Visitation

by kalimecat

Loki has returned to Asgard and is imprisoned for his crimes. While in prison he has the occasional visitor, will the love of others bring back the fallen prince or is he truly too far gone?

58. Battle For Asgard

A/N: HELLOOOO READERS!MERRY CHRISTMAS! HAPPY HANUKKAH! JOYOUS KWANZAA I"m sorry that I have not posted in so long. I try to write as often as I can, but life often gets busy. Nonetheless I hope that you all know that I am often thinking of you and this story. I get each and everyone of your favorites, follows and reviews and as always they are near and dear to my heart. Your continued interest in this story is the reason why I have been writing for so long. I hope that this little chapter can serve as a little Christmas present and help brighten your day. Dear Readers as a I hope that you all are doing well. Dear Readers, I hope that you all are doing well and staying safe in this COVID world. This chapter was difficult to write, but also a little fun. As always I didn't end up being able to fit in much in this chapter as I had hoped, but I did my best. Well this is the part 1 to the moment hopefully you've all been waiting for. Well, without further ado I give you Chapter 58. Happy Reads and Writes and as always may God Bless you!

Chapter 58: The Battle for Asgard

The drawbridge gates from the basin of the palace dungeon slowly creaked open. The two burly Dark-Elf guards who were posted on the sides of the drawbridge cranked the rusted gate open. It screeched and screamed in protest. The very gates didn't even want to allow this terrible massacre to happen. The Dark-Elves continued to turn the levers forcing the gate to rise against its will. The Imperial Palace had housed the royal family of Asgard for 10 generations. Since the time of the first clans and the Vanir and Aesir wars. It was a stronghold, a fortress and for the family. It was meant to keep them safe. It did not wish to give up its sacred duty to allow the last of the royal line to be led to his execution. But despite their protest the gates were forced to open.

Dim light attempted to pierce through the cloak of black and red ash that swirled over the city in a heavy fog. The effort of the sun was meager in comparison to the power of the dark crystal, but still the faint, dismal rays of sun were enough to send the Dark-Elves hissing as they marched out of the obscurity of the palace dungeon.

Malekith's soldiers marched out. They immediately shielded their ghastly pale faces with their heathenish helmets from even the smallest amounts of light that tried to break through. They marched out with precision timing. Their armor was black as night. It was full of spikes and leather straps. They looked like fearsome monsters. They were so in sync with every step that their heavy footfalls caused the ground to rumble as they advanced down the center of the square. The moved firm and strong and swift. Their deadly vortex causing blasters were slung over their shoulders, some had them pointed right at the poor citizens of Asgard. The weapons that they had were shined up and polished and ready to take aim at a moment's notice. Their heads swung back and forth at the same time as the heeded the corporal's commands. They wore the ghostly white masks that revealed soulless, hollowed out black pit eyes. Eyes that had no feelings of remorse, eyes that held no pity for their captives, eyes that wouldn't give a second though to firing their dreadful vortex blasters and sending even a baby screaming into the great beyond.

They were an impressive sight. Even the officers of the Einherjar and Valkyrie forces had to give them that. Their military might had gone unchecked for many a century and now the Aesir first hand could see why. The weaker realms, those of mortal beings and gentle species they were horrified just by the look of the frightful elves. They hadn't the strength of mind or of to fight off the enemy. Once those other realms had cried out for the help of the Asgardians. Now, the Aesir were prisoners of the terrible race just like so many other peoples before them. Their kingdom was about to be overtaken and if they didn't win this day all hope for the Nine Realms and possibly the rest of the cosmos would be lost.

The city square was packed just as if it was the new year. The crowd pressed and stuffed inside the limits of the square like pigs in a pin, like fish in a barrel. They were all sweating and squealing and wriggling. They were pushing and shoving and fighting trying to get out, trying the run in the other direction. Some were trying to fight the guards, and defend themselves. Only to be bludgeoned on head or on the back and subjugated once more. The Dark-Elf soldiers in the crowd drove spikes and tasers staffs into the sides of the people. Many of the citizens of Asgard had been outfitted with electro-shock manacles that sent them into having fitful seizures and forced them onto their knees. They pushed and shoved the people. They shouted at them to drop down to their knees and bow to their new overlords. The Aesir people fought back though. Even if they had been forced to kneel, they continued to boo, hiss and heckle the foreign army that had taken over the palace. They picked up rocks and dirt and mud that was in the square and flung it at the warriors of Svartalfheim. Every time that the Dark-Elf soldiers tried to push them down, the people would rise back up. Those that could would raise their fists in protest.

"There are so many of them," Volstagg pointed out to Lady Sif as they made their way to the edges of the crowd. "I didn't expect it to be this many of them," the pudgy Einherjar reported as he gazed at the endless processional of black clad soldiers.

"There's still more of us then there are of them, Volstagg," Lady Sif explained as her eyes scrutinized the situation. It seemed like the number of Malekith's soldiers just kept growing. There was a steady stream of them striding out of the dungeon.

"Yes, Sif, but some of our numbers are children and the elderly," he countered shaking his head as he continued to count the vast number of Dark-Elves.

"Those children are future Einherjar," Lady Sif stated sternly. If this day was won and Asgard had a future. "Those elders are warriors of our past," she reminded him. "And we have to hold out hope that the Queen's forces are still out there" she expressed. "All the soldiers know their positions and know the diversions they are supposed to cause. We can hold off these fiends long enough," the warrior woman explained as she glared over her shoulder at the Dark-Elf soldiers who were marching through the crowd stabbing citizens in the side with taser staffs, walloping them on the head and shoulders, pressing detonators and electrocuting the Aesir.

"GET DOWN! GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES RIGHT NOW" the warriors of Svartalfheim bellowed.

"DEATH FIRST!" several Asgardians roared back. The bloodless faces of the Dark-Elf guard gazed at each other and exchanged sickening sneers.

"That can be arranged," one guard stated. He started to chuckle cruelly. He had a small detonator in his hand. He raised it high in the air signaling for others to do the same. Several of the Dark-Elf soldiers who were dispersed throughout the crowd did the same. Then they all struck the center button with their thumbs and the chains that were wrapped around the Asgardians' necks and wrists and ankles were lit up with electricity. They were electrocuting the battered citizens. Cries and screams rang out from their throats. The mix of their screams and the look of the collars and manacles being lit up made the square seem like a raging thunder storm. Some of the Aesir staggered to their knees trying to comply to the orders thinking that it would spare them the painful electrocution and torture. The cruelty of the Svartalfheim arm was boundless. They continued to electrocute the citizens until soon many voices fell silent. Dark-Elves then simply scooped up some of the fallen Aesir and lifted their charred bodies on top of their taser-spikes and continued to parade around dangling burned bodies from their staffs.

"NO!" Lady Sif screamed out as she recognized one of the dead bodies that was being displayed like a beautiful flag in the crowd was a young Einherjar recruit. Lady Sif reached into the folds of her cloak. She always had a hidden weapon up her sleeve. She pulled out a small two small katars that she had been hiding in the breast plate. She was ready to run after the Dark-Elves and use the cruel weapon against them.

It was only the pressure of Volstagg's heavy, thick, steady hand on her shoulder that held her back. "Sif, not yet!" he called not yet. He felt the fearsome warrior woman pulled against her friend. Lady Sif gritted her teeth practically roaring. "We can't give ourselves away. If the men see you attack, they'll attack as well. We can't jeopardize the plan. We are Thor's only hope," he reminded her. "we're Asgard's only hope," he practically whispered in her ear.

Lady Sigyn allowed a scream to erupt from her throat as she shoved the katar back into the buckle of her belt. She closed her eyes and shoved her hood back on her head. "They'll be avenged," she swore.

"Only if we survive and win," the plump member of the Thor's band stated. He too covered his head and shielded his round, dirty, blood-stained face from the Dark Elves who were walking around displaying the citizens and soldiers they'd just slaughtered ever so proudly on top of their pikes.

"BOW DOWN! BOW DOWN SLAVES!" they continued to holler. As they pushed and shoved their way through the crowd of terrified Aesir. Many screamed and cried, some shoved back, but eventually most dropped to their knees doing as the ruthless guards demanded.

One little girl in the crowd stood up against the guards. She was a scrawny little thing with unruly curly locks. She pushed the Dark-Elf soldier back. "We're not slaves!" she shouted. She was standing on her tip toes, but she was only as tall as many of the Aesir who were crouching down in the crowd of thousands. "We are Asgardians! We are a free people! We have never been slaves. And we never will be! Least of all to the likes of your ilk!" she protested with a proud fist raised in the air and her petite features curled up into a scowl. Some started to applaud the brave youngster. Some started to take back to their feet. They raised their fists as well those who were standing by her. Hands scrambled to grab her. To protect her. One of the Dark-Elf soldiers set his sights on her. He dropped the spike that he had impaled a young Einherjar on and made his way toward the child. The Aesir people stood up they formed a wall to try to protect the little girl. Maybe it was because the people had already been weakened, the were beat up and banged up, burned and bloody. Maybe it was because when the Dark-Elves had rounded them up and driven them from the protection of the sanctum they were tagged and chained like animals, but the guard mowed through the crowd like they were nothing.

