"I could have done it father," Loki shouted as he dangled off the broken bifrost by his spear, Thor and Odin holding them up, "I could have done it, for you! For all of us." He suddenly sounde much less like the maniacle god who had tried to destroy an entire race that he himself was part of, and more like a frightened child trying to earn back his father's approval.

But Odin would not give him that.

"No Loki."

That was it. Loki had failed. He wasn't good enough for his father, for his brother, or the throne. Or himself. A single tear slipped out. Thor instantly knew what was coming next.

"Loki no-" But it was too late, Loki had let go. "NOOOOO!"

Loki still stared up at his once family, as he fell into what seemed as everlasting darkness. The portal sucked him in, and Loki was sure death would come. But it didn't.

Whirring shapes of light and darkness surrounded him, shadow and color and blurring of matter and life and death.

"Loki this is madness."

"Is it madness? Is it? Is it?"

Falling, falling, still falling, always going below what he once was, always falling down to the black abyss of his broken soul.

"TELL ME!"

He wasn't one of them, he wasn't an Asgardian. Instead, a monster, a wretch, something meant to be killed.

"He kept the truth from you so that you would never feel different."

The blasts of light and color had faded, and now loki was in the midst of worlds and stars that blazed around him. They seemed to mock him. Their voices were incessant.

"You thought you could win the throne? Hah! And now you're here, falling amongst the stars, no wonder your father hates you!"

"He is NOT my father," Loki thought in reply

"You are our son Loki, and we your family."

Loki tried with all the strength he still had left to shake away the taunts and memories, and tried to figure out where he was. The stars and planets had faded away, he was now falling towards total darkness.

The black enveloped him, and for a moment he almost felt a distinguishable prick of fear and damnation. Maybe here, death would come at last.

A crash. A fall. He was on the ground. He could not get up. He could not see, he could not hear, he could not feel, he could only know. He had landed. And he was alive.

A flash of white, and suddenly he was sitting up against some kind of rock, and all around him were shapes. The rocks surrounde him, and everywhere there seemed to be a dark purple aura. The shapes were moving, their black outlines not seeming to be either Asgardian nor Human nor, he thought with disgust, of Frost giants.

Suddenly, one of the shapes stepped forth into the light. He wore a head robe around his eyes and head, but seemed to know exactly what was going on. He had dark purple skin, and an extra thumb on each muscular hand, and his teeth were red, as though tainted with the blood of some other unfortunate tresspasser.

Loki forced himself to stand, ignoring the almost unbearable pains from the landing. He was surprised he had not simply died from impact, but he sensed there was more magic here at work than that.

The alien approached him, "You want a throne?"

Loki raise his head and narrowed his eyes. How would this-this thing, know?

"I can give you a throne."

Loki looked around. The other shapes, undoubtedly more of the strange alien's kind, surounded him. He had nowhere else to go, nothing else to lose. So, brightening up, he smiled, "Well I guess that's worth a look."