Warnings: rape/non-con, slavery, sexual slavery, extreme violence, blood, suicidal thoughts

(About slash: my own opinion is that slash relationships are between two consenting parties. Therefore, I'll go ahead and say there's no slash in this story, just m/m rape/non-con.)

Disclaimer: Loki and Thor should thank their lucky stars they don't belong to me, I'm horrible.

A/N: Ugh, I was so reluctant about posting this, it's just so horrible (well, hopefully not horrible writing just horrible content). This is, by far, the most violent rape that I've written into a story, so please heed the warnings I've posted. There's violence besides the rape, too (mostly in the second chapter).

To clarify about Tyr: he's not meant to be the Marvel Tyr or necessarily the mythology Tyr, I just used him because I know he's in the comics and he has a fairly recognizable name to most. I know nothing about him in the comics (except his general appearance), and he doesn't seem like a horrible guy in the myths either. He's not an Odinson here, so this isn't pseudo-incest. He also isn't missing his hand. I felt that MCU!Loki didn't have any children, and if that's true, then Fenrir doesn't exist and therefore wouldn't have bitten Tyr's hand off.

Chapter 1 of 2

To Kill A Hope - Chapter 1

It was raining outside. The droplets pitter-pattered on the windows, creating streaks of shadows on the white-marble floor. There was, however, no thunder, no lightning, nothing that might comfort the god of mischief standing in the center of the room.

Loki shivered as he looked about the room, absently tugging at the chains around his bound wrists. The candle-light was dim, orange, but somehow not soft or comforting as it once might have been.

His feet were bare and his clothes plain, but strangely, new. After months in the dungeons, Loki wondered why, after being dragged away from his cell, several servants were appointed to clean him up. He was cleaned and given a fresh green tunic and dark grey trousers, although they didn't offer him footwear. His hair, too, had been cut and cleaned, and his injuries, for the most part, tended. It was... strange.

The last thing the servants did was give him back to the guards, who escorted him with new chains into this room he didn't recognize. This part of the palace was for nobility and warriors of prestige but Loki hadn't spent very much time here when he was still a prince, thus he knew very little of who actually lived in these vast - and quite beautifully decorated - rooms.

While his back was toward the front door, it burst open, causing the trickster to whip around, startled. Needless to say, he was somewhat nervous about this strange turn of events, uncertain what to expect - what new punishment he was to endure.

At the door entered none other than Tyr, god of war. His eyes gleamed when he saw the former prince, a wide and excited grin spreading across his face. Tyr wasn't exactly an elder god - at least not yet - but he was certainly older than Loki and Thor and many of the younger gods. Still, despite his many years of service, in both war and council to the king, the warrior-god still looked youthful, if only for his odd jubilance at the moment.

"Loki!" he said, chuckling, walking forward slowly. Tyr's hair was almost as dark as Loki's, several braids beaded with gold hung about his well-kept mane.

The once-prince bowed his head slightly, deciding to heed caution given his vulnerable state. "My lord," he returned with eyes lowered.

The war god laughed along with his smile, which had somehow grown wider as he stood before Loki. "I would have never, in all my years, thought to see a prince of Asgard - even a former prince - in this state."

Loki frowned slightly in confusion, staring at the floor. And what 'state' would that be? As a prisoner? A traitor? But he didn't dare speak. Many held the god of war as second only to Thor in battle prowess, and others still thought him greater even than the thunder god. They were fools, of course; even if Loki hated Thor, he knew what he was capable of - god of war Tyr may be, but he would never best Thor in a true battle.

When Loki said nothing, the older god shook his head, saying, "Or do you even understand why you are here, hm, prince?"

The mischief god narrowed his eyes slightly at being called 'prince' when it was meant to mock, but schooled his features quickly lest he be punished for it. He shook his head in answer.

Tyr was silent for a moment, staring at him. Loki resisted the urge to shrink back at the strange gaze, the eyes burning with something he didn't care to guess at. "Well," began Tyr as he slowly circled the trickster god, "perhaps I should inform you then."