"No, my daughter!" a man cried out as he jumped in front of the little girl. "Don't harm her!" he begged. He covered her with his cloak. "Take me!" he pleaded. The Dark-Elf was in the traditional ghostly mask that their people wore into battle. He turned his head toward the man and his child and his eyes simply looked like bottomless pits. The father had been properly outfitted with a collar. The Dark-Elf guard had a detonator in his hand. He pressed the button and watched as electricity shot through the man's body. He screamed and grabbed at his neck trying to yank the terrible chain off of himself only to have his hands shocked. He collapsed on the floor in a convulsing heap.

"Father!" the little girl screamed out as she watched the man in rags quake on the ground. "Stop it!" she hollered at the Dark-Elf as she looked up at him with tears pooling in her big brown eyes. The soldier chortled at the young girl's plea. Then he ran her clean through with the end of a darkened saber. She fell on top of her convulsing parent. Her blood pooling around him as she died. The seizing man choked out his brave little daughter's name.

Volstagg had to hold himself back from vomiting from the grotesque sight of what had happened. The poor little girl was probably the age of his own daughter or one of his nieces. He could had pictured one of his children standing up and saying such proud words. Just wanting to be brave and strong like the heroes they always heard about in stories. The Dark-Elves were like animals. They had no honor. They killed without mercy, without thought or conscience. The Einherjar in all their conquest never slaughtered children. Volstagg swore to himself on the lives of his wife and children that the tiny girl would be avenged. "I'll see to it this day that that one meets his fate at the tip of my battle axe, Sif," he mumbled as they both kept themselves bent on one knee.

"Aye," the shield-maiden declared. "whether we wind this day or die trying we will free Thor and we'll take out as many of these bastards as we can," their eyes met and they made a pact with each other as they held hands.

The Aesir were horrified, by the ceaseless atrocities that the Dark-Elves kept committing. They rose up in different sections of the square and started to act against the guards. Many in the area where the little girl was slain stood with their hands raised in the air. "FOR ASGARD! FOR ASGARD!" the shouted. "FREE ASGARD!" they bellowed. Other's rose up and pushed back. They didn't have weapons but they took off their shoes and belts and used them against the guards.

"It's too soon, it's too soon, Volstagg mumbled to Lady Sif. He elbowed her to show how many of the citizens were starting to react.

"What do you expect?" Lady Sif asked as she shook her head. "It's not in any Asgardian's blood to roll over and play dead," she confessed. Her own fingers were growing twitchy. They were aching for the fight, but it had wait. It had to wait to the opportune moment. The moment when it was most advantageous for freeing Prince Thor.

"They'll give us away, they'll blow our cover," Volstagg reminded her. "if too many of them get killed we won't have enough mean to fight and keep the Aether from being released during the Convergence.

Sif nodded; she knew her friend was right. The sun was rising and Convergence would begin at noon. She popped her head and rose to her feet. She tapped Volstagg on the shoulder signaling for hm to do the same. The pair of Einherjar generals scanned the square. It was so full of Aesir, but their eyes had been carefully trained to identify their own soldiers. The soldiers were following their lead. Many of them had also risen to their feet. Their eyes were surveying the square searching for a sign from Volstagg or Sif. The Aesir soldiers were ready and poised to spring into action at a moment's notice. Volstagg managed to catch one soldier's eyes. The burly, Viking shook his head. That soldier passed the stern glance and waiting signal along to another soldier. Three Valkyrie who were stationed near each other eventually got the message and started to try to calm the agitated Aesir all around them.

"The soldiers know, they won't act until we give the signal," Volstagg stated to Sif.

"I know," Lady Sif began her eyes still carefully scanning. They were still focused on the growing ranks of Dark-Elves who were marching out from beneath the dungeon gates. They were creating a perimeter around the square. Sif's breath quickened. "I don't see Thor," she stated.

"He's here. He has to be," Volstagg said as he pushed to the front of the line of the crowd. He clenched his thick hand into a fist. "You don't think..." the fat warrior began. His eyes wide. "You don't think that they could have..." he started.

"They said the execution would be at dawn," Sif said as she kept her eyes trained her eyes the army of Svartalfheim that was still marching out in lines like long black columns.

"Loki is a bloody liar!" Volstagg swore. "He could have said that...just to lure us all here! Simply to trick us. To bring us here to kill us," the red-haired Einherjar started to protest. They'd be sitting ducks. Fish in a barrel. It was a brilliant military strategy. They could easily wipe them all out especially if the queen's forces arrived. That could essentially leave the rest of Asgard defenseless. Sure, there would be plenty of local militias and the people would arm themselves, but without this army to stop Convergence it would only be a matter of time before Loki and the Dark-Elves would conquer all of the realms. "Maybe we should try to get out of here," Volstagg mumbled as he felt himself being pushed and tugged by the restless crowd.

"All the exits are being guarded," the dark-haired warrior observed. "It wouldn't work," she explained. "We have to proceed with the plan," she confirmed.

"Maybe the plan was wrong, maybe this plan will get us all killed," Volstagg thought aloud. He and Sif were both excellent warriors they had studied enough military strategies to know a trap.

"We always knew it was a risk, Volstagg," Sif spat. She was squinting in the darkness as the rays of light tried to break through the thick sheet of Aether ash. Some of the slim sunlight reflected off of their black armor. She had counted hundreds of warriors and no sign of Thor. Her heart was throbbing.

"It's not worth it if Thor is..." The plump Einherjar stifled his words.

"Don't say it!" Lady Sif turned on him and glared. "Thor's alive! Thor's alive! Thor's alive!" she muttered to herself. She pulled out the katar again, quick as a flash. She started flicking it and stabbing it into her fingers enough to feel the pain and sharpness, but not enough to draw blood. First blood the blades of her katar would taste would be Loki's she swore to herself.

"Sif, I want to believe that Thor is alive, too...you know I do, but," Volstagg stated slowly.

"He is alive!" the might warrior woman declared as she snatched her arm from out of his plump fingers.

"But if he's not...if this is a deception..." Volstagg's voice started to raise as he felt himself being jostled in the restless crowd.

"It's not!" she snapped once more but she kept her back pressed toward the red-bearded Viking as the Dark-Elf guards were starting to pull out taser-whips and use them to drive the people. They had no problem driving an electrified whip across the back of an old woman and forcing her to her knees.

"Lady Sif, all I'm trying to say is that we can't lose all of these people," Volstagg began breathlessly as he continued to watch all the commotion breaking out around them. From people trying to fight back to people screaming and running and crying and begging. "We still have to try to make sure that they don't unleash the Aether..."

"We have to save Thor!" Sif declared as she slammed her fist into her palm.

"We have to save Asgard, the Nine Realms!" Volstagg stated firmly. He spun her around and faced her. Sif's eyes were shimmering and it wasn't just from the burn of the Aether ash flying in her face. Her split lip quivered. He squeezed her shoulders firmly. He wanted to pull her into a tight embrace. Sif had always been tough. She was probably the toughest of their band. She was an unparalleled warrior and if Lady Sif was on the case she didn't fail. She was so strong. She was always so strong. She was the type who if she detected any weakness in new recruits, she would weed it out. If she led a troop, she'd push them to the brink. She wouldn't let them bellyache or whine or quit. She made sure that they completed their objectives. She made sure that they finished their mission, defeated their enemies. He'd known her all of his life and despite her tough exterior, he had always felt for her like a sister. He had so many sisters he supposed it just came naturally to feel that way toward a woman. He'd always felt slightly protective of Sif. He knew she didn't need protecting in the physical sense, but emotionally maybe she did. He tugged on her trying to pull her into a warm hug. Sif pushed away of course.

"Don't!" she protested as she pushed off of him. Volstagg held her fast. She roughly slapped him across to face. His plump cheeks reddened. Sif tried to tell herself that his cheek was already smeared with blood and that it was just the Aether's residue not that she'd actually hurt her old friend. She watched as he bristled ever so slightly. His eyes bulged a bit shocked from the slap. "Don't!" she warned him again with a fist raised to sock him in the eye and a stern finger pointing at his nose.

"Sif," he said slowly, calmly. His bloodshot blue eyes looked into her bloodshot brown ones. "it's what Thor would want," he stated,

The brunette shield-maiden bit her lip. She knew that Volstagg was right. She looked around at all the carnage that was taking place. Innocent civilians were being slaughtered right in front of her for nothing. Soldiers were being slain. They couldn't just stand by and be fodder for the killing. Thor would never want the people of Asgard to suffer like this. He'd give his own life in a heartbeat if his people could be spared. And she was an Einherjar. She was sworn to protect Asgard at all cost. If Thor was already lost to them there was still a chance that Asgard could survive. She finally nodded. She dropped her head and lowered her gaze looking down at the cobblestone square around them. The cracks in the stone street were filling up with blood. "You're right," she nodded. "I know you're right," she admitted never allowing a tear to fall. "But I know Loki," she said with bitterness in her tone. "I don't think he's killed Thor yet," she expressed.

"Sif look at all he's done!" Volstagg shook his head. "He's a maniac! You don't know him. None of us ever knew him! He's just a monster. Put nothing past him," Volstagg cautioned.

