of the essence, I need immediate assistance. They are not familiar enough with me, they may decline my request for aid.” Two, “You have lived among them enough to know that dealing with Stark is a headache, which I’d much rather avoid. His ego is legendary in Midgard.” Three, “They rely too heavily upon their Midgardian technology. I prefer not to meddle with their electricity. Not only can it interfere with my spell casting, but,” four, “I am of the mind that matters should be dealt plainly, with cold steel and skill. Finally,” five, “the foes I intend to face include those of the mystic sort, from other dimensions. With the exception of Thor, the Avengers have no experience in such things, apart from the Chitauri invasion. What they see might… disturb them. You, on the other hand, are well seasoned against such matters. I know you will not waiver.”
“is that all?” He was right on all accounts. Her tight frown helplessly turned up into a small smile, though she felt she had acquiesced to the sorcerer far too easily (again, it would seem). It was confidence born of competence which appealed to her, and Strange had it in spades, to adopt a Midgardian term.
“Alright,” she said after a long moment of consideration (entirely effect, it would never do to be too hasty). “You shall have my sword,” she let her gaze travel over him, “and perhaps the rest of me as well.
The pause Sif made might’ve concerned Stephen, if it had not been for her small smile at the beginning. “Then there is not a moment more to lose.” Fortunately, she was already wearing her armor and carrying her weapon. “We must first go to my place, and from there we may travel.”
“A moment more I may require yet, Sorcerer,” she said. She ought to inform Thor, at least, of her leaving, and her quick message to him using Stark’s inferior tablet was brief to the point of being terse: The Sorcerer Supreme requires my assistance and I have agreed to lend him my protection. And when that was taken care of, she turned to Dr. Strange, a feral smile creasing the corners of her mouth. “Will we fly again?”
Stephen waited for Sif to send her message, regarding the tablet with aloof disdain. Modern technology was useful, he supposed, but he personally didn't like to use it, despite the inconveniences that arose. Sif's smile caused Stephen's eyebrow to rise, curiously. "We shall fly to my mansion, but from there, we will take another means of transportation to our destination. Where we need to go is distant. This other method will take us there in a moment."
He held out her hand for Sif to take.
The Brazier of Bom’Galiath was given to Stephen by his Master many years ago. With it, one was able to travel far distances, even to other dimensions if need be. Wong was there to assist, speaking the incantation and burning the perfumed resins that causes a cloud of billowing smoke to appear. As if it had a life of its own, the smoke enveloped both Stephen and Sif. The cloud completely obstructed their vision, and it would seem nothing else had happened, but when the smoke cleared, they were not longer standing in the Sanctum Sanctorium. Instead they were surrounded by a the thick, rich foliage of a tropical jungle.
"We are far South from our original location, in another country. Mexico, to be exact," Stephen explained, looking down at Sif. "The peninsula of Chichen Itza, to be exact. In this country, they have a great problem with warring factions of gangs, vying for control of the illegal drug trade. I usually do not interfere with these sorts of problems, leaving them in the hands of the mundane authorities, but one of the gang leaders have begun using ancient mystical rites in an attempt to bolster their strength. These fools do not know the danger they are summoning. They must be stopped." Stephen smiled a little. "That is where we come in."
The jungles of Mexico smelled of flora, rain, and earth in a way New York never could. Birds calling to each other in the canopy, a snake sliding around a branch, and the constant creaking of insects played a different symphony than cars honking, the subway rattling below, and the churning of bus engines. Even with the significant increase in humidity, the way the heat pressed against her skin like a near physical caress, Sif found her eyes widened in wonder at the scenery surrounding them, for in truth, she encountered few landscapes such as this.
"And how many warriors may we expect to encounter in this 'gang' of which you speak?" she asked, turning back to Strange.
"I know not," Stephen said, getting his bearings by looking around. "There could be ten, there could be thirty. What I do know if that these warriors will not be your ordinary Midgardians. Their strength and skill and ferocity have been enhanced my mystical means. The leader of this gang have been steadily endowing his followers by calling upon one of the ancient entities that once watched over this part of the world. Perhaps you have heard of him? Huitzilopochtli. He too was revered like the Asgardians were. A warrior of great prowess.
