*12/10/17 - I started this story many years ago before I chose to study writing more thoroughly. The result was technically messy but created out of love for the Marvel universe characters. While I don't have time to do a full developmental edit or characterization adjustments, I plan to fix my grammar/sentences and re-publish to make it more enjoyable for you guys. This tale once got sidetracked by life and a YA manuscript, but I plan to give you all a finished product you can hopefully enjoy. Thanks for the continued support!*
Disclaimer: I don't own any Marvel characters, nor am I making a profit from this story.
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Prologue - Old Tricks
A glimmer of gold rippled through the layers of crimson upon his back—an anomaly so fleeting it vanished in the blink of an eye. Loki finally possessed the power he so fervently sought. He had utilized mischief in order to usurp the throne, which was quite befitting of his reputation. Such triumphs brought a slow, but calculated, smile to his thinly pressed lips. The morning Asgard sun, which pierced through the vast throne room, illuminated a touch of madness in his eyes. Yet still, he hungered.
It took mere months after the start of his clandestine rule for his satisfaction to wane. The loss of his mother, Frigga, left him more emotionally ragged than he liked to admit.
She was not your mother, he told himself bitterly, but a pang in his gut led to correction, it was you who was never her son. Not the son she deserved—nothing more than a monster, inside and out. His brow creased as he shifted his weight on the throne.
To rule Asgard. The supreme sign of power. It should be coursing through his veins, empowering him, yet kingship meant nothing more than a step up over Thor. Power without respect left him yearning for something more. He knew he would never have those things, not from his adoptive family, not from the place of his youth. The only person who ever espoused love for him was dead. His fist clenched tighter until his nails left crescent indentations along the flesh of his palm.
With memories of family, his thoughts shifted onto his so-called brother once more. Loki scoffed at Thor being on Midgard with a mortal love. Even from afar the lout robbed him of victory. Loki wouldn't let him win. Not again. He still hoped for vengeance, even craved it. Rising from the throne, his movements were swift and powerful like that of a predator in pursuit of prey.
Let the games begin.