Wandering
I wrote 2 different endings for this story in the 2 proceeding chapters.
The mere sight of her leading the army was pretty awe striking.
Except it was the enemy's Army.
The Lady Sif was heading the seemingly endless lines of the chituries along side the other and Thanos.
Her eyes were blazing dead blue, seemingly void.
On the opposite side: Thor, Loki, the avengers and the warrior three were leading what was left of the exhausted Aesir Army.
Two consecutive wars were too much to handle.
Their gaze shifted from Midgard to Asgard.
Realm eternal was fresh out of war with Malkeith.
Realm eternal has the Tesseract and the bifrost.
Realm eternal was ripe, golden worth the destruction.
Realm eternal was the key to universe.
And so the war started.
Who would have thought the lady Sif would be the one to bring about Ragnarok?
"My earnest apologies that you fell in love with such a twisted creature of the wastes. It is probably the first sincere thing that I have acknowledged in a very long time. I probably hurt you more than you dare to confess to, even to yourself, I have hurt you with my affections, with my jealousy. I have hurt you with my series of betrayals. I have failed you when I let go. And yet again I wound you with my departure. You are strong enough to endure the pain and forge a way out of this mess I have tangled you in"
She always knew he was an inclined shadow, someone she couldn't rely on.
There was always this voice telling her that his days aren't bound to stay on.
Clutch your sword, clench your teeth, hold yourself together and let your mind drift in the fight.
And so days drag on.
And she learns to live.
She relents to Thor's constant nagging (influenced by the annoying three) that she should visit Midgard.
She doesn't regret it.
Midgard is a beautiful Realm, Especially in the winter.
Their winter is alive at least.
Yet their seasons cycle fast.
She liked New York.
A lot of lights.
A lot of shadows that reminds her of nothing at all.
She was getting used to Thor's new band of Misfits.
They were good, she had to admit.
She hones her arching techniques with their archer.
And her direct combat techniques with the former spy.
She loses herself in training.
She almost forgets.
She even forgets herself, sometimes.
Life on his own was Rough, nothing he didn't expect. Nothing he wasn't used for.
From realm to realm,
He still couldn't find a Place to fit.
so He wanders.
If there is one thing that binds them still, it is the absolute loathe for memories.
To her, they were images deep in the well, ones that cause immense pain once they float to surface, fragments of a wished to be eliminated history.
Intangible illusions of hope, a source of Despair, hazy reflections on a watery surface. A myriad of colours: gold, red, green and black, colours other than blue. Colours he'd rather not remember.
It surprises her that she doesn't remember his Face well.
She doesn't want to.
If she'd remember how disdain, bitterness and envy contorted his features, she'd rather not remember.
Her eyes burnt with ultimate ferocity and rage he never knew she could possess. He couldn't blame her.
Her voice was barely restrained; he could still feel her blade on his neck "I will kill you"
The spindle of galaxies was hanging on yggdrasil's branches.
Constellations and constellations of stars, that they used to gaze at when younger, with the least of burdens and complications.
The time she faced Chituries was on Midgard.
She learnt they had methods to creep in minds and control them.
She didn't heed well.
She couldn't avoid it.
And she fell prey.
Soon After, the first raid on Asgard took place.
He still sniffed for news about Realm eternal.
He knew the realm was under attack.
He knew Lady Sif was captured.
"Damned" he muttered.
He lost her to one of his many mistakes.
And now here he is, standing alongside the people he loved and loathed with equal measure, in a battle he wished nothing more than to avoid being part of.
The hour has come,
The wind is wailing as Battle fever rises and sings in their veins.
He could hear the other's voice in his head, resonating.
"Quite a marvel, isn't she? I learnt you had a shared history, not the best though. I won't touch her, not until this war is won victoriously, not until I make her kill you! Slowly, intimately, in every way she knows you fear"
Loki laughed at irony, not so long ago he said similar words.
Words have a strange way to come around.
"How inventive of you to mimic my words" he mentally retorted.
They have come to face off and finish their affairs once and for all.
She is steel and rock when she fights him off, soulless and pitiless.
Every blow harsher than the previous.
He knows how it works, as much negative sentiments you harbour, as much as their grip on your mind is tightened and god knows the dark side of Sif isn't quite shallow or tiny.
Discarding her grief over her dead father, her rage at the mother who left her, her fury at her estranged brother, her utter resentment of court, their relationship with all its downs and downs is more than enough to make their clasp on her ironclad.
She knocks the sword out of his hand.
So he resorts to the last trick he has in his quiver.
He recalls his true form, his Jotunn form.
And for a split second, she is distracted enough to magically regain his sword and carry on fighting.
And so they carry on.
Her physical strength was starting to wane. Giving his magic advantage over her.
It isn't long before he tramples her out of balance, his sword at her neck.
And then her eyes revert back to their usual brown, terror filled, shame filled.
