LOVE AND WAR

It seems hardly fair, three men to three Trolls. While the numbers may match, the men are certainly outnumbered in means of strength and ferocity. A trio of sitting ducks as the beastly creatures descend upon them.

And yet all IS fair in love and war, Loki supposes. Though this is hardly war. Not even a battle. This is, in fact, nothing short of a massacre.

Amora had done well to bring the condemned here. Playing the part of Odin and again, the old farmer. Leading the triad of Crimson Hawks to the base of the mountain which is soon to be their grave. But where the Enchantress has gone to now, Loki is not sure. She's SUPPOSED to be here.

Tis of no worry, he thinks. Not like he needs her, anyway. There's nothing more to do with their plan than to sit and wait for nature to take its course. And it will. For that he is certain. As nature ALWAYS wins.

Kick a bees nest and see if they do care to discern who had so dared kick them. Nay. They'll sting with abandon, aiming for anything that moves regardless of fault. They don't discriminate, they simply seek to protect their own. And that's what Loki's done. He's shaken up the bees nest. And here come his busy little darlings, now. Armed with such nasty stingers, for sure.

The seeds of fear have been lain inside each of their respective skulls, giving birth to sprout such lovely hatred. Loki can't help but grin as he watches from his vantage. Tis almost too easy.

So eager for a fight, the thick-headed Commander draws his weapon, relieving his sword of the scabbard at his side. He doesn't even try to open communication between he and the Trolls. For all he cares, they're rogue and rabid beasts. Savage creatures incapable of reason or thought. So he speaks to them in a language he is sure they'll understand. The tongue he knows best. And that is VIOLENCE.

Theoric raises his broadsword high above his head. His horse rears back on its hind legs, ready to charge as the Commander shouts,

"ATTACK!"

And so it begins. The invisible war. No one will know of this day. Not the truth, anyway. As Loki clings to the rocks, hidden in shadow, only HE knows for certain just what has truly transpired. How he'd led the Trolls into battle with lies. How Amora had filled the soldiers heads with thoughts of glory and purpose. How none shall leave here alive. And all for ONE purpose. One GLORIOUS purpose.

Love.

The soldier at Theoric's heels falls from his steed as the crazed animal rears back. Terrified, it whinnies an ear-piercing scream just as one of the Trolls pounces, its jagged jaw aimed right for the poor beast's throat. Blood sprays in glorious crimson, raining down upon the fertile earth. It paints the soldier in its red, slick carnage. He, just lying there upon his back. Completely shocked. Unable to move. Watching in horror as the hideous creature tears into what was once his horse.

He doesn't even draw his weapon. He never has the chance. Only a blood-curdling cry does the young soldier raise as the feral thing does turn its sights on him. Its craggily chin dripping in the entrails of his mangled steed as its teeth come down around his ears.

Loki laughs at the delightful 'crunch' the dead man's skull makes as it's crushed beneath the Troll Guard's molars. From the safety of the hill, he has the best seat in the house to this grand design. This performance of blood. Tis almost theatrical. He, watching as the men do come to their untimely and ultimate ends.

As the one Troll feasts upon his war spoils, its meal's comrades fair no better nor worse. The second soldier's screams are cut short as his foe separates his head from his shoulders. Ripping the thing clean off with one mighty motion. Easy, like plucking a grape from the vine. Hunched over his kill, the creature sucks the fluid from the felled man's spine.

Which leaves only Theoric. The leading man of this horror show. The most vital one, yet.

He's holding his own, but just barely. Getting a few good slices into the Troll's leathery hide before being thrown back with a well-aimed spear to the ribs. Yet STILL he fights on.

Though it should come as no surprise to Loki. In fact, he'd expect nothing less. The man IS the Commanding Officer to Odin's most elite guard. But even HE can't continue on like this forever. The Crimson Hawk WILL succumb to his injuries, if not the appetite of the carnivorous creature that is licking at its wetted jaws. Stalking ever closer as Theoric shuffles backward, clutching at his injuries.

