Chapter Text
She pulled the crimson cape further into her face, wanting to ensure nobody would see her. It wasn't for the protection. For the illusion. Her appearance in itself was a disguise. However, if others thought it wasn't, it would theoretically take them one more step before catching up.
Phoenix looked behind herself. The light in the room was dim, with only a small beam of moonlight peeking through the curtains. And yet, it seemed almost deliberate, landing exactly on the body. Or what was left of it.
She inhaled, the iron smell filling her nose. She averted her gaze from the blood, sliding the card through the terminal on the side of the wall. It beeped quietly before a green light turned on. The door started to slide open.
The ginger gripped the dagger on her side instinctively, knowing better than to count on everyone being asleep. But tonight, she seemed to get fortunate. There was nobody in her vicinity.
A corner of her lips lifted ever so slightly, realizing her way out would be easy.
She threw the card on the corpse of its owner, lazily strutting through the empty corridor.
This woman used to hate such missions. She still had problems with not being able to decide the fate on her own judgment. However, she was good, and she couldn't pretend not to know that. Maybe even too good. Now, no matter how hard she tried to stick with her morals, a part of her was proud of the cleanliness and precision of her work.
Realistically speaking, she was sure it was the better approach anyway. It wasn't like she could refuse to carry it out, after all. Therefore, it was just easier to detach herself and consider it a job rather than a tragedy.
Phoenix walked out of the building, slipping into a small dark alley. She kept moving through the city with seamless ease, used to crawling through the shadows by now. Over the centuries she'd spent on Sakaar, she'd learned when most locals slept, allowing her to avoid dealing with accidents.
Finally, she'd reached the warehouse. Glancing around, she ensured there still wasn't any witness. Then her sight moved above her, seeing the lower frame of the metal escape ramp. The ladder had been discarded, making it harder for any possible visitors to get in. Fortunately for her, she'd already gotten used to it.
She pushed into her legs, jumping up the entire one and a half floors. Her hands grabbed the metal with trained precision, legs winging to give her momentum. Then, she swung enough to push herself up, grabbing onto the upper part of the railing.
Next, she slipped through the broken window inside. Walking around the upper level, she took of her cape. Her red locks fell out of it, bouncing off her shoulders in perfect colors. There were a few advantages to divinity. Having a good hair day was one of them.
She swallowed an annoyed sigh, seeing the dark silhouette on the lower floor. He wasn't facing her, but she knew better than to show open disrespect by now.
Lazily, she strutted down the stairs, walking around the room to get into his field of vision. From the moment she'd appeared within his peripheal view, a pair of fully black eyes followed her. She stopped once she stood right in front of him. Moros.
The guy still looks like a freaking zombie, she commented to herself truthfully. His skin was pale, almost comparable to clear white paper. Well, except for the omnipresent, deep wrinkles. He crooked his lips, cracked due to dryness, into something vaguely reminiscent of a smile.
Phoenix pulled the flash drive out of her inner pocket, keeping it in her palm. She glanced down at her hand, then at Moros. His own arm was stretched out, waiting to receive his package.
With an inhale, she closed her palm, hiding the drive behind her back.
"I give you this, I'm free, right? That was the deal," she said, her chest heavy. So much time spent without her own will. Hundreds of years. This was it.
"Well, not really..." Moros stated slowly, taking time, "See, something came up. Something urgent, a perfect job for you."
Phoenix gritted her jaw, eyes squinting. She took a step back, tightening the grip on the drive.
"Hundred and thirty-seven. Hundred and thirty-seven missions you needed done, Moros. I stole for you, I killed for you, I ruined lives for you. Now give me my life back," she reminded him. Her voice was almost steady, heartbeat rushing so much she clearly felt it in her throat.
"It's rather ironic, isn't it, Bringer of peace? And yet, you did it all perfectly." A satisfied expression crossed his face, making her want to gag.
"We had a deal," she repeated once more, unable to hold off her desperation anymore.
"A deal that no longer suits me," he shrugged, though his face indicated his patience running out, "This will be the last job, you have my word. I need this, Phoenix. This is more important than everything you've done combined."
The ginger sighed, trying to calm her anger. Moros was the impending doom, the inevitable fate himself. No matter her powers, there was no way she could win over him. Or escape. After all, she'd tried.
With a scoff, she smacked her palm onto his, releasing the flash drive. He let out a single chuckle, rotating his wrist until the object disappeared. "Good girl."
Phoenix rolled her eyes. "Last job, Moros. Talk."
His warped smile widened as he leaned forward. "No killing. The target could come in handy," he started, immediately catching her off guard. In all the jobs she'd done for him, he'd never insisted on keeping some alive. "I need the information on what had happened on Earth."
"Earth? Why does Earth bother you?" She crossed her arms, head tilted. This was getting more odd with every passing second.
"Why? Do you care for your old home? Because I think you're asking too many questions," he added, tone laced with warning. Phoenix raised her hands in a yielding gesture, taking a step back.
"Earth and Svartalfheim. Specifically, what happened to the Stones he'd found there."
The ginger opened her mouth, realizing just now the scale of what he was after. This wasn't a regular mission. This was the ultimate task to bring on doom. But, hopefully, if she finished the job, he would keep up his word–he'd spare her.
"Who?"
Moros leaned back in his chair, spreading comfortably. Phoenix raised her brow, each moment getting more unsettling for her.
"His name is Loki."