Sigyn
Her world burns.
Fire rims the edges of her vision, brushes the edge of her sanity. The heat is searing, an unbearable inferno of malice and rage. Her thoughts are set afire by her power. The ground wavers in front of her, the earth beneath her feet trembling in fear.
She is complete. She is whole. She is powerful.
But a corner of her mind knows that isn't her.
She is not alone. Two figures stand before her, their silhouettes black against the flames consuming her vision. They are familiar to her, like ghosts from the past. They had thought her dead, gone, defeated, cast out . . .
But I'm NOT dead!
. . . But she had bided her time. She had waited. She had been patient. And now her revenge would soon be complete.
"Sigyn?" a voice calls. She bristles angrily. How dare they -
Thor? She knows she spoke. But something kept the words from leaving her mouth . . .
"Sigyn, what's wrong?" Now the other one. Do they know who they are -
Loki? she tries again. What's happening to me?
No words come out. Only a grating, hateful hiss.
"Concerned for your dear little friend?"
She gasped. That - THAT - was NOT her voice!
She sees the two men start horribly, jerking back as if her words had been a physical blow. The curtain of flames is dying down a little. The two figures are beginning to come into focus, their features sharpening, coalescing into recognizable faces.
She feels her face twist into a hard, cruel smile.
"The Sons of Odin have indeed grown soft if the plight of one girl can affect them so. You HAVE both changed, as she has told me."
Told . . . whom? She hadn't told anyone anything. She doesn't even know what's happening! She looks hard at her two friends, who seem to be frozen with shock and horror.
That's not me! That's NOT ME!
"Sigyn?" Thor again. He takes a cautious step forward, eyeing her worriedly. Sky and Flame meet, a contest of wills. Her anger flares again, her world now nothing but shades of red and black.
Thor, help me!
Another grating laugh. It tears like knives through her throat.
"Nay, Thor Odinson. It is I."
Thor and Loki glance at each other. Fear. Confusion. Thor's grip on Mjolnir tightens, unsure if he must attack or defend. Her smile deepens, hardens.
"Can it be that you have forgotten me? It really is too bad of you." But she is pleased. They are afraid. They are unprepared. All the easier to destroy them.
She feels the presence of . . . the other. Dark, hateful, cruel . . . and powerful. An ancient evil. The magic of its being is thick, clinging. She feels sick. She tries to fight, to push back. It swats her away like a fly.
Get out! Get out!
"Who are you?" Thor demands angrily. He now begins to suspect the truth. Fear and anger swirl together in his eyes. The other, Loki, eyes her doubtfully, his hands clenched at his sides. He tries to appear as if he is not a threat. But she knows he is plotting.
"I am your reckoning," she mocks. "I am your destroyer. Your little friend has granted me the chance to speak with you again."
The words are torn from her lips, unbidden, unwanted. She tries to shut her mouth, bite her tongue. But IT forces her to speak.
"What have you done with her?" Loki's voice is quiet, hardly heard over the roar of magic in her ears. Quiet, but deadly, like a coiled serpent ready to spring. Eternal Fire stares into Unmelting Ice. The girl is dear to him, she can see in his eyes. She will break this one first. She laughs again.
"Nothing. Yet."
Ancient magic gathers, liquid shadow clinging to the inferno raging inside her. Calculating eyes sweep over the pair of them. She licks her lips.
Loki and Thor tense. It is the younger who breaks the brittle silence.
"If your quarrel is with us, then release the girl. Surely she is nothing to you."
Ancient magic grows. Soon . . . very soon now . . .
Don't just stand there! Run!
"Ah, but alas, that is something I cannot do, little prince," she mocks. His eyes narrow. Loki, that's not me! That's NOT ME! "Like all puppet masters, I cannot perform without a body to work with. Your father robbed me of mine. So, in turn, your dear little friend will lend me hers for a time."
Their eyes widen. They share a knowing glance. They now see the truth.
The inferno rages higher. Blinding heat obscures her vision.
She wants to run. She wants to fight. She wants to DO something. But all she can do is watch.
The blackness consumes her heart, eats at her mind. Magic throbs to the beat of her heart: Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!
Loki! Thor! Run! RUN!
