Loki awoke in darkness… it surrounded him, engulfed him.
His dulled senses lay suspended inside the blackened space, finding nothing of recognition. Neither sound nor light stirred within the barren abyss. A cold emptiness lingered within the air; it slashed through his core, curdling his blood. Waves of imbalance seized his muscles, filling his head with a thick haze which rendered all instincts useless.
Time had no meaning.
The passing seconds, it seemed, became hours; hours became days. The hands of the clock moved both forward and backwards simultaneously and, yet, stood stationary.
Gradually as he adjusted to the nothingness which held him captive, the bitter chill dissipated, transforming into radiant warmth.
Everything felt lighter, softer.
The rhythm of his heart slowed to a halt. Dust gathered within the hollowed corners of his mind; the usual heaviness of his thoughts vanished, leaving a calm silence that resonated within every fiber of his being. The rage residing beneath the surface of his skin seeped through his pores, fading into oblivion.
The pull of gravity abandoned him as he drifted aimlessly within the ether, leaving his body behind for that which lay beyond…it was closest he had ever come to knowing peace.
Suddenly, he hit a wall.
It felt like flesh grinding against concrete; the separation of mind and body ended with a jolting collision as though some unseen hand had crammed him back into his shell. The sweetness of serenity fell through his fingertips, escaping him forever. A malevolent presence filled the endless night.
Something hidden, something just shy of the naked eye forced him downward beneath the weight of shadows. They were pulling at him, laughing at him…slowly picking him apart piece by piece- unhinging him from the inside out.
The pain was excruciating.
Suddenly, the memories came and the void changed- peeling away the velvet strands of ebony.
It began with the end, and the end looked like death.
Loki's eyes snapped open; fear stained his emerald pools.
"I, Odin All Father, cast you out".
Out – Out – Out …The word echoed within the hollows of his memory; it was the only sound he could hear.
He was falling, plunging headlong into a whirlwind of vibrant color. His heart thundered beneath his breast. The force of the tunneling wind sliced through his flesh and ripped through his bones, threatening to snap them like twigs.
He sucked in a gasping breath; it tore through his chest with monstrous talons, scorching his throat with its fury.
The fall seemed endless.
A warm liquid filled his ears, dripping down the sides of his face as the pressure intensified. His limbs flailed; his arms reached upward in desperation as he tried to climb against the force of his descent. It was to no avail; the intangible strands of light surrounding him slipped through his grasp like salt.
Try as he might, he couldn't stop.
Indeed, he only gained momentum.
His frail form folded like paper as his body buckled; a series of cracks moved up the right half of his torso. Spasms of pain infected every inch of him.
His muddied vision would not focus, no matter how hard he blinked. Yet even blinded, he felt a change overtake him.
The air altered as it rushed into his lungs. The chains of gravity gnawed at him as he fell faster. The extravagant, rainbow colored hues disappeared to be replaced by a vast quilt of midnight. Distorted, dark shapes punctuated by brilliant dots passed over him in a blur.
Panic grabbed him, imprisoned him within its iron grip as he saw with horror a rough, serrated surface rising up to greet him. He felt the tether of life itself break as the terrain grew larger in his sight.
The impact of the ground seemed inevitable, as did death.
Closing his eyes, he searched within the tattered regions of his heart for some final source of comfort; he reached for memories of his mother's smile, wanting to feel her warmth one last time. But he could not even recall her face. Nor could he remember the thunderous joy of his brother's laugh, the peace of his father's gaze, or even the beauty of his home.
He found nothing to soothe the anguish inside; all memories of love and affection had been drained from his soul. Only the echo of his family's betrayal lingered.
An overwhelming sense of loss filled him.
Like a broken record, the reckless consequences of his pride replayed his many mistakes - his seizure of the throne, his bid to rule Earth remained etched within his mind. Tears pricked the corners of his irises as his body came closer to meeting its demise amongst the stones.
He was a failure.
He had no family; he had no home. He would leave this world just as he entered it, discarded and alone.
In mere seconds, it would all be over.
Crashing into the ground, his emerald tunic snagged upon the jagged edge of a rock. For a moment he hung there, the path of his fall interrupted. The strength of the fabric crumpled against the pull of his body; it ripped and tore, sending him further down a cliff side as he rolled against the dirt and brush. His bones twisted in unnatural angles. The sharp corners of granite cut and bruised his flesh.
It wasn't until his body collided with a firm, moist bed of sand did his movement slow to a halt; its gritty texture crammed into his open wounds, mixing with blood.