His horse has abandoned him. His men, gone. Even his own body betrays him. What was to be a simple mission has turned into a nightmare. Yet as his blood fills his lungs and his vision turns blurry, to Valhalla he swears. If this is to be his death, by Odin, let it be magnificent.

A stain of red upon his lips, he raises his sword to the coming creature and cries, "COWARDLY DOGS! YE'LL NOT FIND ME AN EASY MARK!"

Blood pools in his throat, choking him. Theoric spits it out upon the soil littered with the scattered remains of his brethren. Then, with what courage and strength he has left, the Commander charges at the brutish beast. A cry of war upon each of their lips as both do race to meet the other in one final act of battle.

Loki yawns.

Rising from his viewing spot, he stretches out his muscles. What a crick in his back he has gotten from being bent over for so long. With a satisfying 'pop', he smiles.

Hands in his pockets, the Trickster God whistles a dandy tune as he descends the hill. Crossing the battlefield as if it were a mere walk in the park. Careful not to step in any of the more unsavory puddles of leftover Aesir debris, now more better known as Troll chow.

And so he makes his way, coming upon the place of Theoric's last stand. Now his final resting place as the soldier lies upon the ground. A spear in his ribs. A rusty sword in his side. And still he breathes haggard breath as his butcher gnaws at his leg.

The Liesmith hovers above the pair, a look of disapproval drawn upon his placid features as he watches the creature eating at the poor man's limbs. He dares tap upon the hulking Troll's shoulder, disturbing the thing from its awful supper.

"Truly sorry to interrupt," The God of Mischief begins, "but I do believe we had a deal. I need this one ALIVE. Which means NO EATING. Go take your teeth elsewhere."

Turning his head towards Loki, the Rock Troll grunts his reply. Tis not exactly words, but more a sound, a guttural apology to the Crafty One. He then drops what mangled flesh he'd been feasting on and rises to his feet, towering frighteningly above the Puny God. But Loki's not afraid. To him, the creature is more overgrown puppy than helhound.

"Again, DREADFULLY sorry." Loki continues as he sends the Troll on its way. "There's still a nice juicy MARE about here somewhere, should you like to try to catch it."

Back straight and arms folded across his chest, he watches as the Rock Troll saunters off before turning his attention back to the man bleeding out beneath him.

"So hard to find good help these days..."

Sighing, Loki crouches at Theoric's side. Taking his right index finger, he then sticks it in the wound in the soldier's chest.

Nothing.

Not a peep or a moan. No shrieks of pain or begging of him to stop. Just nothing. Again, Loki sighs.

Theoric blinks up at him, straining his neck to see. He coughs, gurgling up blood.

"You're..."

"Loki?" He answers. "God of Fires. Teller of Tales. Speaker of Lies. Maker of Mischief. Prince of Nothing. And now my personal favorite, Father of All. So pleased to have finally made your acquaintance. Well... In this form, that is."

The Commander tries to sit up, but can't. He can't move at all.

"You're... dead." He finishes.

"Ah... That. " Loki replies. "Yes, well, don't believe everything you read."

Reaching inside his jacket, the Liesmith retrieves one of his daggers.

"As for you, however..."

Like carving a pumpkin, he sticks the blade right into the man's thigh. Again, nothing. So he takes another dagger, this time stabbing the thing into his shoulder. And yet again, nothing.

"Now would you look at that?" He complains, staring at the dagger sticking right out of the man's leg. "Here I am trying to torture you thusly and you can't very well feel a damned thing from the neck down! Tell me how the Hel am I supposed to work with that? You're a vegetable. Can't torture a vegetable."

Grabbing hold of the blade in his leg, Loki pulls it from the wound then re-inserts it, stabbing the man over and over again like a bored little boy picking at his dinner.

"You see this?" He whines. "This gives me absolutely NO satisfaction at all."

He drops his weapon, letting it fall to the ground with a clang. With redded hands, he runs his fingers through his hair, slicking it back with Theoric's blood.

