A/N: This is somewhat of a drabble I wrote a while back. Be nice, it's one of my first.
In Scandinavian, I believe, 'Loki' means 'break'.
Laufey did not die in his flesh.
He did not feel his lifeblood drain from him onto the floor of Odin's chambers. He was given no mercy or opportunity for last words.
For that was how Loki had planned it. The young Jotun had no regrets in killing his sire. He had done so to prove himself to Odin, to all of Asgard. It was the only home he knew, and the realm he called his own, regardless of his true birthplace and heritage. Loki could not have sook out a new life in Jotunheim, where he was the rightful heir to the throne.
"You were both born to be kings." Odin had said when he'd first recounted the story of the battle with Jotunheim to his children. Only now did Loki realize how cruel that statement was. As a boy, he'd never once imagined that, in those words, Odin had provided foreshadowing into the path his adopted son would walk. Loki's own name was a warning of both his future and that which he would bring to the nine realms.
Break.
He breathed the word that translated directly into his name. Break. It was what Odin's punish had done to him, and what Loki would do to the All-Father and every other being in the nine realms. With his own two hands, Loki would bring the apocalypse. Regardless of Odin's punishments, of Thor's pleading, of Frigga's tears, or any other force-it was his fate. His destiny.
Break.
The tears that slid down his face burned even fiercer than the acid.