As I lay dying, I realize what a horrible waste my life has been. Always in Thor's humongous shadow, never being appreciated for my potential. The one person in the world who loved me, dead and rotting. And here I am. Wasting my last precious moments in this world, cursing my existence. Disgusted, I look down at my gray now hands. Not the right color. No, not at all. That fool, Thor. He could have easily realized I am not dead yet. The Asgardian form has not left me. I lift one of my trembling hands and reach under the bloody shirt, to reveal a silver chain. At its end, an ornate glass vial is dangling in the faint breeze. The garnet roses encrusted in the vial hide a secret which will save me. Another chance. Another shot at life. How many can say they have had such an occasion? l shall pay a great price for using this, but I will have to learn to live with it. I uncork the vial and drain it of its ember liquid, allowing it to seep into the wound.
Warmth floods my body, starting from my chest and quickly invading every hidden crevice, banishing the frigid stillness which had overcome me. The life-giving substance has worked its miracle. I have not felt this warm in so joy which this brings is not meant to last, familiar pale white returns to my weak hands awakening the dead nerves and with them, the 're back.
"Hey, did you miss us?" The voices start taking shape in the air, appearing out of the pain induced void they have been stuffed in until now. The brief moment of silence which I had been given ends as abruptly as it started. The wound has held them off until now. As it heals, its power weakens.
"Of course not, what was there to miss?" I shout turning around, trying to catch a glimpse of the gashtrealing. The creature my father had gifted to me for eternity has one goal, To drive me insane. The demon kept itself hidden, always behind me.
"We can't believe you chose to do this after all. Are you not yet tired of being a disappointment? Of hurting everyone around you?" the voices whisper. I start trembling. I had forgotten how bad it was during the few moments of peace I had been given. I shall have to endure this, day and night for the rest of my life, for the serum had saved me from death, in exchange I had to give up the immunity I had gotten from the drugs.I drop to my knees, clutching my head, willing the cruel creature to leave me be.
"Now, why would we do that?" they say, the noise circling me like a scavenger looking for a meal. Waiting till' I dropped dead. Please. Just go away. I beg them.
"Exactly Loki. Beg. You know of nothing else. Always crawling under people's feet like a worm. Never any dignity. " All of the sudden, the noise in my head goes quiet. I am not worth any attention. Not even from the voices inside my own head. I slump down, defeated.
They won. They got me so desperate to beg. And of course, they did. I am a monster. A weakling. Someone so unwanted they were left to die. Who is so hopelessly messed up, they crave love. Why do you need someone like that? I was wrong. I should never have used the serum and died with dignity. "Killed in battle." I would have made people proud. But why bother? Why is making others proud on my list? Why do I care about what others think? Should I not be above this kind of thing?
Well, I am not. I do not deserve another chance. I will mess this up the way I have messed up countless times before. I pick my dagger up from where I dropped it, put it on my chest, and will myself to push it in.
"Come on, Loki. One inch. Maybe two. It takes hardly any effort, and you would be done. Out of this world, and it's countless problems. You could never disappoint anyone, ever again. "
I jerk around, finally getting a glimpse of the creature which has been tormenting me my whole life. Making me feel ten times worse, every time I messed up. The gashtrealing was me. But a wrong twisted version. Its eyes were dark black pits, as if filled with ash. It was dressed in dark blue clothing embroidered with gold at the edges. Its hair was a peculiar shade of violet and it's skin wrinkled up like an old man's face. The fingers were claws dripping yellow fog. A rather odd look for a thing so wicked. As soon as our eyes make contact, it gives an unearthly screech and disappears in my blind spot again, but not before I toss my dagger at it and nail it in the chest.