The Death of a God
He felt cold... ever so very cold. But how? How could he feel cold? Frost Giants didn't feel the cold... did they? He felt cold, but he also felt a burning fire. A raging fire in his chest, eating him away with its flames. The pain... the dulled pain... spread throughout his body like wildfire. That is when he saw it; the red blood running down his chest. Red. Why was his blood red? Jotun blood was blue. A light, sky blue, with a silver tint. That is when he also noticed the sword, protruding from his chest; the sword that had pierced his heart of ice. Then his senses returned to him and he remembered what was going on.
He was fighting... alone. He was fighting alone and preventing the destruction, of none other than New York City. He knew not where The Avengers were, but he had taken it upon himself to be the last line of defence before the Midgardians had to deal with it. The threat was not a big one, but his old enemy had acquired a sword. A sword that was fatal to users of the magical arts. Loki being the unnamed God of Magic had been weakened in its mere presence and thus, he eventually succumbed to its power.
Loki could hear the screams of the mortals. The explosions of cars. The commanding yells. The burning fires. And most of all, he could hear his own blood dropping to the floor, while he could quick, shallow breaths. All of that is what he could hear.
He could smell the petrol. The oil. The burning of flesh and flame. The scent of the one who had impaled him. But most of all, he could smell his own blood as it poured from his body like a waterfall.
Suddenly, the sword was pulled from his body and jerked and fell to his knees, his new staff, named Fróðleikr, meaning magic in the language of old Norse, still clutched limply in his right hand and resting on the floor.
He looked around, taking in the destruction. The death. The fire.
This was no battle. This was a slaughter.
He could feel his life force start to leave him; he was dying and he knew it so very well.
He had some magical force left within him. He could use it. He could use it and have a small chance of survival. But then how would Thor feel, if he lived only long enough to see him, before dying in his older brother's arms.
He could not have Thor bear such pain.
He would not allow Thor to bear such pain.
There was another option. Just one other.
He could use his remaining power, to kill the one who had more or less killed him.
With his enemy dead, the attack would surely stop, and all of the warriors running wild on the streets, would retreat, because of the death of their leader.
He could be a hero.
He could die a warrior's death.
A true warrior's death.
Thor would be proud of him.
His parents would be proud of him.
Perhaps even The Avengers would be proud of him.
They would take pride in knowing that they had once known a hero.
A hero who everyone had called a coward.
But that did not matter to Loki one bit.
Thor would be proud of him and that is all that mattered.
He began to summon it. Summon the pain. The sheer, unrivalled, unrelenting anger that he had kept for a millennium. He summoned every last drop of magical power he had and every last ounce of strength he still retained and forced his battered body to stand and turn around in one, swift motion. He used grace and elegance in his movements that he had thought had been lost along with his energy. But no, his burning will kept him going as if he had never suffered an injury.
If I am to die... I will die a warrior's death!
He stood up and turned in one swift motion, raising his staff and swinging it round at the same time. His enemy was caught by complete surprise, like he had been originally, and only managed to block at the last moment. Loki started slashing with the blades at the end of his staff with speed that he had never used before. This time, he was the one attacking, leaving the other to defend. He quickly over powered his enemy, knocking them to the floor and brought his staff above his head with both hands, before stabbing the foe in front of him, his face the very symbol of anger.
After he slew his enemy, everything he predicted came true; the other warriors retreated, leaving the mortals to sort out yet another mess. But Loki... Loki just stood there, taking some of his last breaths. He fell backwards after a few moments, knowing he would die a warrior's death. Knowing Thor would be proud of him... and because of that, he knew he could die happy.
It was then he heard someone call his name. It was... it was Thor. His brother, though not one in blood was crouched over him. He could feel his body being shook, but gently. He forced himself to try and focus, so he could listen and share his last breaths with the one whom despite everything that has happened, he still calls brother.
"Loki!" Thor's panic stricken voice sounded. Tears had already threatened to flood the God of Thunder's eyes as he gazed upon his brother's battered form.
"Thor..." came the whispered reply.
The older God struggled to keep calm as he saw the very life leave Loki's eyes, "Brother, I need you to stay awake," Thor said, his entire body trembling, including his very voice.
Loki smiled slightly, "Thor... my body is broken... there is no remedy that can help me now..." the God of Mischief whispered.
"No, I do not believe that, brother," the Thunderer replied. He was half lying when he said that, he did have some thoughts that Loki would not make it, but he forced them away.
"I can see the lie in your eyes, Thor. Even if it is only a slight one," As Loki's voice grew weaker and his features paler, he knew that he had to ask Thor something soon, "Thor, can I ask you of one last request?"
The God of Thunder seemed shocked that Loki would ask him if he could do one last request, instead of asking straight away, "Of course, brother."
"I would like to see it. The palace, caught in the beams of the sun, glowing a bright gold in its light. I would like to see Asgard, from the Bifrost... one last time," Came the whispered request. Loki's body was running on the last scrap of life it had and soon, he knew he would see the gates of Valhalla.
Thor nodded, his features still trembling. He gave the order to Heimdall to open the Bifrost and soon the two brothers were back in Asgard. The Gatekeeper had seen everything that had conspired on Earth and he nodded his apologies to Thor, who accepted them with a silent, solemn nod. The God of Thunder carried the God of Mischief out to the very start of the bridge and knelt down, so Loki could see the city shining in the sunlight. "I saw what you did, brother; I saw your last stand... you die a warrior's death this day. Tales will be told of your bravery for all of eternity and I... I will be the first to tell them," Thor whispered.
"You saw?" Loki questioned.
"Yes, I saw," Thor replied.
Loki smiled; it was good to know that the one person he cared for had witnessed his moment of triumph. He cast one last gaze over the city, admiring it's beauty. The gold light was shining in his bright green eyes. In his last breath, he whispered, "It is beautiful... is it not, brother?"
Thor cradled Loki's head to his chest, his warm tears dripping on to Loki's cold, lifeless face, "Yes... yes, it is, brother."
They say he was born a monster, a coward at best,
But on this day, his day of rest,
He died not a monster, not a coward, not a foe,
He died a friend, a brother, a warrior and a hero.
Well that was certainly very sad to write. Originally, the first half is a RolePlay Journal I wrote for my Loki account on DeviantArt today, but I have also turned it into a fanfic today as well. There may be a One-shot sequel to this, so stay tuned. Also, I know this is far from my best work, but this is mainly meant to focus on Loki and Thor alone and it's up to you to picture the area Loki was in and how his foe looked. I hope you liked it, please tell me what you think and this may have things added to it as well.