He lay there, motionless – waiting for the reaper.
No one came.
Dazed and disorientated, awkward shapes appeared and vanished before his eyes; a dizzying fog clouded his vision. Yet, he made no effort to mold the shapes into clarity; he was too exhausted. His mind swayed in and out of consciousness; all thoughts faded into nothing.
A fire burned underneath his skin, consuming all semblance of feeling within its flames; it spread like wildfire throughout his entire body, leaving him numb.
He took a deep ragged breath.
It snagged.
He exhaled a sharp cry of pain. Grinding his teeth, he felt as though needles danced across the ribs of the right side of his chest and back. He screwed his eyes shut, forcing himself to take quick, shallow breaths, even as darkness threatened to take him.
Gradually, sensation began working its way down through his limbs again, like water through frozen pipes. There - he could feel his arms, now his fingers; they clawed downward into dusty sand. His legs lay crooked upon the terrain, broken by the force of his fall. Pushing the nausea further down his throat, he opened his eyes again.
His vision cleared.
Sharp points of white stitched within a vast blanket of ebony greeted him. Disbelief warped Loki's features. He frowned hard; his brow twisting as he stared upward.
Where was he?
The velvet night was foreign to him, lacking the vibrant hues of the Asgardian twilight; he saw only varying shades of blue- cavernous, empty blue. The sky looked cold - wrong; it looked…
Fiery hatred burned in his blackened hollows of his heart. Salty pools of water scalded his eyes, casting a haze over the strange constellations - the stars that Loki knew hung over the realm he scorned most:
Midgard.
Everything went black.
The distant roar of the sirens pierced the dark corners of his mind, shattering the emptiness of the void. The sound echoed across the abyss, barely registering amongst his senses.
Loki's eyelids slowly fluttered open; his heart pounded loudly in his ears. He sucked in a gasping breath, grateful that the dream was over.
The sudden jolt of being pulled back in to the waking world left him dizzy, almost to the point where he thought he might vomit.
Images bled together, veiling his new environment in mystery. The blackest night faded into a dingy cream. A bitter odor of decay hung in the air, dancing on his tongue.
Blinking in confusion, he scourged the frayed inches of his sanity to remember where he was, but he couldn't think.
Loki's head throbbed; a sticky paste saturated his skin.
As the seconds passed, relief rushed from the base, traveling through every fiber of his nerves. His breathing gradually slowed, struggling to return to normal.
Red hues flooded through the window, bathing his pale skin in the last rays of sunlight.
The sunset illuminated the room around him. Brief flashes of rotted wood dressed in a thin, grimy glaze filled his vision.
An exasperated groan escaped his lips; he remembered now… he wished he didn't.
Looking in between the disheveled strands of his raven hair, he recognized the ramshackle motel room. Beige carpet stained with blood and other various fluids stretched across the floor, meeting walls that were riddled with holes. The wallpaper curled at the corners, hanging like a layer of dead skin. A thick coating of dirt clung to the barren surface, altering its color from the original shading into something that made his stomach lurch.
At the sight before him, his urge to gag only increased. Not that it mattered, his stomach was empty. He forced the bile back down his throat; it left a sour taste in his mouth.
Scanning the room in disgust, he screwed his eyes shut and allowed his vision to be cloaked in darkness- hoping that when he opened them, he would be somewhere else… anywhere else.
If he lay perfectly still and concentrated only on the rising and falling of his chest, perhaps logic would escape him. Perhaps, in the brief seconds that passed between each breath, he would believe the lie.
The sharp pop of a pistol coming from outside pulled him back from his mental refuge. Loki opened his eyes and, to his grave despair, found his surroundings unchanged.
A crazed laugh erupted from the hollows of his throat; it was madness to think he could escape his punishment so easily.
Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he tried to shake away the memory. Days had passed into months since the fateful night of his banishment to earth, a night he relived over and over in his dreams.
Dreams… they had taken on new a meaning since he had been cursed within this mortal shell.
His mind felt so cluttered, so limited.
Turning from his side, he laid flat against the saggy mattress. His body ached from stiffness. He felt the springs pushing through the weak material- grating against his spine and jabbing his flesh as he stared up at the rundown ceiling.
Dusk climbed the edges of the horizon.
The sunlight streaming through the broken window dimmed. Soon his ivory skin would glisten in the silvery light of full moon; his flesh tingled in anticipation. The pull of the darkness boiled in his blood, beckoning him.
The night had always been his time.
Mustering up his strength, Loki fought against the numbing soreness in his limbs to get to his feet. His ankles throbbed, rubbed raw from sleeping in his shoes. Yet, the pain barely registered.