"This is the way." Stephen pointed, and then began trudging in that direction, pushing back the dense foliage. "Huitzilopochtli should not be a concern."
The jungle foliage was thick, but her sword was sharp. Branches and vines gave way easily beneath her confident strikes. It was little comfort to not know the measure of their enemy, but the sorcerer's calm seemed to indicate he was quite comfortable in facing down unknowable odds. Bravery, confidence, or foolishness, Sif knew not which, but she would remain on her guard. "The Aztecs. I am familiar with them. They are a quarrelsome race, and very fierce warriors. The have a particular lust for spilling blood." Her tone carried with it a hint of disapproval, mirrored in the tightness of her frown. Humans were often used as sacrifices for the Aztec's entertainment, a practice that had only increased exponentially until the civilization that had worshiped them had collapsed and they had moved on. To draw their attention once more was to invite mass slaughter on a wider scale.
Stephen naturally fell behind Sif to let her clear the way through the jungle, guiding by pointing and short phrases. "We're nearly there," he told her. "The gang has cleared their own path to let their vehicles through, but I thought it wiser to take the back way.
"As far as I understood, the Aztecs agreed to a treaty to leave Midgard alone. If Huitzilopochtli does not desist, the Asgardians may have to pay the Aztecs a visit." Stephen was aware of Asgard's role, to help keep peace in the galaxy. He smirked. "Another reason why you were a perfect choice to accompany me." One look at Sif, and Huitzilopochtli would back down, which was Stephen's best case scenario. The less bloodshed, the better. However, it was more likely that the Aztec would attack, which again, made Sif the ideal companion, since Stephen was not a warrior himself.
"Huitzilopochtli has engaged the gang leader in human sacrifice, once more, offering captured members of rival gangs, and unfortunately, innocent people for intimidation’s sake. They are planning a ceremony, this afternoon."
"You are ever a curious man, Sorcerer," she said, clearing another swath of vines. "How does a man who so clearly cares for the people of this world strive so hard to hold himself apart from it?"
Stephen quirked an eyebrow in Sif's direction, then smiled a little. "It's my nature. Even before I began studying the Mystic Arts, I was a bit of a recluse and kept aloof. After I was bestowed Sorcerer Supreme, I became even more so, It is easier to hold yourself apart when you are significantly different than most of the people."
There was a snap of twigs that caused Stephen's head to sharply turn in that direction. Was someone or something approaching?
Sif, too, heard the sound and paused, sword drawn up. Her gaze attempted to pierce the thick curtains of rainforest -- four men, heavily armed with large Midgardian rifles, bring them up to bear -- and she didn't think before throwing herself towards Stephen and shoving them both to the ground as a hail of bullets rained over them.
"Oof!" Stephen didn't have much time to react besides that, after landing on his side in a thick patch of grass. He gave Sif a look that conveyed, What the hell?
"If you wanted to lay with me," he quipped, "we could arrange something later."
The sound of rifles firing meant the men were still there. "So much for the element of surprise. I can use my sorcery on them... " he suggested, waiting to hear Sif's input.
At his remark, her look to him through the splintered wood and gunpowder smoke could only be described as withering.
"Save your energy for when we'll really need it, Sorcerer." And with that she bounded up, retrieving knives from her boots and flinging them into the trees. A moment later, she was rewarded with the sound of two of the men gurgling as the blades landed true in their throats.
The remaining men regrouped and aimed their fire in Sif's direction, but she had already sprung towards a low-hanging branch and disappeared into the forest. Within minutes, the sounds of men crying out briefly in pain before swiftly being silenced floated back, and a minute after that, she had emerged, cleaning the blood off her knives. "Others will have heard the gunfire."
Propping himself upon his shoulder so he could watch Sif in action, Stephen considered her movements to be lethally graceful, like a Danse Macabe, both terrifying and mesmerizing to behold. There were only two other women who had impressed him like this before. He smiled at her return and told her, "I am not sure whether I should accuse you of being a show-off or be aroused."
Rising to his feet, he said, "That means more will be coming to find out what's happened." He turned in the direction they were heading. "The temple is this way. If we can get to it before..."