"He is a monster!" Sif spat. "But that monster," she pointed toward the palace. "He always wants a show," she stated as a sneer curled her lips.

The crowd continued to roar with anger and fury, but soon over the sound of yelling there was the sound of drums. Heads swung as the low pounding of the drums began. Soon a few more Dark-Elves emerged from under the gates playing rather large war drums from the palace music room and the barracks of the palace guards. The drums were made of fine wood. The mahogany wood that grew in the Black Forests. This wood didn't sweat at all when it was set in fine burnished brass encasements. The drums had the high symbols of Asgard. The three interconnected triangles each one a different precious metal color of gold, silver and platinum. The sides of the drums were painted with the flags of Asgard and of the royal family. The drums echoed loudly throughout the square. They were beat in time with the thunderous footsteps of the Dark-Elf soldiers ever marching feet that meant to the poor trapped Asgardians. The Dark-Elves started to play a familiar marching song. It was the parade anthem that was normally was played if the royal family was making a tour in one of the countryside areas. It was a march meant to strike terror and fear into the heart of Asgard's enemies as they faced the power, might and majesty of all that the royal family had to do and to remind the people of Asgard that that power was on their side as well. Their ears were perked and attuned to the rhythm.

Volstaggs eyes grew wide as he listened to the music play. "How? How? Do they know that march?" He demanded of Sif. He and the warrior woman had finally managed to push their way through the wild crowd and toward the scaffold where Prince Thor was scheduled to be executed. "How's it possible?" the words were furiously spat from his red-bearded lips. In their primary school years this royal march was something that all the children had to learn. Performing it at recital in spring was practically a rite of passage. It wasn't possible for these Dark-Elves to learn it overnight.

"Loki," Lady Sif rumbled his name.

"Loki couldn't have taught them this... all of them," Volstagg couldn't bear it. He shook his head. It had only been a few weeks ago that his eldest nephew had started practicing playing the march on his instrument. He was so excited to take part in the proud Asgardian tradition. This song was meant for them, for their people. How dare the Dark-Elves play it before them.

"That snake is full of all sorts of tricks!" the shield-maiden spat. "Once he enchanted my feet to dance until I fell on the floor," Sif told him as she stared in disbelief at the marching army.

Behind the Dark-Elf soldiers, the people watched helplessly as the new dictators (King Loki and Lord Malekith) marched out behind them. Malekith, was clothed in his best armor. He had worn this armor when he'd conquered numerous worlds. He'd worn that same armor on the day when King Bor of Asgard had stripped the Aether from them. The star on the breastplate of his armor started to glow with the bright, blood red of the Aether. Malekith could feel the power of the Aether surging with in him. It was raging and boiling and bubbling inside his veins. It could barely be contained. The closer they came to Convergence the more that the liquid Infinity Stone wanted to flow and ebb and eek out of him and take over and conquer and destroy. He shook with excitement as he felt the power taking hold of him. Oh, he loved the power. He hadn't felt this level of power in several millennia. This is what he had been waiting for. He swelled with the Infinity Stone which powers could not be contained. His head was held high. His guards were on all sides of him displaying the might and power of his new Empire. He would rule! He would truly rule! His power would be unmatched. No one but Thanos would be over him and he'd expose Loki's weakness to Lord Thanos. The Mad Titan would not suffer even the slightest sentiment in his universe. The weak Asgardian would be snuffed out like a candle in time.

Malekith turned his head toward the crowd of Aesir citizens who his soldiers had gathered. They were raging and fighting back and they had their fists raged, but he could sense that underneath the sweltering anger and fury was an undercurrent of fear. That fear was starting to push to the surface as every tiny second ticked along the fight and drive was starting to seep away and be replaced by the horror of what was to come. He turned to face the crowd. He showed them his face. His horrid face that had been tainted with the Aether one half of his face was ghastly shade of deathly white and the other half of it was blackened like tar. His eyes gleamed with the hellish red tint of the Aether that resonated in the irises. He heard the gasps and the frightened screams that came from the children in the crowd. He let a bloody smile trickle across his face as he looked at them.

The Aesir hissed as they saw him. "BOO! BOO!" they yelled and heckled as he walked by. "MONSTER! MONSTER! ASGARD FOREVER! DIE!" they shouted continuously. They reached down and many of them grabbed rocks and started to hurl them at the General. "DIE! DIE!" they continued to holler. "RELEASE PRINCE THOR!" the furious crowd continued to roar as Malekith paraded through the square with all the pomp and ceremony that was expected in a traditional, hostile military takeover. The Asgardians pelted him with whatever they could get their hands on. They had good aim and they were able to throw over the soldiers and right toward Malekith.

The leader of the Dark-Elves raged and fumed at the disrespect that had been shown to him. The Aether coursed through his veins. The stones natural desire to defend itself kicked in. It caused the dark energy within him to surge. All of a sudden, shards of the Aether shot forth from the iron clad warlord. The shards few about like large ruby lightning bolts. They shot right into the crowd of corralled Asgardians. The Aesir screamed as the shards flew in every direction. The people tried to run and tried to scurry away from the attack, but there was nowhere to go. The darkness grew thicker. Some of the Aether bolts struck right down on the citizens. It shot right through groups of several dozens and instantly killed them. Bodies fell right where they had once stood. The Aether didn't even had the decency to leave a body with the respectability of bleeding. Instead, it would leave the bodies terribly mangled and disfigured. Some of them were completely pulverized and just left into nothing, but red Aether ash. Oh, it was a gruesome sight. More bloodcurdling screams rang out from the poor citizens of Asgard as they watched so many of their loved ones slaughtered so innocently with such extreme prejudice.

The Commander of Communications and the lieutenant along with their squadron managed to be pushed into the city square. The two leaders and few other soldiers had made their way into the square. The Dark-Elf soldiers were all too happy to wrangle a few more Aesir into the city square to watch the execution, not knowing that these few soldiers had a plan. The Dark-Elf soldiers had slapped them in cuffs and irons and pushed and shoved them into different corners and areas with brutal indifference and shouts. The soldiers went without much of a fuss. They had come to far and had gotten too close to be able to save Prince Thor to give any resistance to run the risk of losing that opportunity. Though separated from most of the men who had been placed under his command the Commander activated a wrist communicator that he had and raised his chained arms as best as he could to his lips. "Lieutenant, Lieutenant," he called in a hurried voice into the device. He couldn't set the frequencies on his device just right and he could hardly hear over the dreadful, terrified screams of the Aesir people. "Come in! Come in!" the young Commander of Communication's voice called out desperately over the hubbub of horror taking place around them. He couldn't hear a thing from the other end of his device.

"Get to the sides! Get to the sides!" the Dark-Elf guard shouted in the commander's ear. "On your knees scum!" the same soldier declared as he felt a powerful grip come down on his shoulder and force him toward the floor. He didn't resist as he looked around as he saw different Aesir fall left and right. His eyes grew wide as he beheld women and children and young and old be taken out and treated like nothing.

"Blaggards!" he spat under his breath while on his knees as a poor old man fell to the stones. His cane flew out of his hand and he struck his head on one of the dislodged stones on the street. The Commander of the Communications felt his heart pounding as he saw the sight and saw the blood start to flow from the side of the poor old man's head. He wanted to rush to his side and help him, but there was a Dark-Elf soldier was standing on his chains and he couldn't break free though he tried to pull and tug and wriggle free with all his might. He fell flat on his face into the dirt as he tried to break free. His eyes stung with tears and as he looked up, he saw red. It wasn't merely from the residue of the evil gem either. The Dark-Elves were like animals. They were absolute savages with no respect for the civilized convention of conquest. They were a lawless breed. The commander still had a few of his weapons on him. He had a hidden short blade that he kept strapped to his hip. Truth be told, from his communication watch ship that normally flew over the battle he'd never killed a man out right in the cruelty of a blood battle. He'd told troops where to station bombs and set up catapults, he'd even dropped a few bombs and given armies directions for where to attack. But he was ready to finally get his hands dirty in the true fashion of a Berserker.

Just as he was about to reach for his sword, he heard his communication device start to chime. The buttons started to blink and flash. He fumbled to try to answer the communicator. The people were moving and scurrying everywhere trying to escape from the gated square. He was pushed and shoved and knocked down flat on his face. Some in their haste stepped on his head and smashed his helmet against his face. The metal dug into the sides of his cheeks and cut him. He was gasping as he rolled out of the way to keep from being crushed by the stampede of furious feet, some bare and some booted, some with broken sandals that flipped flopped off, some were bleeding, some had pieces of wood or metal or glass sticking right out of them, but all were moving as quick as they could to get out of the way as another blast shot forth. The Commander of Communications was flat on his belly, his body was trembling. His chained hands finally managed to click on the wrist communicator that he wore. It blinked a few times but the image of his lieutenant did not appear. The communicator was busted. "Lieutenant! Lieutenant!" the commander of communications desperately screamed into the speaker of the communicator. "Can you hear me?" he asked breathlessly into the device.

There were a few flashes and garbled clicks. Finally, he heard a faint voice coming from the communicator. "Commander! Commander!" it called out to him.

