Prologue
From a realm of cold and darkness, came the God of Mischief. From the Realm Eternal, he was raised.
Loki Odinson should've been happy with his life as a prince of Asgard. The fact no one but him and the King and Queen knew of his true heritage should've made for an easier existence. His people shunned him, though. They were golden and bright, while he was pale and solemn. Magic and wit were his strengths, not muscles and brute force.
As his brother became the loved and cherished God of Thunder, he grew bitter and resentful. His mother, though, was the soothing moisture his desiccated soul needed to survive.
Then, on one unthinkable day, the Dark Elves invaded the palace and killed her.
He'd watched her funeral boat drift away, burning the most vibrant reds and oranges, as if in tribute to her glory. Hundreds of boats followed their Queen to the beyond. Their innumerable lights turned night into day, but left the darkness of his loss untouched.
Tears lined his eyes and splashed the ground near his boots as he'd stood rigid next to his stoic father. Not a word or look was shared between the two. Loki might as well had not existed.
Long after everyone had left, he'd stared up into the multitude of galaxies filling the night-sky, wondering how he would continue on without her, the one person who truly knew and accepted him. He was a prince of Asgard, the greatest of the nine realms, and yet, he was utterly alone.
Years passed slower than centuries. Grief and solitude ate away at him until he was no more than a specter haunting the palace.
Each night, he walked to the coast and replayed the ceremony over in his mind, until a new thought took its place. One that came forth from a vague memory of an old tale.
He teleported to the library and tore through every tome in the grand building. Night turned to day. Days turned to months. The only people who saw him were scholars and attendants, but none disturbed his mad search, not with the wild look in his eye, nor with the dangerous air that crackled when he was near.
In the end, the books had been a waste of time. Most contained nothing of the ancient spell. The ones that had mentioned it, claimed it to be fiction.
Instead of giving up hope, he pressed on. Every teacher from his many years of magic training had been questioned. One held a clue that led him to leave behind Asgard without a goodbye.
His years of absence left many people gossiping, but not once had the Allfather asked of him, not once did anyone truly care.
The day he climbed the highest mountain peak on a lifeless planet, was the day he found a modicum of relief. The book was there. Its presence was like an inferno singeing the edges of his magic the closer he got. He was forced to shut off his connection to his power and step into the dark cave with nothing but his determination and two small daggers.
The blackened tunnels were no different than the Void. He walked as a blind and deaf man toward the object of his desire.
For thousands of years, the tome used beings from each realm to act as guards. Their sole purpose was to keep Yggdrasil safe from its powerful and forbidden spells. Narrow passages opened to nine magically illuminated expansive rooms, all with untold horrors waiting.
The first was Helheim and its dead. They battled without care of pain or injury. Relentless and strong, they had surrounded him and crept in tighter to tear him to shreds. Once he discovered severing the head was the only way to permanently disable them, they'd quickly fallen.
Svartalfheim and the Dark Elves were next. Each slash and stab gave him immense pleasure. He imagined killing his mother's murderer over and over again until he was left standing alone and full of bloodlust.
Six more rooms with six more guards passed. They had fought with abandon and savagery, with teeth and claws, limbs and blades. He'd grown tired and bloody, but refused to forsake his mission. Onward he pushed until the last realm was within reach.
An Asgardian the size of Thor stepped to him. His golden armor was a relic of ancient times, yet he fought with the swiftness and certainty of youth. His strikes were brutal and had often found purchase. It was only his will and single-mindedness that fueled his body and allowed him to strike down the larger man.
He dragged himself through the last tunnel and fell to his knees in front of the leather bound book. After wiping his grimy hands on his jacket, he ran his fingers over the cover in wonder. Power zipped through him, reinvigorating his tired muscles and healing his wounds.
He eased the tome off the rocky pedestal and flipped through the time-worn pages with the gentle touch of a new parent. It contained a great many spells, but only one concerned him.
Author's Note: hooray for another fic! This one will be short compared to Natural Selection. (though that one has dwindled greatly since the rewrites. Something like 40k words have been cut and we're only on chapter 30) There will be about nine chapters, 20k words, including the prologue. While this was written in distant third person, the rest will be in my normal close third person.
This short story is a mixed bag of action, angst, and romance. My three favorite things. :)
My sister has been an integral part to this fic. She's awesome. Seriously.
Thanks for reading and giving this story a chance. Constructive criticism is always welcome, along with letting me know your thoughts on what's happening. Reading those comments are always fun.
P.S. I stole that first line from the first movie's intro. Granted, I changed the end, but I'm curious how many people caught that.