"Tis my fault, I suppose. And people say I don't take responsibility for my actions." He sighs to the wounded soldier. "I really should have stepped in sooner, but I was really having far too much fun watching that behemoth pummel you into oblivion. And now he's gone and severed your spine, and wellllll... Now you're just no fun anymore."

"Why are you..."

"Doing this?" Loki finishes his sentence. "Well that's simple. Why do men like us do anything, really? Is it the validation? The approval? The need to test one's worth?"

With a smile on his lips, Loki shines down at the blood-soaked dirt.

"You see, there's this girl..." He can't help but sing-song, chatting it up with the disposed Commander as if they're old mates.

Theoric laughs, though it comes out more of a wheezing cough with a gruesome spray of red.

"A GIRL?" He manages. "You murder me for wha? A bleedin' TWAT?"

Crouching low, Loki bounces on his toes. His nose scrunches at the word, the lines at the corners of his eyes becoming more pronounced. Tapping his long fingers against his knees, he knows he should avenge his woman's honor, but the man IS on his death bed, after all. A bed Loki had a hand in making. Mayhap he can let this one slide. This time. Let no one say the God of Lies is not without courtesy towards his kill.

"Now there's no need for name calling." He chides. "And besides, murder is such a... harsh word. I'm simply liberating you of your physical body, is all. Your name will live on. Through me."

With his elbows on his knees, the Shapechanger looks to the heavens above as if reading the clouds in the sky. He can see it now. The future.

"You see, I've got it all planned out." He confides with a grin. "After your gone, of course, I'll assume your identity and return to the castle. A little worse for wear, but she'll be SO relieved to see me alive and in one piece. She'll BEG of me to marry her right there and then. SWEAR to her to never leave her side again. Then, after a lovely but brief honeymoon, we'll be called back to the castle. Lord "Odin" will have grown ill in our absence. And without any children of his own to pass the duty onto, he'll relinquish the crown to HER, the only daughter he never had. Which in turn will make ME, her HUSBAND, king!"

Theoric's body slumps as Loki pats him on the shoulder.

"See? Happily ever after! Everyone gets what they want!" He grins wildly. "I get the girl and the crown. She gets the perfect husband and life she deserves. And you, my friend, get to make that all happen. All-father Theoric. King of Asgard! Now... Doesn't that sound grand?"

His heavy eyes masked with fear, Theoric stares at the madman beside him.

"You're insane..."

"There's that name calling again." Loki whines. "Though I really don't see how that's either here nor there..."

The God Killer rises to his feat, brushing the dirt from his slacks.

"But I guess I should be getting on with it, then. I've talked your ear off enough for ONE lifetime. Surely that's torture enough! Am I right?" Loki laughs.

He removes the rusty old sword from the Commander's side, the Rock Troll's weapon. Then, hovering above where he lay, Loki points the blade at Theoric's head, right between the eyes.

"Now, to make this look like a MONSTER had been here."

His grin turns sickly. His eyes, dark and twisted as he raises the crude weapon high above his head.

"Can't have anyone able to recognize your body, I'm afraid!"

Loki prepares to strike. Bringing the weapon down, he anticipates that wondrous feeling when metal meets bone. But the sensation never comes. Instead, tis the strangest of things. It feels as if he's flying. Being thrown hundreds of feet. Hurdling across the bare landscape til his body connects with a tree.

Staring up at the sky, Loki can't help but think it looks like rain. His body's all twisted. His back on the ground and his feet in the air. He looks like a crumpled old rag-doll and he'd been thrown across the battlefield just as easily as if he were one, too.

Groaning, he rights himself, climbing to his feet. His head feels all knocked around and his body fairs no better. He can feel his bones shifting. Surely he's broken something. But aside from the Hulk, what the Hel could have hit him that hard? A Troll, mayhap? But why? And HOW? He hadn't even heard one approaching. They're not exactly the most stealthy of creatures. In fact, he doesn't even hear them NOW. No grunting or gnawing. No sucking of bones or tearing of meat. Just NOTHING.

