A/N: It sucks to be Kursed.
Algrim was suffering.
He was happy – more than happy – to serve. He knew that the best way to bring down Asgard's defenses was to loose a Kursed warrior within its walls, and he knew that of all the warriors remaining to Malekith, with the possible exception of Malekith himself, he, Algrim, was the best.
But. He had now been stabbed in the gut, for reasons not entirely clear to him. The knife had hurt. The kurse stone had hurt worse going in, and hurt even worse than that coming out. To add insult to injury, the stupid Asgardian guards had not even searched him when he was brought in; he could have just kept the stone in his pocket.
Malekith had apparently not wanted to take chances. It was rumored that an elf had once tried to smuggle a kurse stone into a protected city by means of shoving it up his ass. But he had quarreled with one of his friends, went the story, and half an hour outside the city gates had accidentally tensed up with anger hard enough to crack it open. It was said he had killed his friends, and broke his own skull smashing mindlessly into the city walls when he could not attain his goal.
Malekith believed the story. Algrim didn't. After all, if such a thing had happened, and the Kursed one had destroyed the raiding party he came with and then destroyed himself… who would have been left to tell the story in the first place?
But it was not his place to question, and anyway it would have been too late. Once Malekith put a hole in his abdomen there was nothing much to do but let the stone be shoved into it. Even though it hurt.
And it hurt worse now. He held the stone in his hand and wondered if the transformation would hurt even more. He suspected that it would.
Nevertheless, he did his duty. He crushed the stone in his hand.
The pain did stop, at least, once the transformation was complete. But he was still suffering – he wanted, he needed, to destroy Asgard's shields, to smash and tear and kill. Every step he took without bones crunching underfoot was a torment and a waste; he itched for battle.
He let warriors out of their cages so that he could have the joy of pulverizing them. The commotion called guards, which he pulverized with even greater relish.
One prisoner, a pale Asgardian in the cell on the end, was watching him knowingly. Trying to make contact.
But he was Kursed now, and he was not interested. He had more important matters to attend, like getting the shields down so that his blood would stop boiling with the need.
But I'll remember you, he thought at the pale prisoner. I have work to do but I will be happy to come smash you later.
The prisoner was clearly upset at having been ignored. He called something out and Algrim ignored it. He had to find the shield. He needed it. The pain had ended but he was still suffering. Find the shield.
The End.
Yeah, it sucks to be Algrim. Whuddaya think?