Ho boy I have no idea what I'm doing here.
I just really, really wanted to try my hand at the whole "how the heck Loki became a Sakaraan VIP" thing and lo, here I am. To be honest, I have some idea. Some very general idea, that actually came to me after I started writing this—but hey, better late than never, especially that the moment it did, I pretty much went "HECK YES THIS COULD WORK!" Now let's hope I can actually pull it off.
So I know where it's going, but the path is kind of unclear for now. I'm basically plotting this as I write… which is probably not a smart move.
Fair warning: I am not good at the whole multichapter thing. Updates may be slow. Painfully slow.
Okay. Here we go.
WARNINGS: violence and some messed up ethics later on.
Loki was falling. Again.
The moment he found himself outside he could feel the invisible teeth of the Void bite into him again, ready to rip him apart over and over, just like the last time. Images and noises and memories began to flood his head immediately, barely leaving any room for panicked thoughts of not again no no not this NOT THIS ANYTHING BUT THIS—
Another small thought made it past the noise, daring to hope that at least he'd land in a different place this time. But no hope could survive for long in the Void. He felt his magic unravel and he tried to grasp at it frantically, but it slipped through his fingers. Soon blind panic swallowed him completely, leaving him hurtling towards whatever horrors awaited him in the abyss of raw space.
This time, however, the fall turned out to be mercifully shorter.
Of course, time had little meaning in the Void, where seconds could feel like years, months like minutes, and minutes like weeks. He still didn't really know how long his first fall had lasted and was not at all eager to find out.
And yet, when a loud metallic noise and a wave of pain running through his entire body announced that he crashed into something, he had a feeling it couldn't have been that long. The very fact he was able to actually think that so soon after landing was quite a hint; his head was not yet that much of a mess as the last time.
He rolled down a slope of some kind—more noise and more pain—until he came to a stop and just lied sprawled there for a moment. He was hurting all over and the ground was of the pointy and uncomfortable variety—it barely even felt like proper ground—but it wasn't the Void, so he was willing to consider it an improvement.
Although there was still the question of where.
Not that place, he thought. There was some mechanical noise in the distance and the air smelled of… many things, mostly smoke and fuel, mixed with a stench of rot, and, rather surprisingly, a tinge of saltwater. It also carried a tinge of some eccentric energy, which somehow felt familiar, but not quite. That place had been dead and silent. Wherever he was now, it was somewhere else.
With a groan, Loki sat up and opened his eyes.
He was surrounded by trash. Loads and loads of it, more than he'd ever seen in his entire life. It stretched in every direction, forming small hills and islands in a grimy sea. Disgusted, Loki stood up and brushed himself down—and then he looked up.
There was a portal in the sky, just above him. Not like the one he'd created years ago in New York, not sustained by anything external, nor harnessed, just… being there, existing on its own.
And another one a bit farther. And then one more, and yet another, and another, and—
The sky was full of holes, of passages big and small, which, Loki surmised, all led to different places.
It explained the energy, or rather energies in the air. They were similar to what Loki had felt every time he used the Bifrost or one of his secret passages, but here they were more erratic, not bound to a place or by a device. They flowed through the air in multitudes of currents of various strengths and directions, wild, free, and probably not as easily controllable as the kinds he was familiar with.
That also explained the abundance of garbage, as Loki could see some of the wormholes spit out things, some small an indistinguishable, and some larger, like about a half of a spaceship that just fell out of a portal on the other side of the small bay he was standing at.
One portal stood out, though, and when Loki saw it, he couldn't help but stare in anxious awe. While other passages were mere punctures in the fabric of space, that one was a gaping wound, raw and bleeding, like a storm of crimson fire surrounded by a wreath of dark clouds.
Eventually, Loki looked away. He wouldn't learn much about the wormhole from just staring, apart from the fact that it was most likely wiser to venture in the exact opposite direction.
He carefully climbed the nearest trash pile, which threatened to crumble under his feet, and as he reached the summit, he saw some kind of a city in the distance, its tall buildings marring the horizon. One tower, located approximately in the center of it, dwarfed them all.
Civilization. He breathed a sigh of relief, even though he didn't yet know what kind of civilization it could be. Probably not anything too sophisticated, if his nearest surroundings were any indication. He set his expectations rather low, while bearing in mind that any kind of a city was probably still better than just being stranded in a gigantic trash heap.
