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Loki cowered in the corner, shoving himself as far away from the light as he possibly could. Even then, the deep shadow he shivered in appeared to be bathed in hot, bright light to his new eyes, though he knew that couldn't be. He knew the dungeons to be cool, but each breath sent a firestorm down his throat, the air itself was a forest fire clawing at his skin.
Odin had stripped his magic from him, as well as whatever unnatural ability allowed him to shift forms, apparently. The All-Father had then reclaimed his throne, leaving Loki to rot in Asgard's dungeon. No trial, no-one told of what had happened. Stripped of his Æsir façade, he was unrecognisable, and torture apparently wasn't necessary – Asgard's climate did it for her King.
Everything had fallen apart when Odin appeared at midnight in Loki's bedchamber. It had been strange, seeing the face he had made his own for what had to have been months at that point. Evidently, Midgard hadn't been good enough for the old dictator. Nothing had been said between them, all Odin had to do was chant some foreign words and whatever glamour kept Loki looking how he did was gone, and he had fallen into a panicked heap, shivering on the floor at the despot's feet. When he regained his senses, his magic was gone and he had been dumped in a cell.
Food was delivered once a day, maybe. It was impossible to tell the time. But each instance the Einherjar fed him meagre rations, they delivered a beating as well. Disgust on their faces, force behind their blows and slurs on their lips. Perhaps they recognised him. Even if they did, he doubted that would change how he was treated.
And Loki cowered in his corner.
His eyes were wrong; they stung at what should have been pitch black.
His skin was wrong, burning at the heat, and even Æsir touch.
Everything was wrong.
He tried, sometimes, to make that wrongness go away. But all that happened was his cell filled with blood, the wrong colour. Then there was a change: hotter, brighter, more pain. Then back to his cell, where he squinted and cowered, until he tried again.
More time had passed. He thought.
Or perhaps it hadn't? Maybe what felt like years had only been months, weeks, hours. He couldn't know.
At first, he had thought someone would come. Odin, declaring he had paid the price. The Avengers? To gloat? Maybe Thor. But no-one, except the shadows of Frigga flickering at the edges of his vision.
Eventually, he stopped thinking about it, or he tried to, anyway. He didn't want to dwell on what could happen. He just had to wait. All-Father couldn't leave him indefinitely?
He would be rescued. By Thor or Odin or Frig- no, she died, she died she died. By somebody.
Somebody to help the something.
It was thoughts like that which made the prisoner snigger to itself.
Warmth.
Heat. Too bright. Too loud.
A brand was pushed against its arm. It boiled the blood in its veins, melted the prisoner. Wailing, or screaming. Incomprehensible begging. A name was in there somewhere.
The brand pulled away and a shocked, shouted apology. But the breath that came with the words burnt and cracked skin, leaving the prisoner to scream even more, until it was coughing up blood from its ruined throat.
And then cool, blessed, blessed cool. Everything was still too bright, too close, but the burning was gone. He could think again.
Snow. Snow all around him, already starting to melt, but more was falling, the ceiling roiling with dark clouds.
Loki gasped in a breath, the first one in oh so long which hadn't brought pain with it. He sucked in another, gasping. "Thank you, thank y-" He broke out coughing, retching and blood dropped onto the snow, staining it a deep purple. But that was nothing. Suddenly back to his senses, no longer too hot to think, he assessed the damage.
Welts and open sores and bruises spanned his body. New wounds, unhealed, across his wrists and everywhere else. Just seeing that skin reminded him how he got those scars and he automatically reached for them. But a panicked yell and he was grabbed by the brands again, immobilised.
"No. Loki, no!" A voice, familiar, all but screamed close by him.
It hurt, hurt a lot, but not enough to send him back into that haze of non-thought. The brands, it came to him, were hands. He studied them.
Large, pale, Æsir hands. Calloused and strong and familiar. They looked like Thor's hands.
But Thor killed monsters on sight. It wasn't Thor. An impostor? Odin? Or maybe someone who simply had hands like Thor's. It didn't matter.