With a deft flick, she pocketed her knives back into the boots and smirked. "I would not begrudge you either. They are common reactions for men."
But whatever the sorcerer would have said became all too apparent as the rumble of caravans in the distance drew closer, no doubt bringing with them scores of foot soldiers with heavy artillery. "Too many," she said grimly. They could never outrun them on foot.
Stephen gravely considered their options. They could try to fight them, but as Sif observed, there were too many. Even with his magic, they could be overcome, or at the very least, too battered to even face their real enemy. Quickly making a decision, he told Sif, "Take to the trees and hide. Follow my lead. No time to explain! Hurry!"
She took a moment nonetheless to be bewildered, then annoyed, but the growing noise of their enemy's approach motivated her to slip into the shadows of the trees, soundlessly snaking up the branches to hide within the dense foliage behind a wide trunk. From her vantage point, she witnessed the trucks pull into view and dozens of ragged men bearing ugly, large guns emerge. What are you playing at, Sorcerer?
The expression on Stephen's face was one of fear as he looked this way and that for a way to escape, when he could've easily just flew away if he desired. Feigning that he had no other way to go, he raised his arms up high over his head and exclaimed in perfectly articulated Spanish, "Don't shoot! Please, I beg you! I am unarmed! I surrender!"
Stephen's gamble paid off. The trucks stopped in front of him and while the men inside aimed their weapons at him, they did not fire, much to Stephen's relief. In case it hadn't worked, he would've thrown up a hasty shielding spell and then retreat. Fortunately they had not spotted their slain comrades as they passed through the jungle, otherwise the scene might have plaid out differently.
A number of the men scrambled out of the trucks, guns still pointing at the strangely garbed man, and one barked orders for Stephen to drop to his knees. Stephen meekly obeyed, placing his hands upon the top of his bowed head, Surrounded by guns, he was jostled and asked questions, "What are you doing here?" Stephen tried to reply, but was to flustered to speak full sentences.
One of the men, standing out as a leader, approached with a swagger to his step. He looked down at Stephen then told the others to bind his hands and put him in one of the trucks - they would take the prisoner to the temple. There were wicked grins shared amongst themselves, and one gleefully commented about a sacrifice.
Ropes were brought out and Stephen's hands were bound behind his back. This was a dangerous move on Stephen's part, for his sorcery depended on his hands being free in order to perform the requisite gestures. But Stephen knew how to hold his hands in a certain way so that even though they were tightly bound, he could relax the muscles and free himself, when needed. Pulling Stephen roughly to his feet, they pushed him toward one of the vehicles and stuffed him inside the back.
"Foolish, infuriating man!" Sif cursed, watched at the men receded back into their trucks, the sorcerer in tow, and tracked the caravan through the trees until the last truck started to pass her by.
She waited until it had nearly passed before alighting gracefully onto its roof and slipping in through the open window into the back seat to the surprise of the car's occupants. Before they could recover, she made quick work of incapacitating them, peeled off a jacket and hat from one of the bodies, and assumed his position behind the wheel.
And if the last car in the line of trucks straggled a bit before catching up with its companions, no one seemed to notice as the convoy headed back to its base of operations.
The ride to the ancient Aztec temple was bumpy and crowded, with Stephen wedged in between a pair of grim faced, sweaty guerrillas, but gratefully didn't take very long. The jungle parted and in a sun drenched clearing, a magnificent pyramid rose, its greying stone reflecting the light. There were already other trucks surrounding the temple, with more men mulling around, each of them armed and anticipating the forthcoming ceremony, which they believed would make them invincible.
Stephen was shoved out and forced by gun point toward the pyramid. Steps up the steep side led to the top, where there was a windowless structure. Gesturing with their rifles, they ordered Stephen inside.
It was some time before the truck Sif drove pulled in alongside the others, and by then, most of the men had scattered, drawn to the temple by whatever was to happen next. She was able to leave her transport unnoticed and slipped easily amongst the stragglers, hat pulled down low. Her swords and shield did not much differ her from the machetes and gun around her, neither the fact she was female -- there were several women warriors in the crowd as well, she noted. Surreptitiously, she tried to find Strange.
