UPDATE 9/12/14 - This entire story is being re-written, revamped, the works. It's still technically my first full-length story for this fandom, and I realized long ago I published too soon. I know a bit more about the Marvel Universe now, but even so, a lot of this is still coming from my imagination.
I would like to give a warning that this version is not going to be pretty - I don't know if it warrants an M rating (I personally don't think so), but be aware: this is a torture story, as it was before, just with more description. If this doesn't sound like your thing, then just move along, move along...
Disclaimer: All characters belong to the Marvel Universe/rightful owners. I own NOTHING and make no profit from this story. It's just for fun.
Thank you. Enjoy.
It was a sensation he had never felt before.
The sheer emptiness and hollow ache in his chest as time and travel and space melded into one - a vast canopy of nothingness that trapped screams in his lungs and visions in his mind. Sight clashed with sounds, the cold with the brilliant flashes of light before him and he wanted to feel the magic that still swirled within the abyss of death he had fallen into. Galaxies hurtled past him in strong explosions of fire and ice, and the songs of the planets shrieked mercilessly until he thought his head would burst. Coherent thought had long since abandoned him and had been replaced by unrelenting confusion - and pain.
By the gods...the pain.
Control of his body was no longer his own. He could not breathe, he could not see, nor stop his plummet - the only thing that stood out in his fogged mind was the nonstop breakage of his body as he spun out of control through the stars.
He wanted to die.
He knew not how long he fell, hurtling in the ever-present dark, unable to scream or cry or fight. He awaited his fate, delayed as it was, maintaining earnest hope that the Norns would grant him departure to Valhalla despite his cowardice.
But oh...how cruel his very mind was. How cynical and mocking it suddenly was, spitting forth a whole manner of vicious words and memories and he could do nothing to fight it, to stop it.
You are our son, Loki. And we your family.
You can't just destroy an entire race!
I'm not your brother. I never was.
I never wanted the throne! I only ever wanted to be your equal!
When I am king
I'll hunt down the Frost Giants
And slay them all
A sharp gasp escaped his lips. Yes - there it was. He could feel it. A sudden warmth in his chest and arms flailing, he fought, or at least tried to. His arms were suddenly heavy as lead and he began to spin fast, so fast, oh gods he was going to be sick and then
His body hit the ground with a force he had not yet known, the air knocked viciously from his lungs as gray dust billowed around him as he skidded roughly to a stop. He laid still for but a moment before a sick wheeze escaped his lungs that sounded far too much like a sob. He stared bleary-eyed at the earth as air finally found its way inside and his choked on it, pressing his palms flat against the freezing stone beneath him. He began to shake as realization dawned and a desperate, "No," was whispered into the empty air.
He was still alive.
The cruelty of it hit him like a blow to the heart and had he the energy, sobs would have racked his body. Yet he had nothing left. Nothing. Body shuddering, he attempted to push himself to his knees but by the gods, did it hurt. He slumped face-down into the ground, inhaling the dark dust, curling his fists into his chest.
Why why why
He was unworthy even of death, then?
His torment very rapidly burned out into a sinister rage and snarling, his dug his hands into his hair and pulled, shrieking silently into the earth. In one swift motion he slammed a fist into the ground and the stone shattered and split around him. Chest heaving, he fought through the pain and forced himself to his knees, eyes nearly aglow with barely suppressed fury.
To be refused the simplest of fates. It was not right.
It should not even be possible.
With shuddering breath, he attempted to calm himself, closing his eyes and pressing his palms to his face.
Not dead. Not dead.
Since that was the case, he needed a new direction.
Opening his eyes once more, he took the time to observe the sky above in attempts to ascertain where he had fallen. He dragged one leg forward and cried out, slumping once more to hands and knees. He supposed he should not be surprised that he was injured, but the rage filled him once more and ignoring the ripping pain in his lower back, he stood. Eyes shining with unshed tears and already losing his newfound strength, he took in his surroundings.
This planet, or rock, moon, or realm was as colorless and charmless as an Asgardian prison cell. The barren landscape was littered with gray rocks in varying shapes and sizes and the dirt matched in color. Empty. Cold. Reminiscent of Jotenheim. The thought seized him and chilled him to the bone.
Of all the fates that awaited me...
He attempted to take one step forward and faltered, gritting his teeth in pain. Inhaling sharply through his nose, warm light suddenly emanated from his long fingers and swirled to his back, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. Soothing sensations assuaged the overwhelming pain and he took another step forward, then another, his footfalls virtually silent on the eerie plain.
He knew not how long he walked, but the landscape never changed.
Now limping and grunting slightly, he paused and looked up at the sky once more, which was littered with clusters of stars in the most beautiful hues. He could not recall a time the heavens had ever seemed so close and he watched with haunted eyes as a lone star traveled across the sky. He swallowed the growing lump in his throat and looking down at himself, noted his hands were shaking to the point of no control.
It was not often that he felt fear - in fact, almost never. But something about this place felt increasingly...sinister.
It was just so strangely quiet.
He did not realize he had begun to walk again until he nearly slipped on a broken rock. The lurching motion sent a flash of a memory dancing before his eyes and he saw his brother's face above him once again, yelling out his name in the reverse of their father when he had let go -
Not brother. Nor father. Mere deceptions, tricks, lies. He forced the thought from his mind.
He had walked for what felt like ages when he suddenly froze, body tense and mouth slightly agape, staring harshly at the nothing around him.