There was no more pain but from the hands, so Loki was happy. He smiled in an attempt to prove it. Frigga's voice, in the back of his head, told him to mind his manners. "Thank you, your kindness and mercy… It is greatly appreciated." The words should have stung, but Loki found they were genuine the moment they left his mouth.
He felt the hands flinch and loosen, and Loki's arms dropped to his sides. Free, he twisted to study this new person's face. Blue at the edges of his vision.
Whoever it was, they had done a good job of impersonating Thor; Loki could tell even through the stupidly bright light, making it nearly impossible to see.
"Oh… Loki…" He was nearly crying, face all scrunched up. Loki blinked, confused. Even the voice was spot on, but Thor didn't cry. It was weak.
Then another voice, this one familiar from more recently. A figure, shrouded and rendered almost invisible by the glaring lights. It stood in the entryway, Gungnir in hand and blocking any route of escape. As if he could.
Impostor Thor (or perhaps he was a fever-dream, like Frigga?) turned to the figure and nodded. When he could see his face again, any hint of weakness had evaporated in the overbearing Asgard heat.
"I have a deal for you." Not-Thor said.
He took a breath, glanced to the vague shape, which maybe nodded, maybe held still, Loki couldn't tell with all the light. "Your magic partially restored for assistance, after which you return here."
He didn't hesitate, opened his mouth to accept, but stopped. It wasn't good to seem overeager, Frigga's voice told him in the back of his mind. Old lessons, left over from learning how to be a Prince at her knee. "Partially restored?" He managed to croak out.
"Simple magic – illusions, healing, but nothing requiring significant power. Shape-changing will remain locked away, but it should make you more resistant to… this." Not-Thor gestured. He probably meant how simple air was too hot to bear. Thor, if it really was him, knew better than anyone how much Loki relied on his seiðr to make up for physical weaknesses. Without it, he could still function, just about, but it was like trying to breathe water and see through thick cloth.
"Return… here? Assistance?"
Thor seemed exasperated. It might actually be him. Not killing the enemy because its help was required… Thor might do that. "I need to do something. You are a powerful mage. And after you've helped me, you will be imprisoned here again, but with your magic partially restored."
Loki opened his mouth to ask some more, maybe to bargain for his freedom, but Thor reached out and grasped him by the chin, sending pain shooting like lava through his skull. Loki bit back a whimper and nodded. "I accept your deal," He said, careful to keep his voice from wavering.
"Good," Thor said.
The Gungnir-wielding figure walked away, leaving the barrier down and the roiling clouds above, covering the bare stone ceiling, slowly dissipated. But Loki didn't notice. He was too busy feeling his seiðr rushing through him once again. It felt amazing, the smothering blanket of lethargy and low-level pain and powerlessness was swept clear away. He gasped, bowing under the sudden force of it, like an amputated limb had suddenly reattached.
And the air no longer burnt him, but was only uncomfortably warm. The bright lights were still bright, but stopped lancing through his skull. Finally, the pain was gone. Loki felt cold tracking down his face. Was that how he cried, now? He couldn't muster the energy to be embarrassed.
It took a moment to create an illusion, and once he felt it settle over him, a second skin, he glanced at his hands, braced against his knees where he knelt. Smooth, pale skin. He didn't mean to, but he let out a breath he had been holding, more frost on his cheeks.
Loki then turned his attention to the matter at hand, looked up. Thor – maybe an imposter, maybe a dream, maybe even real – was getting up from where he had been kneeling or sat on the dungeon floor. It was still near impossible to see, make out details, but Loki drank in what little was visible to him.
Silver armour, blonde flowing hair, piercing blue eyes and Mjolnir at his hip. Battle-ready, yet something was off. His posture, body language. After a thousand years at this man's side, Loki knew how he stood, walked and talked inside out. And Thor was wary, stony-faced and there was a distinct lack of something in his gaze. Proof things had gone awry? Proof he was a pretender?
"-oki. Loki." Someone was saying. He blinked, shaken a little. "Snap out of it. We have to go."
He nodded eventually, studied that face again, but then a hand was on his shoulder, thankfully it rested atop his clothes, but the heat was still intense. It didn't shatter the illusion. "Get up!" Whatever patience Thor might have had was gone.