The chamber was illuminated by flickering torches, which were held in sconces all along the walls. In the corner there were several men, women and children, their hands tied behind their backs, huddled, afraid and surrounded by guards with rifles in their hands - the intended sacrifice for this afternoon. But what drew Stephen's attention were the two fantastically clad individuals. The first one was the priest for the ceremony, Stephen could tell by the ceremonial garb and face paint, and the fact that he was an ordinary human.
The other, whose very presence seemed to fill the room, was Huitzilopochtli Huitzilopochtli himself. His skin radiated blue, and he wore an ornate headdress with green plumes. He wore a loincloth, and his broad, bare chest was adorned with a wide, intricately crafted, metal necklace. Gauntlets were strapped to his wrists, and greaves upon his legs. He sat authoritatively upon a throne carved out of the same grey stone as the temple, and to his left was his mystic shield, known to be able to throw off a light so bright that advancing enemies would be blinded, and to his right, Xiuhcoatl, his powerful mace, crafted in the shape of a serpent.
Beside the two, was the drug lord in charge, the men orchestrating everything. His name, Manuel Baquero. In ordinary combat fatigues. he looked drab beside the Aztec and the priest, but he held himself proud, like a prince. All three were deep in conversation, but they simultaneously stopped and turned when Stephen was brought in the chamber.
"We have a new prisoner for you to sacrifice," one of the guards announced in Spanish.
There was recognition in Huitzilopochtli's fierce eyes when he gazed upon Stephen; he could tell there was something different about this human, and it was not just his clothes. "Who are you?" he demanded.
Stephen boldly countered with his own questions. "Does your sister Coyolxauhqui and your brothers Tezcatlipoca and Quetzalcoatl know you are here? Or have you gone against Coatlicue's edict to leave Tlalli in peace?" He said, calling the earth by the name known to the Aztec race.
Anger swelled in Huitzilopochtli's body as he rose aggressively from his throne, causing everybody in the chamber to flinch and exchange worried glances, including Baquero. Everybody, that is, except Stephen.
"Mortal!" the so-called god spat, using the word as the lowest of insults. "Do you not recognize Death when you see him?"
"I recognize that you have gone against the treaty forged between the different Realms, forbidding interference in the affairs of Tlalli." As Stephen spoke, he managed to free his hands from the ropes that bound him. "The Asgardians will have something to say about this."
Huitzilopochtli laughed. "I am not afraid of Asgard."
"Aren't you?" Stephen asked with amusement.
"Insignificant creature, I will slay you myself." Huitzilopochtli reached down and picked up his mace.
Stephen raised his arms above his head and recited the spell, "By the omnipotent Oshtur -- by the enchanted realm of the Vishanti -- I summon the Vipers of Valtorr! Thus Dr. Strange commands!"
Green, snake-like tendrils manifested themselves out of nowhere, withering and grappling Baquero, the priest and allof Baquero's men in the room, binding them fast and causing them to fall helplessly to the ground, leaving only himself and Huitzilopochtli to fight. Or so it seemed.
"Sorcerer!" Huitzilopochtli exclaimed, now realizing what he was up against. But he was not threatened "Your spells have no effect on me! I wield Xiuhcoatl, the destroyer of gods! Its power will deflect your magic!" Holding his mace high, he brought it down to smash Stephen, but using his Cloak of Levitation, he flew backwards out of the way, and out of the chamber. The place where Xiuhcoatl struck shattered, and caused the whole pyramid to shake. Snarling, Huitzilopochtli followed Stephen outside.
Her efforts to locate the sorcerer were proving both futile and frustrating. The men around milled about the grounds around the temple, aimless but anxious, as if in wait of something. But what?
The loud cracks emerging from the top of the temple and the subsequent ground trembling beneath their very feet soon put paid to further speculation.
She didn't wait a moment longer as she started up the steep staircase, bullets licking at her heels as the men below recovered from their shock and took up arms.
First Stephen flew from out of the chamber, causing the militia to stop firing and stare, but what really startled them was the appearance of their 'god' emerging, brandishing his club. Huitzilopochtli had been focused on the sorcerer, but the lady running up the steps of the pyramid caught his eye. Even though she was garbed in the combat fatigues the mortals below, he could instantly recognize her identity.
