This was a Loki despair prompt requested by the lovely 'a-sociopath-with-your-number' on tumblr. I hope I did justice to the request :)

I must say, Loki is a 'complicated cat' to write, but he's lots of fun (even when he's in angst) and he presents quite a challenge. Go easy on me, I've never written something of this genre.

Request: ¨I would love to see Loki when he's not powerful. I want to see how he reacts when he's weak and his will is broken. Not like in the cell, after his mother died, because he wasn't truly broken then. I want him in despair.¨

Here you go!

Disclaimer: Loki; not mine.

I feel it everywhere around me. It's slowly creeping up on me as I amble down this bleak road. The sentiment of fear, despondency, death and emptiness slowly take and fill me. I find myself in pitch black darkness; I can't see any of my surroundings, yet I must keep walking. The air is cold, and it feels as if a thousand needles are striking into my skin with every step I take further down the path. I know not where I walk, nor do I care. There is nothing left for me, not anymore. What have I to live for, now that I find myself shattered and alone?

I gesture my hand to summon my magic, to maybe shed some light on whatever landscape may be around me, or to see where I stand. As my fingers dance idly through the air, my insides churn with hindrance when I realize that my movements are in vain, nothing has happened; there is no more magic, there is no more power, there is no force within me. I have been stripped of everything I am. The rage fills within me as I finally realize how weak and brittle I have become.

My screams fill the air as I fall despondently to the ground, my legs no longer able to hold me in place. What is to become of me now? I am of no longer of any use nor am I service. I pose not even a minimal threat. What is to become of me, Asgard's true king?

About Asgard, I know I am no longer there. The air here is filled with a stench not comparable to any other. I do not know if I can go back without my magic, and even if I should find myself being able to return. How will I possess my true position as king, when I cannot so much as summon a petty fire? Will I find myself being forced to rot away as nothing more than a spectacle? I will not stand to be shown as a buffoon.

As I sit by myself in a mysterious land, I can feel a strange weight falling on me, a pressure that I cannot bear to hold on my shoulders. It falls to the pit of my stomach, where it returns to my throat in the sound of a quiet gasp. What is this that is happening? Has my time come to die? Am I to be transported to Valhalla?

Instead, I feel my cheeks wet. I feel the tiny droplets cascade from my eyes, down my face to ultimately fall to the ground. I reach my hand up and dry my tears, what nerve of me, feeling something so pity as sentiment. I cannot be called a fool, I cannot show any weakness. That's not what Asgard need from its future king.

I want to find the strength to call upon my powers and transport me back home, or anywhere but this barren wasteland. But alas, I cannot. As the heaviness of sleep invades me, it is then that I realize; I have been resorted to nothing, I can no longer fight, I have finally been broken.

So... what did ya think?