Loki obeyed. He pushed himself up and tried not to stumble. The sores and other injuries were already almost gone, his seiðr automatically knitting them up. Even with his best efforts, Loki swayed once he regained his feet as his head spun from sitting down so long. He shot out a hand and leant on the wall, gasping the warm air, glad that he could breathe without destroying his lungs.
Thor scowled, but waited. Once Loki managed to stand unaided, he removed his hand from the ergi's shoulder. With a swish of his cape, he turned away and began to walk. Loki stumbled after him, fast as he could.
It was odd, outside of his cell after so long not being able to leave. Around him, the blank stone arched up gracefully to meet above their heads. The walls were studded with golden barriers. Behind them, the scum of the Nine Realms paced and chatted and played cards. Sometimes, he could spy a fight, or the aftermath of one. As the two of them passed, Einherjar straightened and inmates glowered out at them, sometimes a surprised set of eyes tracked Loki, examining him. Possibly trying to figure out why his face was familiar, and if they even remembered the second 'Prince' of Asgard, puzzling over why he had been in the dungeons.
After so long barely moving, Loki's legs felt sore before they were halfway. Even with his seiðr, he truly was pathetic. With a silent snarl, he pushed on, studiously ignoring the growing ache. And even as they advanced on the exit, everything became, if possible, brighter and warmer, brighter and warmer, brighter and warmer, until it stung to open his eyes and the discomfort of before was back, if more of a tingle than true pain.
His foot hit something, a step? Loki tumbled forward with a yelp and he felt the illusory second skin waver, then solidified as he poured strength and focus into it.
Somewhere, a voice. Thor's, through the focus as he solidified the illusion. A few more seconds, and then it was done. Loki turned his attention back to the real world and tried to open his eyes only to squeeze them back into a squint at the ridiculous amount of light, which rendered the world almost entirely white.
"Loki, your tricks no longer work on me." The disembodied voice warned, anger in its tone. "I'll remind you of this once; betray me and I will kill you."
He nodded quickly, ran his hands over the stairs. "A second…" He said, already working on another spell. Then it was released, settled on his eyes, and suddenly everything appeared out of the blank white wall. Loki blinked and smiled slightly at his small triumph.
Thor stared down, impassive. Then he turned, continued up the now-visible steps. Loki scrambled to his feet, cast a quick glance over himself. His wounds had completely healed at that point, his pale palms had sustained a small scrape each, but they dissolved as he watched. His clothes were tattered and dirty and ill-fitting; the prison uniform of Asgard was meant for creatures larger than Loki.
Above him, Thor marched upwards and he steeled himself to follow. Then he did.
Seeing Asgard again… Loki couldn't contain his small gasp.
Swaying trees, bustling people and smoky fires filled the air with that distinctive campfire smell. It felt so right to be there, walking among his people, whom he had ruled for only months. But despite that, his impact was visible.
Women were at forges, crafting weapons and tools and everything else. Vanir, elves and even dwarves mingled with the Æsir crowd. Market stalls were colourful with other Realms' goods and staffed by an array of people, including a towering Jötunn Loki could make out in the distance. He doubted Odin had been happy with how much more chaotic everything was when he returned.
Taking in his Realm, basking in the searing heat and gorgeous scenery he hadn't seen in so long, he forgot to walk. Thor noticed, turned back. His golden hair was a halo about his face, and his armour spoke of Æsir nobility. Loki suddenly understood how Midgard had mistaken Thor for a God.
"Move," He said, voice low and threatening. Loki dipped his head. Whoever this was, Thor or not, they had rescued – the word felt sour, even in his mind – him. Had returned his seiðr, allowed him to see his home one last time. Because there was no denying, now, after so long away and wondering if he would ever see it again, how attached he was to Asgard. Acknowledging the sentiment felt dirty, even though it was only to himself.
But Loki was in his debt. So he didn't resist the command and moved, strode to Thor's side, and followed him to wherever they had to go.
