Okay, wow! Thanks to everyone who replied to my poll, I've decided on the following: there will be more torture, there will not be slash, there will not be smut. I have no experience writing smut, and though I'm open to experimenting with it, I don't want to write a sucky sex scene, so... here is my compromise, suggested geniusly by marianne: If there is a large enough demand by the end of this fic, after I've had time to practice with smut-writing, I will write an alternate fic with smut. Deal?

Anyways, I have decided to start the fic with Loki's escape from Asgard first. I know it's short, but I'll post the next chapter, which will be longer, by Friday. This is my own original, although the next chapter was the opening chapter of Pax's version, only edited.

Without further ado:

"Insult to Injury"

The instant my feet leave the ground on Midgard, I begin murmuring under my breath nonstop, knowing I have only seconds to accomplish my goal. Thor was foolish to believe that the miserable cuffs the mortals improvised could resist my magic. I played along, though, knowing that in the long run, it would just help with my escape. Thor believed it.

Mistake number one.

I grin behind my muzzle as I feel it loosen as well as my handcuffs.

When I land in Asgard, I have to resist the urge to laugh. We have landed less than 3 feet from where Thor dropped me into the abyss. I give him a look, glancing at the edge of the Bifrost and back to him, and he gives me a sad puppy look. I turn my head and begin walking just ahead of him, intent on showing some semblance of control on my way to what all of Asgard assumes is to be my eternal punishment.

I, however, have different plans.

Thor, the oaf, caught up with me easily and grips my arm silently. Thank the Norns he does not have the same impulse as he had before, of trying desperately to show me "the error of my ways." He finally realizes that his foolish dream of having things how they were before, a lie, will not be happening again.

He guides me silently through the hallways of the palace I once called home, now simply a reminder of the one lie the Liesmith himself believed. No more.

We descend the stone steps to the dungeons quietly, the only sound the echoing of our footfalls off of the walls. I am thrown in a cell, large by Asgardian standards, but a cell none the less, one that binds my magic. Evidently I am still to be treated like a fallen prince rather than a warmongering monster.

Mistake number two.

They would have done better to chain me to the wall, to trap me in a small room. Because now I have room to maneuver. I'm not complaining, of course. It's their lives, not mine.

The instant the cell door disappears into the wall, I shake my hands free of the improvised shackles, and tear the muzzle away from my face, from my silver tongue.

Now, to escape the cell. I figure that a guard will come in to check on me every half hour, as is customary for all high-risk prisoners in Asgard. So, now all I have to do is wait.

When the guard comes in 30 minutes later, I am prepared. The instant he enters the cell, my hands are around his neck, cutting off his air. His eyes widen in panic as he tries to lessen my grip, but in seconds he is dead on the floor, head lolled to the side, neck snapped in two.

I step over the body disdainfully, exiting the cell. The second I am outside the cell, I feel my magic flow back into me, and I take a moment to savor the taste of raw power. My power. I conceal myself from the meddlesome gatekeeper's gaze, just as I had done in Jotunheim. He would be the first to die when I took control of Asgard.

I hear more footsteps coming down the corridor, and wait, a smirk plastered on my face. When the guard rounds the corner, he freezes in his tracks, then opens his mouth to call out for help. Only to be cut off by a knife through the throat. I smile in satisfaction. My skills with throwing knives have apparently not diminished.

I make my out of the dungeon, stabbing all the other guards who attempt to stop me before they can even get a word of warning out.

Foolish Asgardians. They think they can stop a sorcerer, a king, from getting what he wants. And what I want now is the Tesseract, the Infinity Gauntlet, and a bit of revenge on the Midgardians who dared try to best a god.

The way to the weapons vault is not guarded, although I have no doubt that the vault itself will be guarded. No matter.

I enter the weapons vault silently, quickly eliminating the two guards stationed within. I saunter easily towards the pedestal where the Casket of Ancient Winters once sat, now replaced by the Tesseract, seeing as how I still had the Casket in my own void. I gripped it lightly in my palm, the hum of power ancient as time itself almost overpowering. I slip it into my cloak and turn towards the nook in the wall that held the Gauntlet. I reach out for it...

Then my not-brother barges in, Mjolnir in hand. How he knew I escaped, I did not know, not that it mattered.

"Brother, stop this nonsense!"

"No," I say simply. My eyes widen in surprise to see Mjolnir flying towards my head, appalled that Thor would risk hurting the one he still saw as a brother, though I had no such qualms, and I quickly dematerialize.

I land in Midgard again, in a cave in a mountain, towering over a valley of curious trees, flattened in a circle.

Of course, I have every intent of going back for the Gauntlet, but I decide to wait for now.

After all, there are Avengers to punish.

Oh my, a plot! Where did that spring from? I talked to Pax about this and she said it was good. Honestly, she didn't have a plot planned out too much, just wanted to write torture. Of course, that's fine :P and I will continue with that but I also wanted some more... substance. So here it is.

For those unfamiliar with the comics, the Infinity Gauntlet is a glove-like thing that contains the six Infinity Gems: Space, Time, Soul, Reality, Power, and Mind. The wearer is able to do virtually anything, except destroy the Gems.