Loki slid down the pile and started his walk, knowing it would take him as while to get to the city. He could use the time to try and come up with a new plan, perhaps.
Not that he really had had any previous plan. Since Thor's return, he'd been thinking on his feet, and while he regarded himself to be quite good at that, there was only so much he could manage with new variables piling up pretty much with every minute. First he got exposed, then Odin wasn't where he was supposed to be, then Odin just died, then Loki had a sister, and then she threw him back into the Void and—
Loki stopped in his tracks, feeling a pang in his chest.
He had lost everything.
Even if he found a way out of… whatever this place was, he could not return to Asgard. Being exposed had complicated things enough, but had not necessarily meant certain death, whereas in the newest circumstances…
Hela had probably reached Asgard already and if it wasn't hers yet, it was just a matter of time. Either she would invoke her right to the throne as Odin's firstborn and get what she wanted right away, or she'd just slaughter everyone who opposed her—Loki had little doubt she'd be capable of it, considering her spectacularly terrifying display of power. No one should have been able to destroy Mjolnir, let alone that easily. It had been supposed to be one of the most powerful weapons in the Nine Realms, a tool without equal, and she just—
Thor.
Another pang came, this time stronger. Loki took a shuddering breath.
Thor was probably dead.
No. That wasn't even just a possibility. Thor was dead. He wouldn't have survived his encounter with Hela. She wouldn't have let him live.
But then, neither should Loki have expected her to let him live, and yet here he was, if only by accident.
He looked back at the portal he arrived by, almost hopefully, but what fell though was only some more junk. Not sure what he'd been expecting, Loki sighed and continued his journey.
It should not hurt so much. They hadn't parted on the best of terms—they hadn't been on the best of terms for quite a while now. Had it not been for Hela's unexpected arrival, they'd most likely have come to blows. And yet…
Thor was—had been the only family he had left.
Suddenly, their faces popped up in his head. He saw Frigga as he had told her she was not his Mother, even though they both knew better. He saw Odin, using his last words say that he loved his sons, both of them, despite everything, despite the fact he had every right to say something else. He saw Thor, telling Loki that he wished he could trust him, a wry smile pulling at his lips.
Now he was utterly alone, with no one to come back to and no one to come back to him.
Loki blinked, feeling an annoyed stinging in his eyes, and picked up the pace. He had to let that go. He had been alone before and learned how to live with it, this time it wouldn't be different—shouldn't be. There were other things for him to worry about—like staying away from the Mad Titan.
Not that Thanos seemed to be in much of a hurry to get him or the Tesseract. In the three years Loki spent posing as Odin, he kept monitoring the Nine Realms regularly in search of any signs of the Titan's activity, only to find nothing. Eventually, it turned from a daily ritual of dread into a mildly unsettling routine that in time, with each report yielding no worrying findings, turned out to be almost… calming. So calming that at some point he stopped worrying altogether, even though he still kept some plans up his sleeve in case Thanos did arrive.
Most of those plans involved getting far, far away from Asgard as quickly as possible, but they were plans nevertheless.
Loki briefly wondered what would happen if Thanos decided to go to Asgard in the near future, only to be greeted by Hela. If those two joined forces, they could forge a horrifying alliance indeed: the Suitor of Death and the Goddess of Death, fighting side by side, drowning the universe in blood…
On the other hand… no they, wouldn't. Hela wanted to rule everything and everyone. Thanos wanted to kill everything and everyone. That posed a certain conflict of interests.
As far as Loki was concerned, the two could do the universe a favor and just kill each other.
A sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his thoughts. Loki whirled around, summoning daggers into his hands; to his left, there were three figures standing, all clad in dull-colored rags. Two of them wore mismatched helmets completely hiding their visages, while one seemed to have his face covered in flaking red paint. All of them were armed, the masked ones with large guns strapped to their backs, while the last one was holding a crossbow, not yet pointing at Loki, but already loaded.
Loki tensed, planting his feet more firmly. He didn't feel like fighting just yet—the vertigo left by the fall and the pain from the crash-landing didn't go away completely, and his magic was still frayed at the edges. He'd prefer to resolve it without resorting to something as tiring as violence, but if they became hostile, he would make them regret it for the rest of their lives—the whole thirty seconds or so.
"New arrival, huh?" the one with the painted face said, smiling a little too friendly. "It's not wise to roam the Wastes alone."
"It's also not wise to threaten me," Loki replied.
"Oh, I was not. But speaking of which, how about we skip the whole threatening part and you just surrender? That would make things easier for all of us."
