...oooOOOooo…
The three Nornir gazed over the shimmering waters at the destiny they had woven for the young prince. As they watched, the constellation became clouded with the activity of smaller creatures, like midges swarming at dusk.
They come, the third one intoned, for the debt that is owed. The others nodded understanding.
He will pay, said the first, but not in the currency of their choosing.
...oooOOOooo…
The golden crest of a helm glinted in the pale light, as the hulking reptilian form lifted its head. Tracking the errant, arrogant prince had been ridiculously easy - no one else in Asgard possessed such strong ability, and the peculiar quality of Loki's heritage made his every move stand out: the crackling electricity of a Jotunn that nevertheless left the echoing hum of Asgardian magic in its wake. The moment his hand had brushed the outer reaches of their realm, their reality, Loki had given away his position, and his purpose, to his unrealized, unforgiving enemy.
Loki had not, contrary to reports, been directly responsible for the decimation of the Chitauri forces - her forces - but the hubris of Laufey's runt had been the cause of their slaughter at the hands of a thoroughly inferior foe. One shot had wiped out most of the warrior drones, and a number of the more capable soldiers. The few survivors had limped back to their homeworld, ship damaged beyond salvage, and the energy emanating from the scorched and fractured hull had brought sickness and death to countless others of their race before the source of the disease had been discerned, and a force field erected around the entirety of the wreckage to contain the worst of the contagion.
The numbers of the Chitauri were diminished, but their rage had intensified. Where once they would have relied on strength to overwhelm their foe, they were forced now to forge a new plan of attack, one of stealth and cunning. The adoptive Asgardian had always had friends, or at least reinforcements, preferring the cowardly use of magic or retreat, rather than risk death in open battle.
She had learned much, watching Loki work. She would give him that death using his own weapons - stealth, deception, slow-working poison. It would be a genuine pleasure to watch, to beat him at his own games.
Sitting alone in her chamber, she motioned to her door-guard to enter. He dropped his gaze, as was proper, before approaching her presence.
"Mistress," he rumbled, kneeling.
She leaned down to place a scaly finger under the soldier's chin, drawing his gaze up to meet hers. "You will need an upgrade" she said, placing in his upraised palm a small glistening creature, like a metallic millipede, which coiled itself onto the flat of the soldier's hand and integrated its circuitry into his own.
"Go," she said, casting into his mind Loki's image. "Hunt your quarry." The newly-minted assassin nodded, eyes glinting with a blue fire as the upgrade reprogrammed his cybernetic components to prepare him for the task she had set.
...oooOOOooo…
Gaining entrance to the trail he sought was precisely like opening a book with thick, velvet curtains for pages. Loki let the folds fall shut behind him, and wended his way along a twisting corridor. The passage was just tall enough for him to walk, and only slightly more wide than his narrow form. Where the Bifrost was sleek, sparkling with the reflections of numerous stars, this path was dark, littered with jutting corners and edges, more rough-hewn obsidian than polished opal.
The whole of reality was crazed with cracks such as this, and yet no one of Asgard knew of their existence, let alone traversed them as often as he did. They were his secret, yet another way in which the mind of Loki outstripped those of the boring, boorish kin with whom he'd been cursed. It had taken years to even find them, and a full century of walking to know them all. They had never bothered to wonder if such paths even existed, and they had the audacity to call him lazy.
The defile gradually widened, until it joined a larger corridor, one that would eventually connect to a well-traveled way that was forbidden to Heimdall's sight. A guardian among the living had no business with the paths of the dead.
Loki, however, had something of a special dispensation - at least if he went to see his daughter.
As he climbed down into the smoothed, worn passage, something niggled at the back of his mind, the minutest of vibrations on spider-silk, telling him that he was watched. It could very well be his daughter's attention on him, he mused. He was, after all, entering her territory. Loki sought to push the premonition aside, but a hint of doubt lingered, undermining the magician's confidence. With a glint of worry in his eyes, Loki slowed his progress, pacing more deliberately as he stepped on the wider way, to Hel.