Gods & Monsters

For a little man with a limp, he was quite fast with his cane. Arachne made sure not to flinch as it touched her neck. He was nothing compared to what Doom was. “I assure you, Mr. Cade, there is no intention of fucking you over. Lord Doom would never do that to you. He is a man of honor and one who appreciates and rewards both loyalty and service. You would have to be the one to… fuck him over before he does the same to you.” Frankly, Arachne would be amused by that thought. Just how long would this American last against Doom? Would he even try to raise a hand against him? Or was he really a coward who only talked big in order to make up for his size?

“The leverage you have is fine craftsmanship and creativity as a weapon smith. You also have factories that were not destroyed during the war, so production is not hindered by delays. But, I will remember the words of the American brave enough to stand square with Lord Doom. A cat that dare looks at a king,” she told him with a sweet, closed lip smile.

“I am sure Lord Doom will be contacting you upon reviewing your weapons and hearing of your generosity. I expect quite a bit of praise, Mr. Cade,” she replied, returning the bow with a nod of her head. “I hope you have safe travels, both into Germany and returning home to America.” That having been said, Arachne turned on her heels and heading for the cab of the truck, intent on driving out of there as soon as Cade and his people were gone. The sooner she was on the road and back into HYDRA territory, the better.

Doktor Karl Ruprecht Kroenen had a reputation for efficiency and patience. His demeanor when working tended to be one of silence and calm and precision.
For the time he had spent tailing Agent Arachne, he had kept his distance, moving silently and leaving no footprints in the snow behind him as he went. When she had stopped at the rendezvous point, he had slowly and carefully approached closer, keeping to the trees, the ticking of his clockwork heard muffled by the snow and the long, tight fitting coat he wore about himself. In a matter of minutes, he had scaled a nearby tree and clung to it upside down, like some sort of cicada in the summertime. He kept still, so very still, unmoving as a statue as he listened to the parties converse.
He determined their positions based on their voices. The amount present. The tone of their voices.
The seller seemed a high strung man. American.
His companion had a voice he recognized.

It was short work indeed.
Agent Arachne had done well, which surprised him to no small degree. Kroenen did not take her for a fool, but he did not anticipate that she would be terribly more than a brawler given her abilities. And yet she had executed her lie very well.
He made note to commend her for that.
And then he felt a presence. The Ogdru Jahad whispered in his mind's eye. The presence was not to be trifled with.
Loki of Asgard. What business had he with Victor Von Doom? It mattered not.
Kroenen heard the footsteps of soldiers. Many soldiers, after the truck had roared to life and he watched it move through the path between the trees.
He kept still....very still.....until the time was right.
Kroenen drew two pistols from their holsters around his hips and began to fire at the pursuing hoard. He kept his position up against the tree trunk by keeping his legs wrapped around it, quickly dropping several of the soldiers to their maker before the others turned to see him.
Some fired back wildly, not entirely seeing his position, others pursued.
Kroenen was out of bullets. It was never his intention to kill with firearms more than was required for distance. He dropped the pistols and dove out of the tree, opening his coat as he did and allowing the twin blades to slide out of the cuffs and rest open atop his forearms. He slashed at two of the soldiers as he rolled to his feet and landed. He began to chase the mass of soldiers, slicing through them like trial mats as he ran, faster than they, catching up to the truck. He made a point of keeping to the driver's side so as to allow Agent Arachne to see him in her mirror. Kroenen kept his back to the rear of the now stopped truck, his swords at the ready. He moved to and fro, reaching, deflecting any bullets intended for the tires or the mirrors or windows.