As they walked, Loki drank in the scenery, studying every soaring tower and each passing face. Whatever Thor wanted his help for; it had to be deadly if the famous warrior couldn't handle it by himself. Therefore, Loki doubted he would make it out alive. He would try to survive… Or maybe he wouldn't. But, if he died, he wanted to remember this place.
Far too soon, they arrived at the Rainbow Bridge. It glittered under their feet and lit up at each step. And again, they were across in what felt like seconds, the sea beneath them waving goodbye. He resisted the familiar urge to jump.
Loki stood in the Bifröst, next to Thor and tried to ignore memories which welled up.
Heimdall – how Odin had managed to find that old meddler, Loki didn't know – stood before them, glowering at the prisoner. "Are you sure of this, my Prince?" He asked.
"No," Thor said lightly. "But I'll manage."
The Watchman dipped his head. Then it felt like he was gazing into Loki's soul, flaying him bare with those infamous golden eyes. "I will be watching." It was a warning, threat and statement all rolled into one, but it was the calm violence in his voice which made Loki shiver.
And then Heimdall mounted the podium and opened the Bifröst, sending the two tumbling into space, hurtling towards Midgard in a beam of multi-coloured light.
Even glimpsing the Void outside their miniscule safe area sent Loki's mind spinning back into memory – Chitauri, the Other, Him…
But then it ended and they were spat out onto long grass. Thor landed gracefully, and Loki fell down from the impact and distraction, desperately shoving the sensation of falling, falling falling always falling from his mind, back into its little locked-up box. The older warrior glanced at him and raised a condescending eyebrow.
Loki felt his face burning; he hadn't fallen from Bifröst travel since he was a child. It was just all so sudden. He hadn't had the time to compose himself, pretend nothing mattered and that he wasn't broken into gravel on the inside.
He turned to their surroundings as he stood, forcing his face into a blank mask as he strived to return to that cold and calculating persona.
Grass, swaying gently in the steady wind, reached halfway up his shins and tickled him through the torn cloth. Despite Midgard's typically built-up scenery, there wasn't a building or human in sight. Above them, an endless blue sky interrupted only by a few wispy clouds, floating before the sun, which leant a golden tint to the sea of green, as well as the ocean behind them as rays bounced off the waves.
Peaceful as it was, Loki couldn't discern why Thor had led him there. To execute him? To try and impress upon him the importance of Midgard? To play tag?
Nothing was happening, other than the quiet swishing of grass and insects buzzing. He ran his eyes over the scenery again, but he hadn't missed anything the first time. Confused, he looked over at Thor, who stood stock still, but also appeared to be somewhat put off. Was something missing? Was something wrong?
Silence lay thick and heavy, Loki resisted the urge to shuffle his feet and fidget. Thankfully, Midgard's climate was far less taxing than Asgard's; it was almost dark in comparison, and the temperature was pleasant. It was a vast improvement, if only in that one aspect.
Should he say something? The silence was stretching and Loki felt like he was biting his tongue to keep a torrent of words in. Thor glanced across at him and suddenly he was looking into clear blue eyes. Loki kept his flinch under wraps, but immediately turned away.
Something pulled at his senses and he turned to face it, only to see a sparking hole open up and two people fly through, tearing through the air towards him.
Loki pulled in a gasp of air but shock took second seat to nearly a thousand years of training and experience. He flung himself to the side and rolled to his feet metres from where the two crashed, sending clumps of mud flying. "Thor!" He called a warning, the name out the moment he had breath to speak it.
Before him was a man and woman, one in a cape and robes and the other wore a tight fitting suit with a head of flowing black hair. They tumbled on the grass, evidently having hit it at force.
Confused, Loki glanced back at Thor, only to see him with wary eyes and Mjolnir in his fist. So, one, or both, of the newcomers was a threat. He dropped into a crouch and slid a conjured knife into his hand, feeling the comforting weight as he waited for indication of whom to attack. The Crown Prince had brought him along for backup, so he'd back him up.
Compliance would be the easiest way to lower Thor's guard and escape. Why go back to the cell if there was an opportunity not to?