The commander allowed a smile to be displayed across his face. "I'm here! I'm here!" he expressed as loudly as he could so to make himself heard over the roar. "What is your location?'

"Hard...to...determine," the voice came back in static and sputters. "I'd...say...bout... 2 miles away from the scaffold and to the left of about another mile away is fountain," he explained. "And you sir?"

"I'm near where were taken still by the gate," the commander expressed.

"Are...men...with...you?' the words chopped up as they were filtered through the communicator.

"No," the commander reported back sharply. "I... sent...scout... around the perimeter..."

"We...need...soldiers...here!" the lieutenant shouted back. "It's a madhouse! A Massacre! We have to attack!" the lieutenant urged. The Commander of Communications didn't immediately respond to his lieutenant's suggestion. He had eyes to see as well as anyone. He could see that this was all chaos. The Asgardians were starting to act on pure instinct. Fight or flight that was all that was left. And there was nowhere to run. They were going to have to make a stand, but he was not the one who wanted to make the call for how they should act. They came here to save their people. They couldn't very well just sit here and watch them all be slaughtered for the amusements of someone as sick and twisted as Loki. "Sir! Can... hear...me? Can... you...hear...me?" the commander heard the cry through the device despite the frenzy of panic that was taking place around him. Another slew of pounding feet were dashing his way. It seemed like about 40 pairs were about to run over him. The Dark-Elf soldier that had him tethered like a slave beneath his boot was shouting out something at the Aesir people. He was yelling in the language of Svartalfheim and so even if the people of Asgard had wanted to listen to the guard they couldn't. The Commander of Communications curled himself up into a ball to protect himself from the herd of Asgardians that was coming his way. He felt himself being kicked and stomped a few times through his armor, but the injury wasn't too bad. Then he listened to the sound of the Dark-Elf's weapon being shot. It was a terrible careening sound. It was pop and then a blast sound, but the end in was all swirling wind and screams. He uncurled himself ever so slightly, people were still rushing all about in every direction all around him, but in the midst right above him where the Dark-Elf who held him captive was standing he watched as the vortex-blaster was fired. He watched as the electrified crater was made in the atmosphere, he beheld in horror as he saw some of the people run right into it. They were unaware and were immediately sucked up into a black hole in the blink of an eye.

The Commander of Communications screamed out as he watched a young boy, only probably the mortal age of 5 cry as his mother was pulled into the vortex. "Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!" the little boy yelled as a woman in a simply blue cloak was ripped into the vortex. She yelled out the child's name. Her finger's stretching, clawing and fighting and reaching out for the little boy. His grubby, chubby little hand reached back for her's. He nearly caught hold of her, but then they would have both been lost. The Commander sprang into action. He rolled over and kicked the Dark-Elf soldier in the groin. The strong metal of his armor protected him from the full impact of the blow, but it was enough to make him look down and divert his attention away from the child. The commander kicked him the groin again. He was on his back, but he used both his shackled feet to deliver a hard, swift kick. He kept going! He didn't stop in delivering the blows. Until, finally, either out of pain or annoyance the Dark-Elf soldier moved his boot from standing on the chain that rooted the Commander of Communications on the ground. He broke free. He stood up. He took the heavy chain and swung the end of it and hit the Dark-Elf guard in the arm and caused him to drop the blaster. The elf growled as he turned to him. The Commander of Communications returned the snarl. He still couldn't reach his own sword as his hands were shackled. Still, he could use the chain. He swung the chain around one more time this time he slapped the guard in the face with it. The guard fell to the side onto the ground. The commander didn't hesitate. He didn't stop to think. He immediately hobbled over to the guard and used the chain that was between his hand and pressed it toward the bloodless neck. The elf gasped and croaked and made terrible gagging sounds. He started to talk, but his words came too late as the chain cut off his breath.

The Commander of Communication rolled from off of on top the Dark-Elf soldier. He was panting, but the guard was on the ground motionless. He'd never killed with his bare hands before. He was a soldier, but he'd never killed before. He'd been trained, but he'd never had to use it until now. He'd never had to get his hands dirty with the art of war. He was from a fairly well to do family in Asgard and his parents had paid for him to go to one of many fine military schools. He'd gotten to his cushy position within the Asgardian army not through true military prowess but simply through taking tests and going through schooling. He didn't know he had it in him. He didn't like to think of himself as a coward for to be a coward was one of the worst things that an Asgardian could be, but he had never had any proof that he was anything different. Now he knew what he was and he knew what he would do to make sure Asgard was free.

He ran to scoop up the child. The little boy's mother was gone and the poor youngster with his dirty cut up brown face and lock of dark curly hair was blubbering on the ground with snot and tears dribbling down chin. "Commander! Commander!" yelled the lieutenant through the device. The commander tried to speak into his wrist communicator, but he was unable to move his arms while holding to little boy. He slung the child over his broad shoulder. He let him hang there. All the while the child wept uncontrollably.

"Here! Here!" the commander called into the machine.

"We...must...act" the words came tumbling out.

"I... know...I know. How...many...men...on...ground?" he huffed over the shouts.

"Many...men...down...sir" the staggered words came out from the device.

"Wounded?" the Commander of Communications quickly questioned.

"Some...some separated...can't communicate...some dead" the lieutenant reported.

"Can you see the Captain of the Queen Guard?" asked the commander.

"Can't...see...a... thing...too dark..."

"We have to see how many soldiers we have... we can't act all by ourselves. It'll never work. I'll try to establish more communications" the commander insisted.

"Einherjar...are...in the crowd," the lieutenant countered. They couldn't afford to wait.

"And, where are they? Can you see them? Establish communication with them? Without knowing their plans, we could cause more damage than good," he explained.

"We have to do something!" The lieutenant spoke rapidly.

"Try to establish contact with the Captain of the Guard," the commander expressed. The Aether ash was interfering with the reception. More static was coming in. "Lieutenant! Lieutenant can you still hear me?" he asked frantically into the machine. The child crying on his shoulder didn't make it any easier for him to hear. "Try...try...try to establish contact...with...Einherjar...find...plan...report back," he said.

"Commander? Commander?" he heard the fuzzy words of the other officer coming from his communication device. The Commander of Communication kept trying to speak back into his device, but he got no reply. He pressed several buttons to increase volume and to expand his range and increase reception, but it did nothing. He thought that he may have had a code cipherer in his strapped somewhere on the inside of his armor, but his hands were still bound and he couldn't reach it.

"Boy! Boy!" he screamed and shook his shoulders as he tried to get the child's attention. He managed to wriggle his shoulders enough so that the wailing child slid off of his shoulder and into his strong arms. The child was still crying profusely. His little legs kicked angrily and he kept blubbering his mother's name. "Boy! Boy! Boy!" the Commander of Communications stated forcefully as he crouched down and placed the child's feet on the ground. The little boy who was so upset her could hardly stand. The Commander of Communications took him by the face. The child's face was dirty and red as a beet from all his screaming. His eyes were still full of tears. "I know...I know," he stated as he did his best to hug the child. He found that the little boy immediately responded to the gesture. He hugged him tightly while still calling for his long-gone mother. "Settle down, settle down. You will be alright..." the commander explained.

"Mummy?' the little boy looked around at all the chaos that was transpiring all around him. People rushing, people screaming, people hitting, lightning striking, monsters taking over and hurting everyone. "Bring Mummy back! Bring Mummy back!" he begged the officer.

"Who else can you go to besides your Mummy?" the commander asked as he pulled the little boy's arms from around his neck. "Who else?" he urged. "Who else takes care of you?"

The little boy sniffled. His bloodshot eyes looked all around but in the frenzy of the moment everything was a terrible blur. "Auntie Dinga," he stated as he trembled and held his hand tight. He started to cry once more.

"It's ok, boy, it's ok," the Commander of Communications told him. "I'm going to help you find your Auntie Dinga," he explained gently. He could only hope that the woman was in the crowd and still alive.

"Mummy!" The little lad screamed in protest. "I want Mummy!" he shook his head. The Commander of Communications didn't have much dealing with children. He didn't know how to tell this child that his mother was dead and never coming back he shouldn't have to be the one to tell a little boy who he didn't even know such information.

"Alright, alright. But first we have to find your Auntie Dinga. Auntie Dinga can help you now," he placed his hands on the boy's shoulders. "You want to see Auntie Dinga?' he asked.

The child shook his head. He was still clutching his shaking hands. "I want Mummy!" he demanded.

"I know you do, but Mummy can't be here, so we'll find your Auntie Dinga and she will help," he said again slowly. He rubbed the boy's tiny, heaving shoulders. The boy started to settle. "I will help you, but I need you to help me," the commander went on. The little boy pointed to himself. Shaking his head. "Yes, yes! You can help. You can help all of us. We have to be quick," he explained. "Look at your hands," he told the little boy and the little boy looked down at his plump dirty hands. "Those are good hands," the commander expressed. "They are helping hands," he went on. "Yes?" the child simply nodded. "I need those hands...Asgard needs those hands," he expressed to the child. "You want to be a soldier?" he asked. Once more the boy kept quiet, but he bobbed his head in earnest. "Yes, of course you do," the commander tried to give the child a smile. He ruffled his curly locks. Almost every child in Asgard wanted to grow up and be a great warrior. "Ok...ok...today...you are a soldier and you are going to help save Asgard. Make Mummy very proud," he expressed. The little boy's eyes lit up for as he heard the Commander of Communication's words. He patted his little hands together. "Good boy, good boy," the commander stated softly. "Now listen, listen," he stated to instruct. "I'm going to put you on my shoulder and you're going to reach your hand into the collar of my armor, understand?'