Loki looks out upon the field to notice just how empty it is. How eerie. All that's left is but a single lone steed, grazing in the middle of oblivion. Everyone else? Gone. They've all left him behind.

Or so he thinks.

It takes a moment for his mind to register the fact that they're NOT actually gone, but instead still so very much here with him. Only deader. Their terribly strong Troll bodies reduced to nothing more than pulp, spread wide across the battlefield. Their remains scattered and mingled with that of the soldiers.

This is not natural. Whatever did this is not only strong beyond Godly, but quicker than anything Loki has ever seen or faced. And ruthless. Frighteningly so. Even for this God of Evil and Lies.

He NEEDS to get out of here before whatever did this comes back. But first, he needs to find his helmet. It must have been knocked clean off him in the throw and he very well can't leave here with such incriminating evidence left behind.

Clutching his side, Loki hobbles aimlessly, scanning the putrid field for the whereabouts of his helmet. Lucky for him, he doesn't take three steps before he finds it. Unlucky for him, he finds it connecting with his face.

Ears ringing, Loki falls to the ground. Hard. Like a sack of bricks. He looks up to notice a woman of all things standing over him. A woman with... wings? And in her hand, his helmet. A nice bloody dent where she'd hit him with it.

"I'm sorry, have we met?" Loki quips.

She doesn't answer, but instead hits him again. This time, he drops to his belly. His face in the mud.

Everything hurts. The muscles in his arms shake as he wills his body to move. Climbing to his hands and knees, he stares up at her.

She's as astonishingly lovely as she is deadly. With wings of grey and armor that shines like the sun. An unworldly beauty. Mythologically so. Like something straight out of a book. A bedtime story told to him so very long ago by a father who is no more.

A Valkyrie.

But that's impossible. Such things do not exist. Yet here she is. Holding his helmet by the horn and hitting him thusly.

"If I've done something to offend you or have wronged you in some way, please accept my most humble of apologies." Loki forces a smile through the pain. "I'm sure there's something I can do to make this right if you'd only be so kind to let me-"

She doesn't even give him the chance to work his silver tongue before hitting him again, forcing him back down to his belly.

Loki stares at the ground, wondering if that's his blood he sees or some mixture of the fallen. His head is pounding. His hearing, muffled. It feels as if a bomb has gone off beside him. He's so totally disoriented. And she's not giving him the time he needs to catch his bearings. This time, kicking him over onto his back.

"I should have known you weren't dead, Laufeyson." The Valkyrie speaks to him in a low growl. "Worry not. Tis an easy enough headache in which to remedy."

Laying her boot to his throat, she retrieves the sword from the harness at her back, between her wings. Pointing it right between the eyes as he did to Theoric not moments earlier.

"There will be no escape from death for you this time, Liar." She says with a scowl. "For your crimes, there is no place in Valhalla for one as loathsome as you. And when I am done with you... Not even Hel will want you."

Eyes wide, he cannot speak. With her foot to his windpipe, he can't even breathe. How the Hel does she weight as much as she does? She's a woman. ONE woman. Yet she feels as if she's dropped a whole building on top of him. And she's going to kill him. He can see it in her eyes. That hate. That anger. And he doesn't even know why. But one thing's for certain, he's got to get out of here. NOW. If Loki is anything, anything at all, he is a survivor. Lie. Cheat. Steal. Kill. It doesn't matter what the Hel he has to do just to save his own neck. Valkyrie or not, this woman's going down.

From somewhere hidden up his sleeve, a dagger slides into the palm of his hand. And without second thought, he jams it right into her ankle.

The Valkyrie shrieks a terrible noise. Something the like Loki has never heard before. Something earth-shattering. It makes his insides feel as if they're vibrating out of control. Like he's going to explode. He can feel his broken bones rattling around inside him, threatening to puncture a lung. But still he moves. Through sheer will alone, he climbs to his feet and runs.

But he doesn't run far.