Loki shivered as he lost sight of the other, somewhere at his back, even more so when he remained there. A hand was placed on Loki's right shoulder, then, slowly, his left, as well. He resisted the urge to shiver again.

When Tyr's voice whispered next to his ear, the younger god couldn't help but flinch. "You're no longer a prisoner, Loki..." The hot breath on his neck made him clench his jaw. "The great and wise All-father has decided to... adjust your sentence." How? Loki wanted to ask, to speak, but he couldn't make words form at the dryness in his throat. "You," said Tyr slowly, as if tasting a fine wine, "are now a slave."

Loki's eyes widened as his breath hitched. No... His head snapped up as his entire body went rigid, his shoulders riding up, wishing the hands would release him.

"And," continued Tyr in a more normal tone, "as you may have guessed, you are my slave." Loki was abruptly and harshly jerked around until he faced the war god. He stared at the floor, head turned to the side to avoid looking the other in the face. "Did you hear me, trickster? You are mine now, and there's nothing to keep you from me any longer." The mischief god's eyes darted to Tyr's in his sudden confusion. What? The other chuckled. "Surely you've been aware of my desire for you all these years?"

Loki lowered his gaze again. Well, certainly he had suspected, but he hadn't given it much thought. Tyr was known to take both maidens and young men into his bed, but being a prince Loki had never feared any advances from the god of war. And besides, Thor all but smashed in the skulls of anyone who so much as looked at his little brother in an unseemly manner - a source of much annoyance for the trickster god, but it was quite useful in keeping away unwanted attention.

Slaves and servants were often rewarded to great warriors and champions, as Tyr was, and Loki began to realize why he might be here. He had, perhaps, been... rewarded to the great warrior. Then... Odin had truly disowned Loki; if anything in the All-father still considered Loki as a son, he would never have reduced him to this... a slave.

Loki closed his eyes slowly as he lowered his head and allowed the warrior's tight hold on him. There was nothing he could do; his magic had been taken when he was sentenced to the dungeons, and he had barely been a match for anyone in Asgard with it - he had no chance now. And even if he did stand a chance, a slave was mere property, basically a pet, the penalty for disobedience wasn't death - as was typical for servants or free-folk - but instead torture until they submitted. Of course, a master could have his or her slave killed if they wished, but slaves were expensive and greatly sought-after - they were rarely killed.

Seeing this reaction, Tyr shook him a little, as if good-naturedly, then clapped both hands on his shoulders as the smile returned in full. "Do not worry, prince, I will take care of you... especially in your brother's absence." He walked away then, toward the bed. He had said the last part as if it were a jest, his smile threatening another laugh.

"Thor-?" Loki blurted out, frowning. And where was Thor, anyway? Surely he would never have allowed... this...

The war god turned around. "Your brother is on Midgard - he has been since your sentencing. What?" he asked, tilting his head and smirking. "Did you think he had abandoned you in that dungeon?" He called for a servant, who entered and began removing Tyr's armor without prompt, placing it on an armor rack near a large wooden armoire beside the bed. "You would be correct, then," he continued, raising his arms to allow the young servant easier access. "We've heard nary a word from the thunderer since he took his leave of us."

Abandoned... But of course, what should Loki expect? He had thought it somewhat odd that Thor hadn't visited him, even once during his stay in the dungeons, but he had told himself it was nothing to worry about - the great and mighty Thor had simply, finally accepted that Loki was not his brother, that they were nothing but enemies, and that his vaunted sentiment was nothing but useless drivel that made Loki sick. Still... If he had known this might be a possible outcome, to be given over to someone as a slave, he might have accepted the thunderer's affections and proclamations of brotherhood, if only to stave off such a result.

Loki sighed. It was easy to see his mistakes after he had already made them. But it wouldn't have mattered, would it? Thor was away, playing on his little dirt-ball of a realm - he had no doubt forgotten his once-brother in favor of his new human toys.