"Mmhmm," the child nodded.

"Good," The commander hoisted the little boy back onto his shoulder and the little boy started to do as the commander had stated. He reached in down to his armor. The commander laughed ever so slightly as he felt the child's fingers feeling around over his shoulder and tip of his back. "Do you feel a little knob?" he asked. The child continued to feel until he landed on something. "Good job!" he encouraged. "Now pull it off! Pull it off!"

He felt the little boy yank and tug at the knob. He had secured it in there pretty tight. "Can't! Can't! It's stuck!" the little boy protested. His fingers smarted from all the yanking.

"Yes, you can! Yes, you can," the commander continued to encourage. "Come on you're a soldier!" he reminded him.

"I'm a soldier," the child whispered. "I'm an Einherjar!" he boasted.

"Yes, yes! You're an Einherjar. You don't lose you get the job done!"

"Make Mummy proud," the little boy declared as he squinted his eyes and furrowed his brow and called on all the strength that a child his age could possibly muster. The Commander of Communication could feel every yank and tug through his armor and finally he felt when the little knob popped. The child's face held elation. "I did it! I did it!" he squealed with delight. He threw his arms up in the air in victory.

The Commander of Communication clapped his bound hands together for the little boy. But the crowds were still moving and yelling and fighting and they had to move. He bounced the boy right off his shoulder and the boy fell right into his arms. "Good work solider!" he declared. He then slung the child back over his shoulders and started to hustle with the child dangling and bouncing there. All the while as he scrambled in line with the frightened crowd that was being driven by the Dark-Elf guards who had taser whips that they weren't afraid to crack against the backs of an Aesir and vortex blaster that they'd fire off in a second. Oh, they were truly awful. All as he moved with the crowd, he used the device that the child had gotten from the inside of his armor. The code cipherer was a little round disk with a flat screen in the center and a mouth piece. The mouth piece was used to speak a message and the screen was used to read messages that were sent back. He could only hope that the Captain of Guard or one of the soldiers from Kytheria had a cipherer on them. He set it at the highest frequency so that it could connect with as many similar devices as possible. He wanted to let everyone know that he was here and ready to fight.

---

Lord Malekith continued to rage in fits. The bolts of black and red fury shot off of him in every direction. The screams of the petrified Asgardians were music to his ears and to the ears of him men. He raised his hand and set his chest and was ready to shoot off another powerful shard right into the center of the crowd. Just as the general could feel the immense amount of energy welling up inside him. More potent than that that could be contained, he felt a hand grab his wrist. Smooth, cool hands held on to him. Malekith tugged against the hand that was holding him back without thought, but found he was not able to break free. He turned around and snarled with his half blackened half white face and looked into steely emerald eyes. "That's enough, Lord Malekith," King Loki of Asgard declared.

Malekith bristled for but a second. Then he curled his bloodless lips into a disdainful for sneer. "You pity them?" He snatched his wrist away from Loki's clasp. He'd not stop the processional. He kept marching.

"I pity you, you, ignorant fool!" the self-proclaimed king of Asgard snapped back. He tried to keep his gaze from staring too long at the people of Asgard whose poor bodies were being thrown about and tossed about and sucked up. Some were even thrown into the walls of the palace. He couldn't recall a time when the city square hand run with this much blood. It had never run with this much blood. Even if there was to be an execution that was usually reserved for the arena. This was a place of celebrations and announcements and glad-tidings. Now it was nothing more than a slaughter-room floor.

Malekith marched on following the line of soldiers who were leading him to the scaffold. "Never call me a fool!" the leader of the Dark-Elves proclaimed. He thumped his chest. "I am the conqueror of this world! Just as I have been the conqueror of many worlds, he reminded the thin enchanter.

Loki kept in stride with Lord Malekith. The Dark-Elf general was shorter, stockier in build, but he took hurried deliberate footsteps. He was desperate to get to the scaffold and get the execution over with. "You mean the world's you conquered which were ripped from your grasp, by the Aesir of old," the dark-haired king reminded his second in command. Malekith turned around glaring. His black eyes seethed with the blood red of the Aether. That measly little welp. He may have been declared king by Thanos. (Malekith wasn't fool enough to defy Thanos) but he could prove to the Mad Titan once and for all that the weak-willed, lily-livered, soft-hearted mage wasn't fit to have such honors bestowed upon him. He had already failed Thanos once. Thanos was not a patient or tolerant man, not by any means and he was not one to suffer those who had failed him. He'd show Thanos once and for all that this welp was no one to be worth his time or favor. "On this very same day no less," Loki added ever so smoothly. That despicable smug glint played in his gleaming emerald eyes. "How many millennia will it take for you to learn that they are not to be underestimated?" Loki asked as he strode in time with warlord.

"You fear them?" Malekith questioned. "They are nothing but bound and chained slaves, now," Malekith gestured with his hands before the crowd. Yes, they were little more than cowering wretches. He looked again into the crowd. Well, most were cowering, running fleeing and begging for their lives, but not all. Amazingly, not all. There were still a remnant and more than a few that were pushing back. Fighting his soldiers, even though they had no weapons. Even when they were electrocuted and beaten somehow, they kept staggering to their feet and crying out the name of their fair kingdom.

"The hearts of the Aesir people are strong and proud...that is dangerous,"

"They are of no threat to us, now...we have the Aether on our side," He breathed in the ash that filled every space of the city square as if he was taking a whiff of a bouquet of flowers.

"You did 5000 years ago as well," the new king of Asgard reminded him. he held his head high and proud as they walked down the path that had been cleared for them. The guards pushed the people back. But all the while they were shouting, hurling insult upon insult and their new dictators and raining down mixtures of spit and dirt at them.

"These Aesir are nothing like the Aesir of old. They are far weaker..." he proclaimed. "They may be a strong race, but they are not invincible," Malekith spoke in the crude tongue of Svartalfheim. "And you are not even one of them," He added. The two leaders kept their faces forward as they marched toward the scaffold, but Malekith managed to cast a slant eyed glance in the wizard's direction to see if he flinched. He said that he hated the Asgardians. He said that he was no son of Odin. He certainly seemed to have no care for Prince Thor, but he also noticed that he kept himself clothed in Aesir skin.

Loki didn't dignify the general with a response. He wasn't an Aesir not by blood and not by heart. He knew that there was absolutely nothing that he could do to make himself belong. He had done too much wrong. Too much blood was on his hands. He was drowning in blood. He didn't deserve to live. He didn't know if he wanted to live. Considering all the wicked and evil, nasty abominable things that he had done he didn't know if he could live with himself. How could he? But they didn't deserve to die. Asgard didn't deserve to die. It shouldn't be extinguished. It was a flame that should burn til Ragnarök. And hopefully today wasn't that day. "Do you intend to simply waste the power of the Aether firing on people who are sitting ducks anyway?" he shrugged. "You will only have a small window of time for Convergence..."

"I know of Convergence! I have thought of nothing else for 5000 years!" he railed. "It's so close," he began to breathe in. He inhaled the Aether's toxic dust with much gusto. His eyes rolled in the back of his head. He licked his lips. "I can taste it," he declared.

"Then don't waste time shooting these people down. They people will revolt if cornered." the king tried to express to his general.

"Then they will be dealt with accordingly," Malekith shot back.

"Then you will have killed off all the people that you wish to use for labor," Loki stated.

The Dark-Elf General looked around at the people of Asgard. They were falling left and right into the dirt and on top of each other. "Unless they are stupid, they will learn," He grumbled. "They will learn or die!" he growled out.

Loki shook his head with his golden, horned helmet upon it. "Death can be welcomes. There are fates worse than death." King Loki stated. His green eyes staring out at the endless sea of Aesir people all corralled like sheep in a pin. "The Aesir will fight to the last...that's their nature. Killing them by the 1000s won't take away their drive. You must kill their hope. The people will be broken slaves once they see Prince Thor die," Loki explained as he inclined his helmet behind him.

Malekith snorted. He crinkled his pointed nose. He made sure to turn toward Asgard's king. He froze in his steps for the first time since they'd been parading themselves through the crowd. "Well then let's hurry up and get the execution over with," he offers a sneer back in Loki's direction. His thick bloodless lips curl over his musty gray teeth. His pit eyes housed a gleam to them. It was nearly playful. It was an eager fiendish glee. An indescribably impish delight that the Dark-Elf took in his words. There were few times in his life where Malekith could recall truly being happy. Happiness was not something that the Dark-Elves put much emphasis on. His conquest has made him close to happy as had his new found alliance with Thanos, but all that was stripped from him in the most horrendous of ways, by Bor. He'd dreamed of the day when he'd exact his vengeance upon him. Now, it was here.