He was use to it.
There was never a night that he went without his clothes; he refused to allow human filth to touch his skin. Stretching his arms toward the roof, he attempted to alleviate the tenderness in his muscles.
He smoothed down the wrinkles in his black shirt as he walked toward the washroom. Turning the faucet handle toward hot, a brown liquid spurted into the metal sink.
Perfect.
The pipes clogged and unclogged before the water turned clear; he bent down and splashed it on his face, smearing away the sweat that gathered on his forehand.
He lifted his head with great hesitation, knowing and despising the sight that awaited him in the dirt encrusted glass. Knots formed in the pit of his stomach, twisting and turning ever so tightly, as his reflection gradually came into view.
Sharp angles of bone jutted from beneath his sickly-pale skin; his flesh seemed a thin cover for his skeleton as though it might tear like paper. Long, tussled strands of ebony veiled his emerald eyes. Dark, swollen craters sat atop his cheeks. His brow twisted in a permanent scowl.
A stranger stared back at him.
"This is not the face of a king," he muttered to himself.
King… the word stuck in his throat. Swelling day by day, it suffocated him and served as a constant reminder of all that he had lost.
All traces of the power he once held, the power of a god, had been stolen from him.
"I was a king, the rightful king of Asgard…betrayed."
The ghosts of his past whispered in his ear, causing a sneer to creep inside the corners of his gaunt features.
"A throne would suit you ill."
Red clouded his vision as his brother's words echoed in his mind, sending spasms of pure rage throughout his entire body.
His heart sank as he stared within the mirror, looking past his reflection – beyond it into the dark abyss of his memories. The stranger who stood before him vanished, and an image of another took his place.
His emerald gaze transformed into the brightest sapphire; Golden locks replaced his black hair. The ivory hue of his skin darkened into a crisp, even beige.
Loki recognized the man in front him as surely as the moon would recognized the sun; he was Loki's opposite- the day to his night.
Thor…the favored son, bile arose inside the hollows of his throat. An unbearable pressure sparked beneath his breast.
Despite the severe limitations that his human condition had placed upon his mind, Loki remembered, with perfect clarity, their last meeting.
The beloved god of thunder stood with his hammer at his side, worn and weary from the battle on Earth. Scars ripped across Thor's cheeks; sweat dripped from his forehead. Blood tainted his blonde hair. And his eyes- they were blue and vast like the ocean, but filled with sadness...with sentiment.
A low growl escaped his parched lips. His thoughts faded into a blackened riot; it consumed him, shattering his frail grasp of sanity. The memory continued to unravel, becoming more and more real with each passing second.
He could feel the chains tightening around his wrists, could feel the burning glares of the people in the streets. The crowd clapped and cheered, calling for the traitor's head; they should have been his loyal subjects but instead waited for his punishment like hungry dogs surrounding a bone. Standing tall and proud, Frigga stared down at him. Disgust crawled across the Queen's eyes before she turned away, refusing to even look at him. Disappointed radiated from The All Father's face. "You have proved yourself unworthy of Asgard. In your arrogance and greed, you have disgraced your family and this kingdom." Odin decreed as brought his mighty staff in a thunderous roar. "Have you anything to say for yourself?" Growling, he showed his teeth in contempt; he was like a snake, coiled in a closed basket. "Brother, please," Thor whispered at his side, reaching to place a hand on his shoulder. "Off me," he hissed while jerking forward. Lifting his gaze, he glared unflinchingly at the mighty king. With a vacant expression, he replied, "From here on out, I say nothing..."
Banished... Exiled... Disgraced...
The pressure in his chest rose higher, sending his nerves into a frenzy. His breathing became uneven. Rage filled his veins, infecting him with its poison. It was all he could see, all he could breath.
He was a failure; even the meager might of earth had bested him.
With fists clenched, his nails dug into , he couldn't feel the pain, a numbness coated his every inch of his body. His arms raised involuntarily. Flashes of images rippled through him; over and over the battle for Earth echoed in his head.
No… He tried to push the memory away, but his mind was too fragmented.
A man in metal armor and a soldier who slept in ice.
A silent archer and a mulish quim.
A green beast and… His anger boiled over; without thinking, his fist slammed against the glass. Broken shards cut through his flesh before cascading toward the floor. Blood dripped from his knuckles, but he felt nothing. Taking a deep breath, he gazed into the shattered remains of the mirror - wincing inwardly at the distorted reflection before him.
This has to end.