Tyr took Loki's sigh as something else. "Tired, prince?" he asked, almost as if in true concern.

Loki knew better.

For whatever reason he couldn't fathom, he suddenly felt the urge to rebel, tired of the man calling him prince as if it didn't degrade him further; his disgusting smile obscene when Loki's life was falling apart. The god of lies lifted his head and set his piercing gaze on the man before him. As if he knew what was to come, the servant left in a hurry.

The war god didn't see the darkening gaze on him at first, but after the servant left, his smile slowly faded as his eyes returned the furious gaze. "So," he began, voice lilting, "there's some fight in you yet." He smiled again, walking forward. Loki resisted the impulse to step back. "I do hate a slave without some fight in him, they're so much more... fun when they have a little spirit left in them."

Loki flared his nostrils and swallowed when the man's hand slowly reached out then rested around his throat. It did nothing but rest there, but Loki felt absolutely trapped by that large hand, knowing suddenly, and absolutely, that this man could do anything to him and he wouldn't be able to resist. Then, suddenly, the words from earlier rushed back to him, "...there's nothing to keep you from me any longer." Loki's eyes widened slightly at the memory as he swallowed again, heavily.

Tyr chuckled at his display. "Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this moment?" he said in a hushed but dangerously lust-filled voice. Loki could only stare in horror as the revelation of what was to come next slowly crept up his spine. Suddenly, he was jerked forward until his face was barely a breath away from the other's. He attempted to turn his head but the hand around his throat was slowly tightening. Tyr continued, "To have you... to have you, here, with me... Mine..." he nearly growled, "Mine."

He pulled the younger god closer until their bodies nearly touched, Loki choked on a whimper that attempted to escape when he felt Tyr's obvious arousal between them. He was allowed to turn his head slightly away, but Tyr brushed his face against the side of Loki's cheek, growling once again and smelling of his skin. The trickster gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut. The other hand slipped around Loki's waist and pulled up the shirt at his back as the fingers slid a little higher with each passing moment. Next, the same hand slid back down, then began tugging, ever so lightly, at the back of his trousers, as if it to pull them down. But it wasn't until the hand around his throat moved to hold the nape of his neck that something in Loki snapped; he growled and jerked away, then pushed with all his might at the warrior until Tyr fell back against the bed. Loki was ready to attack again when he heard Tyr - he was laughing as he half-leaned on the edge of his bed.

"Yes!" he bellowed, eyes glowing with something dangerous that made Loki suddenly want to flee instead of fight. The door was in the opposite direction of the bed... perhaps he should run? No, that wouldn't do; Tyr would easily catch him before he reached the door since he was still so close. Still, perhaps if Loki made himself an unruly slave, he would have to endure a different kind of punishment than this - and this was a punishment, the worst kind. He would rather endure torture than be someone's bed slave for the rest of his life. But - no, that might end worse. Slaves were allowed to run free for a reason, they simply wouldn't run away. They had been broken, tortured into submission and trained to be good and obedient slaves. Loki wasn't so prideful that he thought he could endure whatever the master torturers might inflict upon him. They had had millenia to perfect their craft, and what was more, they would have near an eternity to break Loki... No. No, he should stop now, stop and think. There had to be something...

On instinct, Loki scurried and jumped away when Tyr lunged for him, arms ready to grab him around the waist. Despite his attempt at logical thinking, Loki couldn't help his actions now; here was a predator, determined with a hungry look in his eyes, and the prey wouldn't be able to help himself but run.

Breath already unsteady and ragged, Loki scrambled across the bed, avoiding Tyr as he ran toward him, barely missing grabbing his bare foot as he fell on his face on the bed. A quick glance at the older god frightened Loki further - the man was smiling, the gleam in his eyes taking on a decidedly violent edge that made Loki tremble.