He brandished the sword that he wore at his side. It was a mighty weapon. It was a dark broadsword, that was made of onyx and it had served him well in battle many times. It had killed many of his opponents. It was the last thing that they ever saw. It pleased him to think about it. Some of them had groveled like children before the might of his weapon. He used to power of the Aether to carve notches in it. Deep holes were embedded in the sword. The Aether carved them perfectly to reflect the might of the person that he had vanquished. The larger the hole the more powerful the person was who had conquered. Some of the holes were tiny little pinpricks. They had marked fiefdoms of the fairy prince. They were hollow trees, but in the was immense amounts of treasure. The flighty fairies were no match for his warriors. He'd managed to smash through the tiny villages of Earth's frozen north with ease. They funny thing was how the humans had actually tried to resist. Earth would have been his easily if Asgard hadn't gotten involved all those centuries ago. There would be a crater through the onyx sword when Thor's head tumbled off of his shoulders. It practically made the fiend giddy. His only regret was that he would not have timeless honor of the kill. His eyes flickered with the dark intensity of the Aether. It ran hot through his veins and into his brain and making his already wicked thoughts even wilder. He should have the honor of beheading Bor's descendant. It should be him! It had to be him! He had always known such pleasures! He was the leader of the Dark-Elves. The right of first kill was his. He had been Thanos' ally for centuries. How could Thanos have robbed him of this? His hand shook as he extended the sword toward Loki.

Loki looked down at the blade. It had a deadly elegance to it. It was a proud weapon. It was something that Odin would have loved to have kept in the weapon's vault. It was something Thor would have kept in his room. It was ancient and held a great history to it. He would have surely liked it for his study. He would have kept it tucked away and secure in a glass casing. Still, the monarch shook his head. With the flick of his wrist and a wave of his hands he produced his own weapons. Two daggers. One chiseled and pointed and sharp as could be. It flickered like a burst of lightning. It was small and study, sharp and strong, but had a thick appearance. A dragon's tooth dagger. "Oh, don't worry, I have my own methods," Loki stated.

"Those are too small. They will never do the trick," Malekith immediately protested. "What are you trying to pull?" he rumbled.

"Trust me," Loki said as his tongue let the s linger. "They'll serve their purpose," he explained. "It doesn't take a big sword to kill," he insisted. "Believe you me...when Prince Thor sees these," Loki showed off his fine knives once more. He twirled them around in his hand. He playfully, spun them about on the tips of his fingers. Then he stopped. He froze the daggers mid-air. They were pointed right at Malekith's soulless eyes. "They'll aim right for the heart," his silver-tongue stated. Lord Malekith started to protest, but the crowd was getting restless rowdier. There were more Aesir than Dark-Elf guards and even though the soldiers had no problem electrocuting as many Aesir as needed to handle crowd control. Time was of the essence. "Tick-Tick-Tick," Loki clicked his tongue and it angered the once proud ruler of Svartalfheim to think that the trickster may have been reading his thoughts. "Let's get this show on the road before time runs out once more," the raven-haired mage expressed with a smile broad as day on his face.

Malekith returned the same sly grin through his bone white lips. "After you, my liege," the general stated through gritted teeth. He even managed to afford the self-proclaimed king of Asgard a bow before the crowd of raging Vikings. Loki's inky eyebrows lifted for but a moment. Then his face returned to a cool and aloof state. He nodded turned on his heels and continued in his steady, regal stride in the processional. He followed behind the ranks of Dark-Elf soldiers who were leading them out for protection. Not that he needed it.

Loki walked with head held high and proud. His great horned helmet adorned him in a manner that was both beautiful and frightening. In the darkness from the Aether ash it cast a long and foreboding shadow. Like that of a monster. Like that of a dragon come roaming through the streets. His posture was perfect as it always was. His long cape, of black and green and gold billowed off his shoulders, blowing in the harsh winds caused by the effects of the Aether and it made the dreadful silhouette of a dragon's wings. King Loki was adorned in his best. His finest armor. The one made of solid gold. It was ceremonial armor, not battler armor. It had no knicks of ticks in it. No chinks. It was engraved so neatly and perfectly with his symbols. It was quite a specimen. He had on his best tunics underneath. The ones that were most regal and most ornate. They had the threads from the golden silkworms than grew in Musepelheimd lining the seams. They were made of velvet and satin and they were finely cut so that they fit him like a second skin.

He looked handsome and strong and stately, like a pillar of Asgard. Outwardly, he looked every inch their prince. He had never been Asgard's favorite prince. He had been dubbed and trickster and a coward often. Qualities that the Asgardians frowned upon. He wasn't the favorite, but he hadn't been hated. They may have loved and fawned over Thor, but they hadn't necessarily despised him. Even if they hadn't liked him, they had at least had subject loyalty to a member of the royal family. Now...now was different.

As he walked pass Loki could feel all the eyes of the Aesir people suddenly focus on him. It seemed as if for a brief moment the citizens had stopped their restless struggle. They'd ceased in their futile fight for, but a minute to stare at him. Once he could remember when he was a boy first riding in the royal carriage for a procession in this very same square. The hundreds and thousands of adoring Asgardian people all gathered up. He remembered hearing the whispers of the crowd "Look! Look! There's Prince Loki," mothers and fathers pointed out to their children who they had hoisted onto his shoulders. "Oh, he's a handsome young lad," he'd heard some in the crowd say. "He's a little scrawny, but I'm sure he'll grow," others reported. Thor ate up the crowd. He was a ham even at their tenderest of ages. He waved from the carriage eagerly at everyone, shouting, "HELLO PEASANTS!" He honestly, felt rather shy. He was only 200 (4years old by human standards) and he'd never been around so many. He was sitting next to Frigga, but he wanted to crawl in her lap and bury his face in her bosom and hide from the eyes of so many strangers. She nudged up his chin. "Smile, my son," she told him as the carriage continued to roll through the streets. "Everyone has come out to see you!" she explained. "Wave, my love," she expressed showing him how. "Let the people know that you are as excited to see them as they are to see you," she encouraged. Slowly, he raised his pale, little hand and wiggled his fingers at the crowd. He locked eyes with one child. A boy who was his age.

"Hi Prince Loki! Hi!" the child shouted from the sea of people. He saw him and he dis like his mother said, he let a little smile grace his tiny pink lips as he gave an earnest wave.

"Mommy! Mommy!" the little boy exclaimed tugging on the older woman. "The prince waved at me! The prince waved at me!"

"Oh, that is wonderful my son!" she kissed her boy's cheek. "Now you shall have good luck!" she proclaimed to him. "His name means luck. He's a lucky little boy and so are you!" she told him.

There were other times. So many more times, when he and Thor had been paraded through the streets. They were only closer to being men than to being boys. They no longer rode in the regal gilded carriage with their parents, but on their own fine steeds. Young maidens would toss flowers down from their balconies and shower them on them sometimes they'd drop favors or handkerchiefs down doused with perfumes. Thor would get hundreds of favors tossed with his name embroidered in them, but he'd gotten his fair share too. The women would play their timbrels and harps and lyres in the street and they'd sing of the exploits of the triumphant young royals. Loki recalled their happy chants. "Prince Thor has always victorious in battle! Prince Loki has might and valor! Prince Thor the greatest in Asgard and Prince Loki is a leader of Einherjar!" The chants had been tortured to him once. They seemed to mock him. They only confirmed that he and Thor were not equals in the eyes of the people. Now, now he thought differently. Perhaps he had been a celebrated prince.

He remembered the times when the Asgardians would scream out. "Long live Prince Thor! Long live Prince Loki!" Maybe Thor's applause had been louder than his. Maybe the crowds had shouted him name more times and sang his praises more often. Maybe women had wept harder when Thor went by. Maybe men had tossed more money at his feet, but the people hadn't openly hated him. They had never booed when he went by. Until now.

The crowd had grown nearly still. Those eyes, those thousands upon thousands of eyes that trembled with fear and flooded with tears; those eyes that were bloodied and blackened and burning with the Aether's ash floating in them, they took the time to give him one last look. They didn't look upon him and see his beauty, nor his elegance. They didn't see the face of a prince, nay a king. They only saw the portrait of a monster.

"MONSTER!" a roar came from crowd.

"TRAITOR!"

"BASTARD!"

"LIAR!"

"TRICKSTER!"

"MURDERER!

"BOO! BOO! BOO!" the words swelled up from the people all stuffed inside the city square. They jeered and heckled and raised their fists in defiance. They spat at him. They pelted him with stones. They took to ripping the pavement in order to have something to hurled and that treacherous snake who had dared to ever call himself a prince of Asgard.

They clapped. They stomped their feet furiously. They shook the very foundations of the palace with their fury. "NOT OUR KING! NOT OUR KING! NOT OUR KING!" they chanted in one voice.

"FOR ASGARD!" voices were raised as they attempted to burst forth from the herd and ram into Loki. They were thwarted on every side, shot down or stabbed and impaled, but they had tried.

