Loki grinned—but the edges of that grin twitched, peeling at the seams. Flames licked up his arms, no longer warm, but gnashing. Serpents of fire with teeth made of whispering tongues. They slithered around his forearms, hissing in tongues older than sleep.
He clenched his fists. His knuckles cracked like bones splitting in ice.
"Then let's do this."
Aurora didn't answer. Her breath hitched in her throat—too shallow, too quiet. Her shoulders rolled back slowly, and something shifted beneath her skin. The air shimmered around her. Not with heat, but with presence.
Crimson light seeped from her wrists, pulling through her like thread dragged through open flesh. The tendrils wrapped around her hands like veins turned outward, gleaming and wet. Her eyes narrowed, the skin around them twitching with too much restraint, as if her body knew what was coming—and feared it.
A circle formed in the air. Not ink. Not fire.
It was... wrong.