The room was quite large and Loki scrambled in a panic around the room, knocking over small furniture and items in an attempt to get away from his seemingly half-maddened and lust-filled pursuer. He yelped each time he was almost caught, but he managed to slip away every time with a sharp jab or quickened step. His thoughts screamed at him to run, run, run! but some part of him understood that being caught would be inevitable. He still couldn't bring himself to acknowledge that part yet, though.

The next thing Loki knew, there was a blade in his hand. Although his vision was blurred - from what he wasn't certain - and he couldn't tell exactly what sort of weapon it was, except that it was sharp and metal, he held it aloft in a feeble attempt to stave off his attacker.

"Do not come near me," came Loki's shaky voice, "or I will kill you," he finished with a hiss. Even his own words sounded weak to him, but he felt slightly better at saying them.

But Tyr seemed unfazed, grin widening; his stance predatory and slightly crouched. "Do try, my prince," was all he said, voice dripping with mockery and glee.

Loki's arm shook fiercely as he attempted to point it at the other, his own crouch more of an attempt to shrink into himself. "Stay back!" Loki screamed as the monster before him lunged suddenly but stopped just as abruptly. Sweat poured down Loki's face and body, he didn't know what to do. Attacking the other was ludicrous, truthfully.

Still...

Loki struck out just as Tyr moved to grab at him. The war god sidestepped the thrust blade immediately, but in his desire for the object before him, his move was a little slow and the edge of the blade slid against his exposed left arm. The next thing Loki knew he was on the ground, his hand twisted in a vicious grip, the weapon lost, his back aching and his head dizzy from the impact. A hand was once again around his throat, but harsh and squeezing tightly this time. He was lifted into the air with ease the next moment, his feet dangling. But where he expected to see anger in the war god's eyes, he instead saw a savage and raw glee; mouth closed and nostrils flaring, watching the prey squirm in the too-strong grip.

The young god attempted to struggle, but he could barely move as his lungs cried out for air. His hands scrambled for purchase somewhere, anywhere, but it was all useless.

He was suddenly pulled into a rough kiss that grazed his chattering teeth, a thick tongue forcing its way into his mouth. Loki was too shocked to do anything so he attempted to breathe through his nose and not sob into the other's mouth. Only a moment later Tyr pulled away, but not before biting Loki's lower lip viciously. The mischief god felt a line of blood fall down his chin but had no time to do anything about it as he was carried - still by his throat - to the bed.

"No!" he managed to choke out as the bed neared, but the war god didn't heed him, throwing him upon it. And before Loki could scramble away again, the larger god bared down on his trembling form, holding Loki down on his back with his substantial weight. Still, Loki struggled with everything in him. He knew he looked pathetic; arms flailing about and legs attempting to find purchase anywhere they could, eyes wide and body shaking fiercely. "Let me go!" Loki screamed, voice breaking. "Get off-!"

He pushed at the man's head with his still-bound hands, but Tyr easily grabbed the chain linking them together and placed them roughly above his head.

"No!" Loki screamed again. He was caught off-guard when the war god backhanded him. Loki gasped and paused, but only for a moment. No matter what happened here, no matter what, he would fight with everything in him. Let it never be said that Loki, god of mischief and chaos, took it without a fight. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he just... surrendered. No. No.

But it was all pointless, wasn't it?

He heard and felt his measly clothing being ripped, cool air touching his sweat-soaked thighs and legs. It seemed barely seconds later, even with all his fighting, that Loki's trousers had all but been removed. Apparently not satisfied with his work, Tyr growled in frustration and ripped Loki's shirt as well, almost completely off except for what little lay under his back.

As Tyr had lifted slightly off of him in order to remove the shirt, Loki found it a good opportunity to kick at the man's chest. Although he did succeed in pushing him slightly back, Loki was too weak and tired to push any further. A small whimper escaped when Tyr backhanded him again, harder this time, splitting both his lips. For some reason, memories of Loki's ordeal at having his lips sewn shut flooded back to him. He screamed and began to panic, pushing even more fiercely at the form above him.