It didn't take long. The man kicked the woman with a yell and flew away. Loki cocked his head, but quickly noticed the energy swirling about the human's cape. She laughed, a mad cackle and made a motion with her empty hand, as if throwing something, but a spear grew from her arm, sliding out of her palm and was released, soared after the man.
Flash of light, spearing from the heavens, then a deafening roar and the weapon disintegrated. He flew to them, landed in a crouch and stood, a grim smile on his face as he greeted Thor. The man's face was split open at his cheek, nose and lips, with bruises already forming. But, for a mortal, he looked to be in good shape. He turned to Loki, made a move to proffer his hand and opened his mouth to speak, but froze.
Thor spoke for him. "This is Doctor Strange. He needs our help removing this one," He gestured at the crazy woman, "from Earth."
Loki glanced at 'Doctor Strange' dubiously. "And what do we get in return?"
The Æsir snorted. "You are here to help, not ask questions," He said. "Remember your place."
Loki scowled at that and felt familiar anger rise. "If I am to help you, I must know wh-"
"You brought your crazy brother along!?" The mortal regained his voice. Loki snarled at the interruption and turned his widest smile on the Doctor, making sure to show as many teeth as possible. Unfortunately, this one seemed to possess a spine and didn't run screaming.
Thor grimaced, patience thinning. "We can talk after she," He pointed at the woman with Mjolnir, "Is dealt with. Unless I should come back at a better time?"
At the Prince's words, Strange acquiesced and, with a last wary glance at Loki, turned to face her. They stood in a line; Thor in the middle, separating the two magicians. Despite the strangeness of what he had been asked to help with, Loki shrugged his concerns away and rolled his knife in his hands, watching the woman.
She was unlike anyone he had seen before. Not human, nor anything else he could think of. Her face was angular, sallow and paler than his own, which was unusual of itself. Even quite far from them, across the grass, the menace she exuded was palpable. Perhaps it was the spiked black-and-silver armour, or the graceful way she held herself, but he knew she was deadly.
Thor broke the standoff. "Who are you?" He spoke brusquely, face stony. It was disconcerting – he really had changed.
A barked laugh. "So it is true." She prowled forward. "You don't recognise me." Seemed to consider them. Then; "I am Hela, Goddess of Death and Bane of the Nine Realms." A smirk cracked her cold face with amusement. "Kneel."
Loki felt his eyebrows fly into his hairline. "Beg pardon?" He really wanted to tack a 'bitch' on the end of that. But it wouldn't do to be overly antagonistic; perhaps this Hela could prove to be an ally.
"Kneel," She repeated, "Before your Queen."
Strange snorted somewhere to his left. "What is it with aliens and thinking they can rule Earth?"
Thor hummed an agreement. "I don't think so," He said, faux-polite. Hela smiled at him, not bothering to answer.
And everything burst into action.
Mjolnir flung towards her, Strange's cape blocked the result from view. A dull thud, Hela cackled. Thor was running towards her, a strange look on his face, then a blast of energy smashed into Hela and Loki saw the black figure go flying, twisting elegantly to land upright. He quickly conjured a blade and flung it, piercing through the air until it hung centimetres from her neck, but was then batted aside by her hand. She smirked at him, flicked imaginary dust off of her armour.
Loki took the opportunity to glance over to his bro- Thor and saw the Æsir holding Mjolnir, staring down at it; he looked scared. That couldn't be good.
But Hela was advancing again, speeding towards them faster than should have been possible. Spears flung from her hands, moving too quickly for him to see. Loki managed to twist away from one, into the path of the next, which he knocked off course, then dropped down to avoid another, but only barely. It scraped his nose, leaving a bloody furrow. The moment he managed to clamber to his feet, she was on him, a blade slicing towards his middle, ready to split him in two. Loki flinched away, jumping back and the tip dragged through his clothes, tearing another hole.
But then she was gone, twisting away from him with a last slash of some blade, moving too fast for him to know anything other than that it was a very fast moving black shard of death. There was no time to catch his breath.
Thor.