A smirk tugged at Loki's lips. "I have a counter-offer. You surrender and maybe I will let you walk away on your own feet."
Painted-Face and two of his masked companions chuckled. The third, tallest one, only made an annoyed huff.
"Waste of time and effort," he muttered in a low, growly voice. "Look at him. He's too skinny. Wouldn't last a minute in the arena. We'd be lucky if we got one's meal worth of units for him."
Arena? Loki's brow twitched. So this place apparently had blood sports and slavery. His already low expectations just dropped significantly.
"Then we keep him," the third one squeaked. "I could use some fresh meat. I'm sick of that canned stuff."
Loki's expectations just hit the rock bottom and drilled a hole in it.
"He's barely enough for the three of us!" the tall one complained.
"He won't be if you don't get too greedy again, Dhook," Squeaky pointed out.
Oh Norns, this can't be real.
"Anyway," Painted-Face turned to Loki again, just as he thought he might simply walk away and leave them squabbling, "we, uh, appreciate you offer, but you do realize it's three on one, right?" He gave Loki a pitiful look.
"Yes. Three of you versus one of me." Loki bared his teeth in a vicious smile, magic ready at the tips of his fingers. "Should be easy enough."
Painted-Face seemed to hesitate just for a second, before quickly raising his crossbow and shooting. He wasn't quick enough; Loki ducked and let the spell loose, conjuring two images of himself. As he expected, two of his opponents immediately attacked his illusions, trying to shoot them. As he didn't expect, the one called Dhook just rushed towards his real self, with his gun raised like a club. Loki sidestepped, avoiding the blow, and caught a glimpse of unarmored skin beneath the rags. He flung a dagger at Dhook before the latter managed to lift his weapon again; the blade sank between Dhook's ribs.
The thud of their comrade's body hitting the ground drew the other two's attention. Squeaky turned around just in time for Loki's second dagger to hit him in the shoulder; he dropped his weapon and scampered off, shrieking intelligibly. Loki didn't bother to pursue him, instead magicking both of his daggers back into his hands and facing the last remaining foe.
Painted-Face had just managed to reload his crossbow—quite an accomplishment, seeing as his hands were shaking badly—and took the shot. With a well-timed wave of his hand and one flick of his finger, Loki deflected the bolt with a forcefield.
"Easy indeed," he said, relishing in the fear he saw in Painted-Face's eyes. For a moment, the man just stared, only to suddenly throw his crossbow to the ground, unsheathe a knife from somewhere within the folds of his ragged robe, and with something between a battle cry and a fearful yelp, lunge at Loki.
Only slightly fazed by this apparent display of panicked madness, Loki dodged the strike and didn't give Painted-Face a chance to perform a second one, swiftly plunging a dagger into the side of his neck.
As the body crumpled to the ground, Loki rested his hands on his knees, panting. Getting into a fight so soon certainly hadn't been the best idea—it hadn't even been a particularly challenging one, and he already felt tired. He looked up; the city was still a fair bit of distance away. A few options came to his mind.
He could try finding a tear in space—he was sure that wouldn't pose much of a problem here—and turn it into a shortcut, but with the all the unstable energies around, he'd risk being flung at the other side of the universe instead of just jumping a few miles away.
He could see some ships in the sky, some of them apparently landing on or taking off somewhere in the trash field. He could hijack one and just fly to the city, or maybe just straight through one of the wormholes—but he had no idea where it would take him. Assuming the ship would be sturdy enough to withstand the trip, he'd just be lost somewhere else while he needed to recuperate and develop a more substantial plan than "stay alive."
Not to mention he'd surely have to fight for a ship, and that was precisely what he wanted to avoid.
With a sigh, Loki weaved a illusion over his body, basing his appearance on Dhook with just a few minor tweaks. He kept it simple; it would dissolve when touched, but that way it took less effort to maintain it. Not the safest option still, but at this point nothing he could do really guaranteed safety.
He dismissed his daggers and picked up Squeaky's discarded gun, examining it. A rigged energy blaster with some charge remaining, still functional, easy to handle. He flung it over his shoulder and resumed his walk towards the city, hoping he wouldn't have to use it. However, seeing how his day was going so far, he knew he should prepare for more things going awry, especially here.
A planet of trash, slavers, people-eaters, and lunatics. Perhaps this wasn't the worst place he could've ended up in, but it surely was a close second.