Loki kept his gaze forward. He kept his face staunch. But each step he took became a little harder. He bit his tongue to keep from screaming. The objects that they had tried to throw at him well they had missed him by a mile, but their words...every one of their words dug into his soul like a dagger. He turned to the crowd. His face held the unflappable cold expression that he had always been known for. His jade eyes scanned the city square. He couldn't make out faces around him. But he could imagine who they were. He could imagine the butchers and bakers that were in the crowd wishing they could hurl their cleavers and spatulas at him. People who had once given him things for free out of all due diligence to a member of the royal household. There were merchants and scribes and teachers in that crowd people who worked in the Imperial City and made their city so great. People who had come to the Imperial City in hopes of a better future. They had dreams, not their lives were reduced to screams. There were probably minstrels and bards in the crowd, maybe people he'd seen on the streets before, maybe they'd come to the palace. There were constables and palace guards who had been rounded up like criminals. People who had sworn to protect the Imperial City and protect him. They probably felt like fools and failures now. There were nobles who he'd shared meals with and danced with and who'd been his classmates. Now he could feel the fear and hate rippling off them toward him. He thought of what other familiar faces might be in crowd. Faces of his friends...he supposed he didn't deserve to call anyone friend anymore. But still he thought of them. Hogun, Frandal, Volstagg, Lady Sif they were a merry band of imbeciles, but they had been his friends. He wondered if they'd been able to enact their plan. He'd tried to help them as much as he could, but it was hard to know anything for certain now. Had they made it? Were they hurt? He imagined many familiar eyes staring at him with horror and disbelief and rage and despair, but the eyes he focused on in his mind were a pair of wide set eyes gold as pure honey. They were beautiful, kind trusting eyes, but they were filled with dread and tear. He pictured a pleasant, pouty pinked lipped mouth, where the lips were cut up and bloodied, but they let out terrified wails as they gazed up at what was happening. The image was too sharp, too real and too powerful. He had to blink only once and he kept walking tall and proud and straight toward the scaffold where Thor was to be executed.

The crowd continued wail and rage and Loki and Malekith proceeded, but the crowd was nearly stunned to silence when they watched several Dark-Elves dragged prince Thor out bound chained and gagged. Terrible gasps came up from the congregation as they beheld the beloved son of Odin being led out and paraded before them like some animal.

Thor's was chained and fettered worse than a slave going to auction or market on the Musepelheim blocks. His neck and wrist and ankles were all bound, just like many of the citizens of Asgard. They noted that his beautiful, golden mane had been stripped from him. He was shorn like sheep. Even his beard. They scarcely recognized them. They pulled away from their captors. They rushed up to the gates and wooden posts that they had been pressed into and squinted in the darkness and pale light of dawn to try to make out the strange figure before them. They mouthed to themselves and to one another questioning if they person before them could really be their beloved prince. His back was bent and hunched. The weight of the fetters and stocks that they had put him in weighed him down. There were some scars across his face and on his arms. He looked thin and they had him blindfolded and gaged as he stumbled out. He couldn't even make a sound. Still, he shook his head, as best he could and tried to get some bearings of where he was. He had on some of his royal raiment. But was merely a mockery. He had been arrayed in his colors of valiant red for his cape and pants leg tunics. He had on fine boots that were plated the armor, but he hobbled as he walked. Even though he seemed strong with thick, bulging muscles the people who were close enough noted the uncontrollable tremor that seemed to have taking over his body. He had on his armor. It was polished and gleaming, but no one could take note of it in the fog and ash that floated as around. The king had furnished his prisoner with a most special gift. His helmet. It was the helmet, that a few of the Asgardians managed to recognize. The distinct helmet that was fashioned in the shape of eagles' wings that was supposed to be a symbol to the worlds that their prince would always fly that he would always rise above his enemies and any obstacle that he faced.

"Prince Thor? Prince Thor?' faint murmurs came up from the mob inside the city square

Prince Thor, though sightless at the moment he could still hear the people shouting his name. They called to him perhaps they were cheering for him. He wasn't sure. He was still dazed and disoriented. He grew excited upon hearing the people. He tried to stand up stronger, taller, prouder, but his bonds were too heavy. They pulled him down and he stumbled. He fell flat on his face. He slammed his face and chin right on the bricks of square. He started bleeding on the side of his face. The impact from his chin hitting the stone street caused him to bite deep into his lip and he started to bleed through the rags. Blood dribbled down like spit.

"Get him up! Get him up!" one of the Dark-Elf captains started to declare. Immediately the other soldiers followed his commands. They pulled on his chains like reins and bridles for a horse. They cruelly yanked and tugged at him in every direction. Thor screamed through the gag. "Get him up!" the Dark-Elf captain ordered once again. They continued to drag him. He stayed on the ground stubbornly. He refused to move. He refused to take a step further. He couldn't. His legs and back ached abominably. He felt like he could hardly breathe between the gag and the and Aether ash that assaulted his lungs.

"Get up! Get up!" the Dark Elf soldiers hollered at him. They spoke in their language. He didn't know what they were saying, but he knew what they were saying. He had hoped and prayed while he had been in that dreadful dungeon that some way of escape would be made for him, but none was provided. He had practically begged the Norns to let him die. He didn't want to see Asgard fall. He didn't want to see Asgard die or see his people tortured. Maybe that was cowardice. He had never been a coward. He'd always been taught to face every fear. But he'd wished to let his fears over take him and run away and embrace death if death meant that his eyes would be spared such terrible last sights. He knew he didn't deserve to be spared, but he had hoped that the Fates and the Norns and the Spirits would grant him one last kindness.

He didn't move. He couldn't move. He was trying to right himself, but his hands were tied to the stocks. His feet were bound. Still, he wasn't moving quick enough for the Dark-Elf guards. The creatures were in no way patient. He lied on the ground simply trying catch his breath, trying to control the burning and the aching that seemed to take hold of every muscle in his body.

They'd beat him so bad. He'd never been beaten like that in all of his life. He was sure that for every infliction they had put upon him he had certainly come within an inch of his life. Asgardians had always been taught to never accept defeat and to never surrender. As Crown Prince of Asgard and as Asgard's future king he had always tried to be the first partaker of such wisdoms. Still, in the moments when he'd felt the leather straps and the cat-of-nine-tails rip against his flesh he'd wanted to surrender. He'd wanted to give up the ghost. But he couldn't. The Dark-Elves had tossed him on a squalid floor. What did they care if his wounds became infects or if parasites and leeches took hold of his body? They didn't. They didn't have any beliefs to treat a prisoner on an enemy humanely. They couldn't care less. He expected to be left then, in the dungeon, infected and feverish, coughing up blood and vomiting a convulsing minced meat of a man, a pulverized and pathetic prince. Then in the midst of all his anguish, when he could do nothing but think of fear and doom and pain, he happened to feel cold and familiar hands latch onto him. The had weren't rough, they weren't brutal either. It was all blur. He could hardly think. His eyes were blackened and swollen shut, he couldn't open his eyes despite how much he tried. All he could do was moan and groan and shake his head in the most desperate of fashions. Weak and powerless he was subject to whatever evil those hands had intended. His foggy mind could hardly even imagine what terrible things Loki intended to do to him. He concocted terrible things. Maybe Loki would transform himself into a snake and constrict him to death. Maybe that no good trickster would turn him into a bug and simply squash him. Those would be the kinder options, but he had seen that there was no kindness in Loki's heart. He was animal just like these bloodless elves. So, Thor imagined that he would cause his blood to curdle within his skin or cause his fever to raise to a boiling point til he just expired or suck the air out of his lungs or bleed him to death.

If he wouldn't have been in such a haze he may have even been elated, in his pitiful state he could only manage to muster a dazed and delirious sense of shock. He was surprised that the hands weren't harming him. It had been days; he didn't know how many days since he'd experienced any sort of tenderness. Still, he felt the familiar touch, the familiar flow of energy coursing through his body. He'd felt these type of working on himself before. Loki had worked some type of magic on him. It felt like warm tea heating him up on the inside, but then all of a sudden there was a rush of cool and clean, like bathing in a white-water rapid. It was invigorating and soothing all at once. There were moments when it was painful, very painful, he thought that he started thrashing. Then he thought that he heard a kind of tisk-tisk, cooing sound. And all at once he relaxed and slumped into a desperate yet blissful slumber. When he came to, he found that Loki patched up the worst of his outer wounds. He stopped the bleeding and hemorrhaging of some of the gashes from the whips that the Dark-Elf guards had savagely driven across his back. He cooled his fever and brought down the swelling that had taken hold of most his body. He'd pieced back together most of his broken. He'd got him on his feet and made it so that the Dark-Elves could stuff him in armor without him collapsing. Still, he didn't know why. Why had Loki healed him (even if it was only a shallow healing) only to lead him to his execution?

Thor had little time to muse about what Loki had done as he soon felt a swift crack of one of the Dark-Elf's taser whips crack against his armor. The sterling silver armor was an excellent conductor of electricity. When he bore Mjolnir, his armor was nearly impervious to in electrocution. The armor was made to match Mjolnir and amplify its powers, but now he was powerless. His armor was still strong but he could feel the mild jolts of the voltage through his armor. He reared and grunted and blow after blow, stripe after stripe hit his armor. "Get up! Get up!" they continued to yell. Thor started trying to scramble to his feet. Perhaps if they would have given him a moment between lashes, but each lash struck and smarted and electrocuted him. But still he hadn't budged. Let them strike him. Let them beat him to death. He would rather die at their hands then die at the hands of Loki, his once brother.