The dancing pillar of black and silver spikes was on Thor in a second, slashing and tearing at him from all angles. She blocked Loki's view, he couldn't see what was happening. He felt another knife weigh down his hand, flung it, flung the next, created a hail of sharp missiles. He aimed for her spine, her neck, between the ribs to pierce a lung. But nothing hit; they were knocked aside even as she fought Thor.
Another bright flash, from a bolt of energy soaring from Strange, and she was distracted long enough for Thor to get a blow in. But Hela didn't go flying this time. Instead, the Æsir Prince did, and then the mortal was facing her alone.
He dodged her first spear, the second, but the third got him, sank into his shoulder and he let out an ear-piercing scream. Hela stood above the human, her skull of a face twisted into a grin, readying to deliver the final blow. Thor was getting up, frantically trying to charge her, but it was Loki who halted the inevitable.
He sent a great blast of fire at the woman, it burnt the illusion away at his fingertips, where flames spouted from them and galloped across the grass and slammed into the self-proclaimed Goddess. Odin's magic tightened about his neck, squeezing, but Loki didn't let the flame waver.
It clawed at a black shield she had conjured in the last second, licked around the rim to try and incinerate her. Hela threw her weight into the metal, and suddenly his seiðr was reversed, tinted and slimy against his skin as it rushed back to him, the gout of fire shrivelling away. Loki snarled at the foreign sensation and sent a pulse of power through his hands, obliterating the black which tried to curl up his arms. Another squeeze at his neck.
In the seconds it took to do that, Hela had closed the distance once again and was slashing at him.
Loki's body was leaden from the exertion; he had been exhausted simply from walking to the Bifröst, but the battle had sapped what little strength remained. He made an effort to dodge away, twist and turn and strike back, but it came to nothing.
Hela kicked him, square in the stomach, he fell down, gasping for breath, felt the illusion flickering. He grasped at it, desperately shoved his remaining seiðr into maintaining it.
A blade hung over his head for a moment, then came crashing down and he made no attempt to move away. At least he had died fighting.
Death didn't come.
How disappointing.
Loki scrambled back from her; she was twisted away from him, paying him no attention. He fumbled with his magic, attempted to conjure a knife, but nothing happened.
Thor was facing Hela, his hand outstretched, trembling. Behind him, Doctor Strange lay on the grass. He had removed the spear, or it had disappeared. He was trying to heal himself, pulling blood back into his fragile body from where it had spread over the crushed leaves.
"That… Is not possible…" Thor said.
"You have no idea of what is possible."
And a deafening crack, then rubble fell to the ground and lightning sprayed from it, caught Loki, carried him up and sent him flying, tumbling head over heels.
He crashed back down, slid to a stop with his hands hanging over the cliff edge. It took a moment, but he heaved himself to his feet, back from the sheer drop, wobbling unsteadily. Thor was staring shocked at the pile of stones…
Mjolnir.
Hela had destroyed it.
Things were far worse than he had thought.
He needed to go, damn the consequences.
Loki looked skywards and yelled for Heimdall; "Bring us back!"
"Loki, no!"
Nothing happened, Hela was laughing, mocking, but then he ran, ignoring how his head hurt and his feet screamed at every impact. She shot weapons, but they thudded into the dirt at his feet, one whistled an inch before his face. Wherever she had been banished to, evidently the years had left her somewhat rusty, Loki thought vindictively.
And then he had a hand on Thor's arm and this time, when he called, the Bifröst opened and they were away.
Respite, finally, a chance to breathe.
But then Thor ruined it. He yelled wordlessly, grabbed Loki's arm and tugged.
Was he trying to fling him from the Bifröst?!
No, he realised as he looked down. Hela gazed up at him through her cold blue eyes. So alike Thor's in colour, yet so foreign in everything else.
It was strange to be chased through the Rainbow Bridge, but Loki tried to shake away his exhaustion, summoned another knife, only managed to conjure a wavering blade, but flung it anyway. Her mouth was open in a laugh, but he couldn't hear it for the space about him rushing past. The blade was caught, turned against him and a bolt of energy hit him in the shoulder, burning.