Those wings. How could he forget those dreadful wings? She's on him before he even reaches the hill. With his blade in her foot, she takes to the skies. Climbing to an incredible height before dive-bombing right for him. Like the eagle to the snake, she snatches up her prey. Her hands, such awful talons, as they wrap around his throat.

And again, he's flying. For the second time today. Straight back at an excruciating velocity until finally she smacks him down into the dirt, turf flying in chucks as they come to an abrupt halt. The whole while, she never lets him go. Nor will she let him escape her again. The Valkyrie runs her sword right through his shoulder, pinning him to the ground.

He cannot talk to weave a spell. He cannot move to fight or flee. This is the end, Loki thinks as he looks up into her eyes. Eyes of the bluest blue. Like a cold winter's day. So chilling, he can feel it in his bones. Right down to the core of him. They're the eyes of death.

Which is funny. Because in this moment, he can't help but be reminded of Sigyn, somehow. In these final seconds, she's all he can think of. Wondering if she'll miss him, but knowing she won't even know he's gone. That she will mourn for Theoric, never realizing it was Loki who had captured her heart so. That he loved her, TRULY loved her, just as she did him.

As the Valkyrie glares down at him with such hatred, Loki's mind reflects on Sigyn's sweet, loving face and how he'll never see it again. He'll never see her again.

Never again will he hold her in his arms or grace his lips with hers. Taste her candied kisses or feel the warm, softness of her skin against his. To run his fingers through her silken hair or hear her voice, her lilting laugh, once more. To gaze into her eyes. He'd give anything just to see them again. Those piercing eyes. So blue. So tender. Warm and yet so... cold.

That gives him an idea.

Her hand's around his neck, literally squeezing the life out of him. She's crushing his windpipe and he doesn't have much time left. His mind is going hazy. It's getting difficult to concentrate, let alone breathe. His whole body feels as if it were on fire. His lungs about to burst. It's then that he plays his card, which is just about the only hand he has left. Swearing up and down to whatever divine being that be, whoever that will listen, that should he escape this fate, never again will he utter another lie. That if he lives, he'll become a better person. He'll denounce his wicked ways. He swears it. Just please, let this work.

He can feel it first in his chest. That rush of ice-water filling his veins as he gives in to the monster within him. His eyes burn red and skin turns blue, starting with his face and branching out to his extremities. But most importantly, his hands. Then, mustering everything he's got, he reaches out and wraps those icy Jotun fingers around her neck.

The effect is immediate. Her skin sizzles beneath his touch, so cold it burns her flesh to an ashen black. She tries to break free of him, but he keeps his hold on her strong. Her face contorted in agony as his frostbite spreads about her body.

Only when he's sure she's no longer a threat, does Loki release his death-grip on her. He pushes the dying Valkyrie off him and returns to his feet, removing the now ice-covered sword from the wound in his shoulder.

"What is your quarrel with me, woman?" Loki rasps, rubbing his sore neck. Slowly, his skin returns to his usual pallor.

What was once a strong and noble creature is now nothing more than a withered husk. Each breath is labored, a wheezing rattle of death. Eyes of clouded white as she stares up at him.

"I knew... I always knew... you were a monster." She struggles. "Even when you were... little...you would be... the... the death of me."

Her body begins to splinter, bits of her shattering apart as she fights to speak her last words.

"I cannot let you... If it's the last thing... I do... I... forbid you..." Tears of gold stream down her cheeks as her threats turn to that of pleas. "Please... Please don't hurt my..."

Reduced to ash, the wind whisks her away before she can complete her final thoughts. Becoming nothing but feathers and dust on the breeze.

Reclaiming his helmet, Loki takes one final glance over the battleground. Having succumbed to his injuries, Theoric lays dead where he'd left him. Everyone else, expired along with him. Only Loki remains. And he should be glad. Despite his little hiccup, the mission was a complete success. He's alive. So why does it fill him with such a strong sense of sadness. With a pit in his stomach, the Dark Prince begins the long journey home.