"No, no! Stop!" Loki screamed in desperation. "Get off me! Stop!" But his panicked movements only made him more tired as he was suddenly flipped over onto his stomach.

Tyr grunted as he manhandled the trickster into a more ready position. "Want to do it the hard way? Very well, makes no difference to me."

The change of position snapped Loki's mind back as he realized, so suddenly, that it this was going to happen. He was going to be raped and there was nothing he could do to stop it. No one would help him as he was all alone. So alone... He had no family and no friends. No allies or a single soul who might care for him. Thor and Frigga had abandoned him, the Jotun runt unworthy of even their acknowledgement. He was just an object now, to be used at the discretion of his master.

No...

Loki let a sob escape suddenly at the hopelessness of it all. What was the point of clinging to pride if it aided him naught?

Unexpectedly, so unexpectedly, Tyr shoved into Loki with all his considerable strength behind it. So caught off-guard, Loki screamed, unable to move.

A whispered voice barely broke through the haze of his pain, so close to his right ear. "I would have done this gentler if you hadn't insisted on resisting so much." Somehow, Loki doubted that.

The trickster couldn't speak, couldn't move, could barely think, as the elder god jerked out suddenly, then rammed back in just as quickly. Loki flinched forward and screamed again, the ragged sound mixed with sobs as he began to cry.

Stop, stop, stop...

Tyr's thrusts continued violently in short jerky movements, ensuring maximum pain on his victim. Loki wailed on the fifth thrust, feeling not unlike he was being stabbed with some bladed weapon. He bit the covers beneath his face and screamed as he couldn't even find the strength to clutch his hands into the sheets as he desperately wanted.

"Please!" he heard himself scream, but the god of war didn't yield or even pause. How long could he go like this? "Please!" Loki wailed into the sheets, biting hard again.

"What's...wrong...prince?" grunted the elder god between each hard thrust. "Is this...not...to your liking?" he mocked.

Loki only responded with desperate cries as he sobbed against the bed, unable to stop his violent shivers. He was sure his insides were a bleeding mess - especially since he felt sticky warmness gushing out and falling over his legs. "Ahh!" he screamed. "P-please, s-stop!" he stuttered.

The voice of Tyr wasn't so near this time. "Not...until...you learn...who you...belong to..." he growled viciously.

The trickster couldn't help it when he shook his head into the bed. He didn't mean it as a 'no' to what had just been said, but only as a denial of everything that was happening - a way to fight back, if only in a futile attempt to make himself feel a modicum of control over himself.

But of course, the god of war didn't take it like that. "No?" he yelled. "No?!" His thrusts became - horrifically, impossibly - more violent than before.

Loki felt his breath catching in his throat, barely making it out. He coughed and gagged at his body breaking down, blood soaking his legs and the bed beneath. He felt bile rising in his throat and he was afraid to vomit for he might drown in it - and, he thought, it might not be such an unpleasant death, at least compared to being raped to death.

He couldn't speak anymore, words unable to even form in his mind at the impossible assault. He couldn't move anymore and could barely even feel the lower half of his body. The world was darkening and he welcomed it. His head swam and his thoughts had left him long ago.

Tyr suddenly grunted, then growled out loudly as his thrusts slowed down. Some part of Loki's addled mind recognized what was happening, but he didn't care to even think it, much less respond.

He didn't feel when the war god pulled out of him, although he did feel himself being lowered.

Several moments passed - seconds, minutes or hours, he didn't know - and the war god spoke to him, saying words the trickster's mind couldn't comprehend. He was boneless and wet; no better for movement than a mere puppet.

Thus, when the god of mischief was flipped over and the assault began anew on his back, he was already halfway to unconsciousness and barely felt it.

Yes... his mind managed to say. Yes...please, sleep...yes.

Then, darkness.

A/N: I know, I know! I'm horrible! My poor dear Loki... Alas, there's another chapter coming and the horror isn't over yet. I'll try to update tomorrow or the day after.