Aiming their weapons again, Huitzilopochtli held up his free hand and ordered them in a bellowing voice, "Do not fire! This battle is between the Asgardian and I!" He then addressed Sif, "You and I have a score to settle."
As soon as she was addressed, Sif paused, glaring up at the Aztec god before favouring him with a fierce smile. "You say you have no fear of Asgard -- I'll be sure to change your mind today, Huitzilopochtli. Midgard falls under our protection and you are trespassing."
She withdrew her swords and flexed her wrists.
Huitzilopochtli weighed his mace in his hand, undisturbed by Sif's threat. In fact, he gave her a derisive laugh. "You think me afraid of Asgard?" he boasted. I welcome battle, even if it is only with a mere Shield Maiden."
It was a testament how long she had dealt with the many dismissive attitudes from men that her only reaction was a smirk. "Then battle you shall receive."
She started up the rest of the steps at a run, and as she approached the Aztec god, she sheathed her swords and dove low, sliding through his legs, tucking her body in to execute a shoulder roll that neatly ended with her back on her feet, swords back in her hands.
Her first offensive action was, however, merely to plant the sole of her boot to the god's turned back and shove him down the stairs.
Because of his size, his superior strength and the fact that he held the higher ground, Huitzilopochtli assumed he had an advantage. He expertly swung his mace with a blow that was meant to send Sif flying off the pyramid, but instead she evaded him, Momentarily confused where she'd gone, he bent down to follow the path she took between his legs, but was rudely taken by surprise by a kick that sent him tumbling.
Those at the foot of the pyramid gasped. The majority of them had been witness to a number of human sacrifices already, and they all played out the same way: at the top of the pyramid, the victim's heart would be cut out of their chest by the priest, who would then hand it over, still beating, to Huitzilopochtli, who then would personally kick the sacrifice down the stairs, leaving a bloody trail in their wake. Now they were watching their 'god' making the same fall. It did nothing for their morale.
The symbolism did not escape Huitzilopochtli, either. Before reaching the bottom, he managed to get a footing and prevent himself from falling any further. Snarling, he made his way back up the steps, intent on slaughtering Sif.
She brought up her swords to halt the heavy swing of his mace. The collision of metal against metal rang out across the skies as much as it reverberated down her frame. He was immensely strong, but slow -- she swung one blade around and thrust it towards his middle.
If Huitzilopochtli had been a normal human, the wound Sif inflicted would've been mortal. Instead, it slashed across his skin, leaving a nasty gash that blossomed red with his blood. He had underestimated the Asgardian woman, but not any more. He swung his arm to back hand her across the face, following through with his mace, paying attention to how she might evade. At the same time, he edged his way toward the chamber door with the intention of going inside and getting his mystic shield.
The blow sent her skittering across the stone platform, managing to just barely maintain the grip on one of her swords as the other clattered over the edge and fell to the ground far below. A moment -- to catch her breath, to reorient her rattled senses -- but then his mace came down and she quickly rolled out of the way, pivoting on her hip and slicing her blade through his achilles tendon.
This time Huitzilopochtli shouted in pain, falling over. Though he was defeated, he would not admit his defeat. Defiance blazed in his eyes, even as he grit his teeth and weakly got up on one knee, swinging another blow against his enemy.
She moved but not fast enough to avoid the razor sharp spikes of the mace raking through her leg and leaving a trail of deep bloody gashes in its wake. She cried out in a mixture of pain and, with a furious cry, brought her sword down upon his hand, severing both it and weapon clean from Huitzilopochtli's body.
And in the music of his pain, she once more climbed to her feet, standing tall, point of her blade tipped to run through his neck. "Do you fear Asgard now?"
Though he cringed with agony, Huitzilopochtli bore his teeth in a horrible grin and then laughed. "Do you think I can be defeated so easily?"
"I say if I run this blade through your neck, you won't have to think much at all."
But before any other action could take place, a voice boomed from the sky, "Enough!"
