Part Three: The Birth of Loki Laufeyson
I waited, delaying my journey to Hel by drawing in shallow breaths; minutes ticked by, hours. Eventually, I caused myself to slip out of Heimdell's sight, and then thawed my veins, allowing myself to sit up painfully. I wasted no time in turning myself into an Asgardian guard; time to visit the Allfather.
When I reached Asgard, I went into the healing ward and pretended to have been wounded in the invasion. The healers were all sympathy and praise at my valor. I just continued my act of suffering; in no mood to be amused by the irony of it all. I didn't let them at my back wound mind you, that would have raised way too many questions.
When I finished there, I went to report to Odin, declaring my own death. This seemed to hit him hard. Good; at least I didn't need to worry about payback then. He could suffer two losses in two days. I went to my room, permanently sealing its doors and windows by magic to anyone except me; I didn't want it to be rifled through. I proceeded to board up the windows and manually lock the doors. Once this was done, I put up a one way sound barrier. That way, no sound would escape this room, but I could hear everything happening around it. Once I felt secure in my fortress, I went into my old haunt; the Library. Going directly to the tenth floor, I pulled out The Book. For the next few days, I sat there, reading about all my predecessors, learning all their tricks, absorbing every bit of information; properly. In the end, I had gained a huge amount of knowledge. Albeit, it took me over three weeks; but it was completely worth it. I now knew just about every trick in the book, literally. I was quite pleased to see that no known criminal mastermind was ever a frost giant with telepathic abilities. This obviously gave me a huge advantage. No-one would know what to expect from me.
The first thing I would do, in my new existence was to go to that old tavern; disguised as blond Luke of course.
I walked in, making every effort to appear small. My reputation here was one of a good patron, and a bit of a patsy as far as fighting went. I always avoided brawls at any cost, so people constantly got free drinks off me. I wanted to change that; in short, I wanted to get in a fight. I walked towards my usual spot at the counter, but discovered it was occupied, by a regularly meagre patron no less; perfect. I pushed his shoulder roughly, upsetting his drink. He whirled on me angrily, but when he saw it was "Little Luke", he grinned.
"Wal Luke, you gonna pay for that?"
I ignored him, ordering him out of my seat. He was taken aback, but responded quickly:
"Naw! This is my spot today, and you ain't gonna move me!"
"Are you sure you want to do that?" I asked, edging my voice with malice. He just chuckled.
"Yup. Now pay up pipsqueak." Stupid Asgardian.
I grabbed him by the neck and threw him off his seat, knocking over a table at the same time. Then, before the Bartender could complain, I sat down and ordered a drink expensive enough to cover the cost of any damage; and I overpaid, up front, in solid gold chips. So, instead of being thrown out like anyone else, I was welcomed by the barkeep and was able to sit contentedly sipping my drink; which tasted like pure satisfaction right now. But apparently, the man didn't know when to give up. He staggered to his feet, clearly dazed, and swung at me with a shaky fist; which I neatly caught without even turning my head. That did it for him, with face beet red, he slurred out a challenge to a duel (Asgardian duels were almost always to the death, unless both parties showed exceptional valor). With no small amount of amusement, I heard the whole bar silence while waiting for me to respond. I decided to go all out:
"I accept; victor pays for drinks."
A general cheer went up throughout the tavern, and everyone stood to go outside and watch. People were even betting. I had to admit, to an outsider, my chances looked slim. My opponent was a weapon toting giant, with battle scars in every imaginable place; I on the other hand, was a small child in comparison, with a coward's reputation. But I had more skill in my little finger than he did in his whole body. So I wasn't concerned; not in the least, just excited.
When I got outside, a ring of spectators marked the duel ground, with many people cheering on the sorry drunkard; as I had thought; general inclination for the win was tilted towards my opponent. I just smirked, striding easily through the knots of spectators. I threw my cloak down, revealing my plainest clothes; which were still very rich for anyone here. Someone catcalled:
"Hey look, it's a princeling!" Mentally, I put him on my kill list, outwardly, I ignored him.
The poor excuse for a warrior dragged his sorry behind into the ring and assumed a very sloppy battle stance; armed with an aged broadsword. Meanwhile, I surveyed my battle area. No other threats were in the area, so I could focus solely on the drunkard in front of me. Even the guards, whose job it were to stop such things were joining in the betting. I was sure now of a flawless victory; so I gripped my favorite dagger, riveting my eyes on my opponent.
We circled for a little, with him feigning attacks to test my reaction. I was careful to never let my eyes leave his; I could tell if he were actually attacking before he made a move, simply by reading his eyes; so I never flinched. Then, his eyes gained a steely look, and I knew he was going to lunge; using my senses, I easily dodged his thrust. After this, it was a quick paced game. He revealed his every move; I leaped just out of his reach, causing him to get angrier each passing second. After a few minutes, he cried out in frustration:
"Stop dancing and fight ya coward!"
A few people in the audience called out their approval at this, and I decided to perform my counter-attack.
At the next lunge, I grabbed his sword by the blade, pulling him into a range he wasn't used to fighting in; which was my comfort zone. I quickly and easily shattered his sword, and then gripped his wrist, breaking that too. I jumped back then, deciding to draw it out a little longer. He was disoriented to say the least, but the pain had snapped him out of his drunken stupor. He looked at me with sharper eyes now, and for the first time, saw the danger that lurked in mine. I jumped to the left, and then, when he threw his mass into a punch at my side, I dodged behind him, grabbing both of his arms; twisting them both just a little too far, hearing two very satisfying cracks. I flipped him around to face me then, loving his pained expression. Then let him drop onto his back, placing my foot on his chest; clearly winning. I looked to the crowd then, and reading his mind, told them the following things:
"This man is unmarried at 350, the scars on his face are not from battle, but are self-inflicted for bragging rights, and he has nothing better to do with his life but lounge at the bar underpaying and picking on people, because the army and guard both rejected him as a recruit."
Then, according to custom, I asked them what I should do to the loser of the duel: Should I finish him or should I let him live? The crowd was silent for a moment, taking in my unexpected performance, but the answer afterwards was unanimous. Kill him. Some people even cried that it was too good for him to die in battle. I leaned over the man; feeling irrepressible blood thirst. Fixing my eyes on his, I drank in the fear and disbelief jumping out at me.
"P-Please, spare me. I'll never bother you no more!" I laughed low and harsh, shaking my head. Bending to the man's ear I whispered cruelly:
"I'll tell your wife that you died honourably." I had no intentions of doing so though. I'd made the entire speech up of course, telling mostly the opposite of the truth.
With that, I tore his throat out. Smirking, I watched his eyes slowly dull; loving the feel of his blood on my hand. Shivering with pleasure, I stood and shouted:
"Drinks on me!"
Any horror at the brutal murder people had just witnessed was washed away as everyone surged joyously into the Tavern, including the peacekeepers. I followed them all in, grinning ear to ear. I knew who I was: Loki Laufeyson. And nothing would get me to give a f*cking damn about what my reputation was. I was my own master now. I'd finally gotten the guts to unlock the chains holding the beast inside of me; and in doing so, I discarded any hope of ever containing it again.
But I discovered that I didn't want to anyway.