Kroenen slide backward into the truck further, slicing open one of the crates and reaching for whatever was inside...a rocket launcher of some form. A curious one. It took him but a moment's study to determine its function, and he loaded it promptly and took aim at clusters of soldiers, firing the rocket to hit them square in the center.
Perfect.
And yet, some continued to move toward the truck. 
Kroenen reloaded, firing another volley. It hit its intended targets, leaving only some scattered in riven heaps in the snow. With a growl, his lenses of his mask turned to the helmeted god, staring. The Ogdru Jahad spoke through him, whispering to Loki in a language long dead to most in any realm. Their words were like a spreading fever. An infection. 
Telling him that this was no place for him.
That there was work to be done. 
And he had best leave it to be completed. Preparations were being made. 

When Kroenen's mind returned to his own body, he dove out of the truck and rolled into a crouch, reloading one final volley into the weapon and launching it before he threw it as if it were paper into one of the rushing men, burying itself in his torso. Kroenen drew his blades once again, countering bayonets and taking shots to his person, but paying them no mind. In one spinning move, he slashed through one of the soldiers, catching the dust leaking from his own wounds as he went, and cast them into the eyes of two more before he beheaded them. 
He backed toward the truck again, determined to keep the weapons safe, should any more enemies approach. 

Landing on the ground gave the Latverian soldiers the opportunity to gang pile on Arachne, all with varying levels of success. The intangible ones, whether they were simply illusions of real people that were slightly out of phase with this plane, distracted her enough that Arachne briefly panicked as they reached for her and made ghostly grabs for her. Those hands, combined with the real soldiers attacking, was enough to cause Arachne’s composure to break and for her to feel overwhelmed. Doom was a fan of similar tactics, though he preferred to create only doubles of himself and not his men, clearly showing a bit of narcissism on his part, but that hardly mattered right now.

Arachne screamed as her enemies bore down upon her, throwing her hand up and out. Her powers reacted almost instinctively as yellow-green energy formed and lashed out, hitting targets indiscriminately. Some soldiers were thrown backs, others simply dropped where they stood, and still more just vanished into thin air. Seeing that, Arachne froze, terrified over the thought of her powers becoming that destructive. However, the fear was short lived as one of the men grabbed her by the hair, as well as her suit collar, and began dragging her in the direction of Doom’s sorcerer. A second yell burst from her, this time one of anger, and she grabbed the man’s arm, thrilled to find a solid purchase.

Arachne squeezed and twisted, feeling his forearm break easily. Not letting go, she used what leverage she had and flung the hapless man over her head, sending him into a group of his comrades, knocking them all down. Scrambling to her feet, Arachne looked around, still angry from such a ballsy move. She thought Doom would have trained his soldiers better and make them behave in a more gentlemanly fashion, but then again, maybe that one had missed the lesson.

Eventually her eyes landed on the sorcerer and, rather than run away, she stood her ground, hands crackling with energy. “Come on, you bastard!” she yelled. “If Doom wants me, you’ll have to take me to him yourself!”

Loki was interested, to say the least, in Arachne's apparent need to bait him into attacking her. It wasn't working, but it was curious. After all, if he fought her, there would be nothing left of her. Doom needed his prize.
He was content to lean against his staff and watch the soldiers do their work on Arachne and ....
Wait .... where did her masked comrade go?

It was no sooner that the thought had crossed his mind that something landed on his shoulders. Within seconds, something fired at the back of his helmet and launched the thing on his shoulders well off. He whirled around and saw the masked man crouching, the weapon spinning back toward him.
He stepped out of the way of it and looked at the annoyance with a blank look. He may have been a proud god, but he wasn't stupid. He could tell when he was being distracted. That being said, he was still a proud god and did not like being distracted.

He spun his staff around his arm expertly and gripped it tightly in his hand as he turned away from Arachne to focus his attentions on the masked man.
He wound back before sending a bolt of magic at Kroenen. The man was swift and quiet enough to be able to sneak up on him, a feat rarely accomplished, so to ensure something hit, he swung his staff to the side, sending a volley of ice daggers across the field toward the other man.

His eyes flicked toward Arachne for a moment, just in case she decided to continue toward him. He was interested in seeing what she was capable of, but he had no interest in fighting her. He would if he needed to, however. In his own way.