While Sif had been engaged in fighting Stephen had traversed dimensions to reach the planet of the Aztecs, bringing back Huitzilopochtli's brother. Tezcatlipoca was a giant of a man, wearing a pelt of a jaguar, with a yellow and a black stripe painted across his face. His right foot had been severed at the ankle, and in its place was a foot hewn of black obsidian, that glinted in the sun. He had descended from the sky with Stephen, arriving through a mystical portal, and it was his voice that gave the command.
"Huitzilopochtli, you know these people are no longer ours to govern, yet you have blatantly disobeyed!" He then turned to Sif. "The Sorcerer Supreme brought Huitzilopochtli's actions to our attention. We were unaware of what he was doing, but now that you have subdued him, with your permission, I would take him home where he will be dealt with by our laws. There is no need to bring the court of Asgard into this matter." Huitzilopochtli might not have had any regard for Asgard, but Tezcatlipoca knew better: it would not be wise to make enemies with the Asgardians.
Both Tezcatlipoca and Stephen landed on top of the pyramid, near where Sif had subded Huitzilopochtli. Stephen took in the gory scene, but was primarily concerned with the gash on Sif's leg. However, he did not say anything just yet; this sensitive political matter needed to be taken care of, and Sif did not seem to be hindered by the wound.
At the arrival of the sorcerer and Tezcatlipoca, Sif reluctantly lowered her sword and turned to face them. However, she did not bow and looked Tezcatlipoca in the eye as she was addressed -- Asgard bowed to no one, after all.
She remained silent for a long moment as if to weigh the matter carefully, but then nodded her assent curtly. "Asgard will allow the Aztecs to deal with their own. So long as they never set foot upon Midgard again, we are content with a having had only a hand in the matter." She smirked.
Tezcatlipoca nodded to Sif, then turned his attention to Huitzilopochtli. Taking hold of his brother by the arm, he jerked him to his feet. "Coyolxauhqui and Quetzalcoatl are waiting for you," he said in a threatening tone. "The loss of your hand will be the least of your concerns."
With a wave of his hand, Stephen reopened the portal, through which Tezcatlipoca and Huitzilopochtli disappeared. But before he left, Huitzilopochtli looked over his shoulder, flashing an evil, knowing grin at Sif.
The moment the guerrillas at the foot of the pyramid saw their 'god' was beaten, they all jumped into their vehicles and fled. Stephen took note of this, but was not disturbed; his main concern had been the Aztec. The human sacrifices were stopped, the victims were safe. Baquero was still securely bound inside the chamber with his priest with a handful of his men - they would be brought to justice by the local authorities in due time. Coming up beside Sif, he placed a concerned hand upon her shoulder and asked, "Are you alright? Your leg...?"
The last look from Huitzilopochtli caused her to frown, but any further thought was was interrupted by Stephen's touch. She turned her attention to the sorcerer. At his concern she glanced down at her injury. The wound was deeper than a scratch, certainly, but it had missed sinew and bone. The most amount of care it would need, she briefly assessed, was a cleaning and bandage. "It will heal quickly." Such was their constitution. "You promised a tale to tell to my brethren and so you delivered. Thank you, Sorcerer."
"That I did," Stephen replied, still fretting over Sif's leg. It was the doctor in him. He then noticed Huitzilopochtli's mace nearby, his hand still grasping the hilt. Walking over to it, Stephen could barely lift the massive weapon with his meager, Earthling strength, but he managed. Wrenching the severed hand off, he glanced at Sif. "I would take this to add to my collection, along with Huitzilopochtli's shield. The Aztecs may return for them." Stephen hoped they wouldn't so he could keep them, but it was better to be safe that way.
"Let me attend to your wound. Then we have business to attend to, inside the chamber."
The captured men and victims still needed to be dealt with. She ripped a strip of cloth from the bottom of her borrowed shirt and bound her leg. “It will do for now. Asgardians don’t so easily succumb to Midgardian infection.” She holstered her remaining blade and threw a quick glance around. The ghosts of victims still lingered in this place, giving her a sense of unease. “Come, there are still those who need your help and I would be happy to bid this place farewell and return to New York.” Of all the unlikely sentiments for her to have -- but oh, the tales she would tell. She looked forward to sharing a cup and a story with her friend once more.