She springs forward.
Odin's sons narrowly avoid her strike. Mjolnir flashes to her right. But he is too slow. She easily sidesteps. Green-white magic from her left. Silvertongue also misses his mark. He is too careful. Her hand shoots out, flames erupting from her fingertips. Fire meets magic.
Loki falls back. He is no match for her. Thor lunges forward. He is too slow for her.
She will destroy them.
No! No! Stop!
Her mind is blurred, her vision clouded by hate, by power. Her bare arm comes up too quickly for them to see. Black magic strikes back. The younger falls back with a sharp cry, clutching his hand.
Shatter him! Break him!
Leave him alone!
Thor blocks her strike at him, Mjolnir ringing in defiance to her skills. She dances around them easily. Her rage spills over, shadow changing to flame.
They tread their deadly dance. Attack. Retreat. Strike. Defend. Lunge. Fall back. It is a complicated dance, but one that she remembers well. She is alive again. Her magic all the more powerful with the aid of the weakling's body -
Get out! Get OUT of me!
Thor swings again. But his strike is too high, too slow. He doesn't want to hurt the girl. All the better. Makes for an easier target.
At last, a chance. The younger steps too close –
She sees the blow coming, as if in slow-motion. She tries to pull her hand away, to shout, to warn him of his danger -
Armor shatters, green-magic flashes uselessly, and a scream is torn from his lips.
Blood pours like water. It mingles with the lingering flames on her hands.
She wants to scream. She wants to cry. She wants to fling herself over the edge of the world. Loki's blood burns on her hands.
The younger falls to the ground. Scarlet rivers run from his broken body.
LOKI!
Thor cries his brother's name. Useless. He knows well that there is nothing he can do to stop her. She will break HIM next.
Kill! Kill! Kill!
Loki! Loki!
Mjolnir flies at her again, surprising her with its speed. She only just avoids it.
She can see it in his eyes. How they mist over, how his proud features are twisted with agony. He has given up defending. He knows he must hurt the girl to stop her. Excellent.
Thor, help me! Stop me! It's the only way to save your brother!
He raises the Hammer again. The death blow is coming. She awaits it eagerly.
If he kills her, he will go mad. If his brother dies, he will go mad. Either way, she will triumph.
She sees Loki's body lying broken on the hard ground. He has not moved. She prays he is not dead. If Loki dies, she will go mad. If Thor leaves her, she will go mad. Either way, she loses.
Thor lunges forward, eyes like steel, jaw set. She raises her arm. Fire burns down her skin to her fingers. Come and meet your end, Odinson!
Kill! Kill! Kill!
If you don't kill me . . . then I'LL KILL YOU!
He hesitates at the last moment. Mjolnir's bite misses its mark. Fire burns the air.
The God of Thunder falls to his knees. Blood claws at his armor like living death.
She opens her mouth . . .and what comes out is a burst of maniacal laughter.
Sigyn's eyes flew open, a scream on her lips.
Horror. Panic. Guilt.
Her world was nothing but guilt.
For one horrific moment, she thought she was still living the nightmare.
But the room was dark. The room was empty. She was alone.
There was nothing to fear. Not anymore.
Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breathing shallow and labored. Sweat poured from her face, the heat of demonic rage clinging to her like her nightdress clung to her skin. She resisted the urge to cry.
Her hands were burning, the flesh being torn apart, bit by bit, by the same terrifying power that had kept her locked inside her own mind.
She held them up before her eyes . . . and breathed a ragged sigh of relief. They were clean.
She sat up slowly, trying to calm the rage of fear and guilt churning in her stomach. Three days had passed since she and Odin's sons had returned from Muspelheim . . . but three days or three millennia still would not wash away the memory of the horror she had experienced. What kind of magic could turn someone into an unwilling avatar for evil? What kind of creature could trap someone within their own mind, forcing them to watch while they destroy and kill those they care about?
What had done this to her?
It was still dark outside, but sleep was impossible. She needed to think. She needed to sort through her guilt, her fear, the broken pieces of her memories.
She sighed and rose carefully from her bed. The Healers would surely object to her taking a midnight stroll alone.
Well, the Healers would just have to deal with it.