And then his back was against the wall of light, bursting through it and oh, that hurt. He braced his limbs, even as he began to slip, slide and then he had broken into the Void.
His last glimpse was of Thor wrestling Hela, his own body breaching the light, sending shards flying and revealing tears of blackness; the space between Yggdrasil's branches. Loki managed another gasp of breath, which then burst out of him in a scream as there was no pressure.
For a moment, he could still see the beam, but then it was gone as he hurtled through the nothingness. No atmosphere, nothing to breathe. Nobody to help, talk to, think about. Just himself.
Memories filled his vision, laying themselves over the never-ending black black black
An island in the dark a planet cracked open like an eggsh-
-not being allowed to leave regretting it when he tried
could heimdall see him-?
-omeone coming to help
why they not come?
thor
thor
brother help me
Black spots interrupted images. That had to mean time had passed?
Burning?
Felt like heat against his skin.
Loki opened his eyes, he didn't remember closing them, but was blinded by things.
Which existed!
There was a cloud, he hurtled into it, through it and moisture clung to his skin, evaporated from the flames shrouding his entire body.
Entering an atmosphere. Loki was entering an atmosphere.
He felt like dancing, like hopping and screaming and kissing the Norns' feet. Which was all impossible, since he was falling at a deadly speed, even to him, towards what looked like bone-shattering ground.
"Shit…" Loki tried to say, the wind stealing his words from his lips.
Well. He hadn't been dead set on emerging from this alive. At least if he died, he wouldn't have to deal with Thor and Odin and how weak his imprisonment had left him and-
Metal in his face, crushed his nose and shattered some teeth. He bounced off, limbs pin wheeling as he spun out of control. Ground, sky, ground sky ground sky groundsk
He threw up, spinning too fast to see.
Everything was a blur of dirty chrome and washed out blue.
Impact.
Starburst patterns crashed in his eyes. His head pounded. Bones smashed together. One hand was nailed backwards. Hissing, crackling. In his ears. Stench of rot and faeces in his nose. Slowly, his senses returned to him.
Something was poking into his side.
Loki groaned.
Had he passed out? Too groggy to answer his own question, he heaved upright. And promptly threw up. Nothing in his stomach but bile.
Everything spun. As if he hadn't crashed, but was still falling endlessly never stopping never slowing no-one did you mour-
Movement.
Sound.
Loki blinked in an attempt to stop the dizziness. If he wasn't alone, he couldn't afford this. Even his vision was blurry. What was wrong with him? Panic.
Golden hair in the corner of his eye.
Concussion, my dear boy.
Yes, that was it. He'd hit his head on the way down and he gasped in a breath, forced it out through his nose as slowly as he could, until his lungs strained. Calm again.
Aware of what the problem was, it was childishly simple to fix. Loki snorted at how easily he'd been overwhelmed by a simple knock to the head. Blood, trickling down the side of his face, was pulled back into his body as the wound knitted back up. A crack and his hand was usable once again. More, bones crunched and ground together until all was right.
Loki smirked, felt marginally more like himself and smoothed down his prison uniform, but froze stock still.
Those weren't his hands. They were, but he didn't want them to be.
Cold tickled his back, breathed into his ear and he shivered.
Piercing the fog which encased his mind; sound of engines roaring. He didn't have time for this.
Loki squeezed his eyes shut. Banished the terror and indecision and disgust and all of it.
Something had happened. When he left Thor, the situation hadn't looked good. He was curious (nothing more) as to what had happened. Therefore, he had to survive to find out.
Survival and not being able to look at his own damned hands were mutually exclusive.
He tried to open his eyes again. Couldn't. Cast the illusion, this time he inscribed it into a palm with his fingernail and felt cool liquid trickling, dripping, and then the satisfying white-hot as his seiðr bound onto the glyphs. Hopefully it wouldn't unravel so quickly, this time.
That done, it was time to start running.
How proud Thor would be.
And when he barely managed to evade (flee, tail between his legs) them for five minutes, the heat in his face was most certainly from how close that mad woman had parked her… Ship? Skiff? Flying vehicle, with very hot fire shooting out the end of it.
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