Something...or someone...was watching him.
Ever had he been keen to such unwanted attentions. Be it beast, prey, or companion, ever had he known when he was being watched or followed.
The initial assumption that he had been alone made it all the worse, however.
Cursing his own stupidity, he closed his eyes and summoned blades into his hands. In the next breath he turned quickly, whipping the blade from its hiding spot and directly into the unseen target behind him. A choked gasp escaped him before he realized just how close this thing had been and he watched it gracelessly fall to the ground, dead. Giddy with nerves and the accuracy of his hit, he practically ran over to the body and yanked his blade from the thing's face. "What are you?" he whispered slowly in disgust as he took in the appearance of the hideous scaled creature. He jumped back slightly at the purple blood oozing from the hole where his blade had struck and noted that while the creature was wearing armor and had a multitude of weapons on it - including one in its hands - its face had remained unprotected and was the reason for his success. The sheer magnitude of the coincidence sent a shiver down his spine and he stood hastily, all too eager to get away from this...monster.
Dread settled heavily in his chest and he couldn't place it. The beast was dead. He took a step back, forcing himself to look away, breath coming in rapid, anxious puffs. His senses were telling him there was nothing to fear, that he could vanquish any enemy - and indeed, he sensed none else here. Yet something was tugging, no, pulling in his mind that something here was very wrong, edging closer to evil, and he turned this way and that, eyes frantically searching for the reason why. "Is...is there anyone here?" he croaked out, flushing ashamed at how utterly pathetic he sounded. He could hear nothing but his own ragged breathing and see nothing but rocks, yet the dread within him was ever-increasing and very rapidly blossoming into a full-fledged terror. He turned on his heel, slipping as he did so, but pulled himself upright once more as one thought surfaced clearly in his panicked mind: run.
And so he did.
He knew not where to go, or what he was running from. Only that he was rapidly losing speed and strength for reasons he could not fathom and that in itself pushed his terror further. He was not like this. Despite the continuous mockery as a training youth in Asgard, he had become a seasoned warrior, learning to control his fears in the face of battle.
So why this sudden inability to calm himself?
He knew the answer even before his legs gave out and he crashed once more to the ground. He was not alone. His fears were founded in the sensing of another aura, in the wisps of unseen dark magic that was ever so slowly encroaching on his own.
It was utterly powerful and it was then he wondered if his landing here was less of a coincidence and more of a deliberate guidance by an unseen hand.
He had been put here.
Now shaking violently, he placed his hands against the cool earth and marveled again at his own stupidity. How had he not sensed this sooner? Was he to be a failure in every way, even in his magic of which he had once been so proud?
Indeed, weakling. The stench of defeat is heavy on you.
The voice within his head was so audible that he shrieked and shot his eyes upwards towards the now-moving landscape, filled with swarming creatures that were much like the one he had just killed, weapons pointed directly at him. He knew none of them had spoken. The voice edged within his consciousness.
Someone had spoken to his mind.
He rose slowly to his feet, facing the literal army of vile creatures as they rasped to one another in a foreign language. If he was to die here, it would not be as a defenseless and cowering wretch. He would fight them as any true soldier and prince of Asgard, despite the unease in his head and the pinch in his gut.
"You dare take the life of one of ours?" One suddenly screeched and Loki forced himself to smile.
"Kill me if you must," he spoke evenly. "I do not fear you." The creatures roared in anger and charged.
In the midst of the bloodshed, he allowed himself to marvel at the ease in which they died. It became obvious they possessed no magical abilities themselves and had only their weapons to use against him. This was to his obvious advantage as he struck them down easily with blast after blast of his own energy and dodged their fire with the simplest of his illusions.
Perhaps he was not to die here after all.
It was with increasing amounts of anger and fear that he continued to destroy them. Their shrieks of agony sent pleasure into his fury-driven mind and it was not long until everything mingled into a single thought of kill them all. All that had transpired before his landing here blossomed and pulsed through his veins, and the grisly battle was an outlet for his failures at home (not home) and the rage that swelled within.
Long had he been trained to not fight while blinded so, but he ignored it.
Ignored the weakness in his limbs, the burning sensation in his muscles, the struggle to pull air into his lungs and push it out again.
Allowed his anger to fuel his body until he could no longer see, and he was drenched in the blood of the creatures.
It was the reason, perhaps, that he was suddenly caught unawares by a blast of energy so strong that he was knocked from his stance and to the ground, hitting it full force.
Energy founded in magic, not a weapon, not a -
Snarling, Loki attempted to stand, but the momentary distraction proved enough for the now-swarming army of creatures upon him. Slimy hands grabbed him by the arms and legs and shoved him back to the earth, overpowering him even as he struggled violently. In the next breath, something cold and metal snapped harshly around his neck.
The effect was immediate.
Loki stilled, eyes widening in mute horror as the collar sapped his magic in seconds. His body falling limp he found he was in a sort of paralysis, and the utter terror that came with the inability to move his body made the things cackle around him. "Hideous creature," one of them suddenly spat. "Who are you?" Loki stared wide-eyed at the one that had spoken and refused to answer, his mouth set in a straight line. Cannot move, my magic, my magic, where is my magic -
"Very well," it hissed and motioned with a gnarled arm. "We will soon find out." There was a single movement beside him and Loki had only just shifted his eyes before something hard and blunt struck him in the head and everything went black.