Leaving Asgard
A god is a god, even if he is vain and spiteful and thoughtlessly cruel.
A god remains a god, even if he is a god in disgrace, a god shackled to Destiny like a mangy dog to his kennel.
A god will die a god, even if he could have lived when he had accepted his own faults.
He had blundered, and not just a little bit. His whole mad, convoluted scheme had come crashing down upon his head, and though this was neither the first time he had been scheming nor the first time his plans had miserably failed, he knew that this time he wouldn't be easily forgiven. These hadn't been the tricks of a child or the lies of an awkward adolescent. These had been the terrible and irreversible deeds of god, and they would be punished as such.
He didn't fear the punishment. He didn't fear the shame, either, nor did he fear his brother's anger, his mother's grief, or his father's disappointment. All those things he deserved, and he would have faced them with his head bowed in resignation. He would have done anything to regain their love, if only he felt worthy of it.
But he didn't.
The truth had slowly come to him in the past few days. It had waked at the back of his mind as he'd executed a simple scheme of his. Perhaps this one had been just a bit more dangerous than the regular ones, but it had nonetheless been well-intentioned at heart. It also worked like a charm, filling him with the satisfaction of having brought his arrogant brother a couple of pegs down without getting anyone hurt.
Then, of course, a myriad of possibilities to further mischief had presented themselves. His one victory had made him hungry for more, and so he took advantage of each of them. Each one was a little more dangerous than the previous one, a little more vicious, and all the more worth it for their possible yield.
The truth at the back of his mind had grown clearer, his conscience nudging him to acknowledge it even through the glorious haze of victory that clouded his mind. Instead of listening to it, he had tried to erase it, to make it obsolete, by destroying all evidence of his wrongs. He overreacted. It was then that he had slipped from casual mischief into well-intentioned evil.
But even outright evil did not bring the results that the he and his world needed so much. It had only brought ruin and despair, as evil is wont to do. And in the middle of ruin, justice finally caught up with him.
Now, amidst the splinters of his plans, he struggled to maintain his grip on a life that was rapidly slipping away from him. And here, on the brink, he finally perceived the truth: He enjoyed his mischief. He enjoyed the schemes, and the tricks, and the chaos he wrought. It was as much a part of him as his keen mind and his magical skills. No amount of his parents' love or his brother's easy camaraderie could ever remedy the gleeful treachery that lurked in his heart; and they would never see it. They believed in punishment, and forgiveness, and love. They would never do what was required to get rid of that evil—to get rid of him.
So he did it himself.
He let go of life. He chose to die, embracing despair to escape his yearning for life, and love, and redemption. And as the abyss wrapped its cold arms around him, he looked one last time at his father and brother and saw the loss in their eyes.
Then he died, and the void took him.
So begins the story of a certain Norse god on earth. Reviews are much appreciated :)