"What's going on?" demanded one of the Dark-Elf corporal's the processional. "Get him up! Get him moving!" the corporal ordered. The hulking Dark-Elf soldiers eagerly went to obey the command they were given. They went over to him with fury. They began to try to accost him. There rough hands grabbing him by the shoulders and around the waist and tried to bring the Prince of Asgard to his feet.

Prince Thor resisted. His mind was a haze of pain and panic of agony and anxiety. Part of him wanted to die. To lie there as a dead weight and let them keep whipping him until he was a dead horse, but then he heard the cries of his people. There were screams and shouts of horror, there were even a few faint whispers he could hear the cries for mercy from their overlords. It broke his heart to see his people, the citizens of Asgard brought so low. Still there were more cries. Cries of people wondering if he was really Prince Thor. "Is that Prince Thor, Mama?" he heard a child asking.

"Prince Thor! Prince Thor!" some of the crowd screamed out.

"Prince Thor! Prince Thor! Merciful Yggdrasil!"

"SAVE US!"

Their desperate please wouldn't let him slip silently into death. The people of Asgard still needed him. They still believed in him. They were counting on him. He had sworn to always protect them. To do everything to defend Asgard. He had promised to fight for them til his last breath! To fight! Not just to roll over and play dead. Not just to slip silently into the dawn of this dreadful day. He had to do something. And so, he did. Thor ushed himself to his knees while they grabbed him. Through his gagged mouth, he moaned loudly as he could, "FOR ASGARD!" He came up swinging. Thor swung his shoulder so the part of the wooden stocks his one of the guards in the head. The guard let out a pained cry and staggered falling into other Dark-Elves causing a domino effect on his right-hand side. Other Dark-Elf soldiers attempted to accost him. They came charging at him from the left, but Thor repeated his move. He twisted viciously, so that the stocks he was bound in hit two more guards right in their stomachs. They let out some "Ooofs!" as they doubled over and fell on top of themselves. Thor was up he was on his feet now. His head was bowed, his back was bent and his brow was furrowed and sweating, but he was up and he could hear the excited chants that were coming from the congregation.

His name was ringing on their lips. "THOR! THOR! THOR!" the roared as they saw him standing. He had to press on. He had to try and fight for them and for the Nine Realm and for his family.

"Control him!" hollered one of the corporals. The Dark-Elves started breaking ranks. They started rushing from their neat and intimidating lines of procession and hurling themselves toward Prince Thor. A few of the soldiers who still maintained their positions they started to grab their blasters. They were ready to fire at the prisoner and were waiting for the signal. Their bloodless eyes stayed trained to their leaders for commands. A flick of the wrist, a nod of the head a bat of the eyelash and anyone of the Dark-Elves would have gladly blasted the Crown Prince of Asgard into the next dimension.

They weren't given those orders though. So, more and more of the warriors of Svartalfheim went charging at him with their taser whips. They flung their whips mightily. The illumination of the weapons lighting up the dark atmosphere like some type of laser show. Thor was breathless and hurting, but he did his best to dodge the whips. Now that his eyes weren't swollen shut, he could at least see enough to step the side. The Aesir people kept right on cheering. They kept right on clapping their hands and stomping their feet believing in him. Thor took strength from the assembly. He rolled his shoulders and stepped to the side and darted this way and that as quick as he could each time just narrowly missing the business end of the whips. A few more guards came up to him with their swords in hand. They were running at full speed. Their white faces fierce as phantoms in the night. It was enough to give anyone a fright, but Thor stood ready to face them.

"PRINCE THOR!" The Aesir continued to scream in excitement.

When the Dark-Elves with their ancient swords came charging Thor didn't run away from them like a frightened rabbit. He had had just about enough of these savages making him and his people quake and shake. They'd killed so many of them. They'd killed and pillaged for absolutely no reason at all. Thor could feel the red blood in his veins starting to boil as he thought about what they'd done. How'd they'd destroyed their great city and decimated the Imperial Palace how they'd burned schools and temples and business and made their streets run with blood. They'd left children orphaned they'd left women widows; they'd given soldiers honor-less deaths. Well, they'd be avenged. They'd be avenged this day! That's what he was wasn't he? He was an Avenger. He might not be able to save all his people. He might not be able to stop this dreadful prophecy from coming true. Because Ragnarök was certain so. It was always bound to happen, he hoped that it wouldn't happen in his lifetime, he'd hoped it wouldn't happen on his watch. But those hopes didn't really matter much now did they. Ragnarök was here! It was a snarling, venomous, cruel animal at his door. It was baying at the moon, chomping at the bit, drooling and ravenous. He didn't know how much longer he could keep such a beast at bay, but by thunder, he wouldn't let it in without a fight. He'd take a few of the elves out if he could.

So, Thor went into the fray. He came barreling toward them just as they were barreling toward him. He had no fear. He couldn't move very quickly. No not very quickly at all. His body was still far too weak. He was still hardly able to breathe as even his lungs which had been partially cleansed filled with the poisoned Aether ash. He coughed and gagged miserably. He wheezed and gasped. He tried to hold his breath, but he couldn't. Still, he pressed and he raged. The Dark-Elves couldn't hold him down. When they came at him from one side, he would roll his shoulder and duck down so that soldiers would just lead over him and slam into one another midair. They were flinging themselves left at right.

Prince Thor didn't know if it was the people's applause or perhaps it was the strength from the Norns and the kings of the past that he had prayed for. Perhaps they were empowering him to go forward. His chest was throbbing, his lungs were burning as if they had just been set on fire. But he kept forcing his feet forward. He dragged his chain across his rough and bumpy cobblestone pavement. Every nick and tick from the chains and pavement caused a surge of pain to shoot through his le, but he kept going. His body was still bent, but Thor tried to find a way to even use that to his advantage. As a warrior he had always been taught to use his head. It had never been one of the lessons that he had been able to grasp easily. It was hard to think when he was in a fight. With bombs going off and arrows flying, fires being set off. It wasn't exactly a time to pull out an abacus, but he was using his head now. He used his head like a battering ram and ran right through them. He got one of the men right in the stomach. This caused the Dark-Elf warrior to flip right over Prince Thor's head and bent back, but that bloodless creature was not so easily deterred. He latched on to Thor's back as he was flipped over. His legs went around Thor's neck. His feet stuck out right in front of Thor's face. Thor used the Dark-Elf's feet against the other warriors of Svartalfheim. He swung his head back and forth and twisted his shoulders this way and that and caused the one soldier's feet to continuously kick the others in the face and in the head. The Dark-Elf armor had spiked boots. So even with their helmets on the boots could cause damage.

In his wake Prince Thor was triumphantly leading piles and piles of unconscious Dark-Elf bodies strewn in the city square. Even though he could scarcely breathe, even though his knees ached terribly and shook like a new born bilgschnipe and his chest was starting to have horrible spasms he continued to push himself forward. His eyes trained on Loki and Malekith. If he could just get to them. If he could just get to one of them. He'd tear either one of them in two. He could slaughter Malekith easily enough he felt. He'd rip him in two with his bare hands, but Loki. He didn't know what he would do if he was able to get his hands-on Loki. Would he ring his thin little neck and choke the sickening cackle right out of him? Would he pound him and pound him and just keep pounding him?

Dark-Elves rammed at him from all sides. The heavy ball and chain on his wrist and ankles weighed him down, but it seemed a blur to the way that he moved through the lines and lines of soldiers. They simply fell by the wayside as he knocked them down and burled through their ranks like a battering ram through a poorly made drawbridge. Thor was feeling confident. He was feeling proud. He could do this! He had to do this for his people. He was huffing and puffing, scarcely able to breathe. But his legs carried him swifter than he could have imagined and his body just wouldn't quit trying. He didn't know the moves he was making. He didn't know the stances he was taking. He didn't even see the soldiers that he was tearing through like blades of grass. They were of little consequence to him. He felt like he had the strength of a Berserker raging inside of him. It was a raw, thick and heavy strength. It was a raging fire within. It was uncontrollable filling him with energy. It made no sense for him to feel this energy as he was beaten and broken and bloody, but he kept going. Surely, this must have been how the Berserkers of old felt. It almost made him smile. He remembered all the legends of the ancient staff and how it gave so many warriors unprecedented power. The power they had with the staff had made the soldiers who touched it strong enough to fight with severed limbs and arrows in their chests. It made groups of ten able to face off and win battles against hundreds. While he had wallowed in that cell, during his sparse moments of consciousness, he prayed for such strength to come to him. He could only hope that his prayer had been answered. He'd done nothing to deserve such a blessing from the Fates, but the people of Asgard and the people of the Nine Realms they did nothing to deserve to just be blown away and smothered in darkness.

Prince Thor wished that he still had the might of his magical weapon, Mjolnir. If he had Mjolnir, he could be flying high right at the moment. He could have conjured a wind and blown this despicable ash out of there. He could have called down the thunder that would have rattled those elves to their core. He could have zapped all of them at once. He could have gathered the storm clouds and sent a flood to drown them out. With Mjolnir in hand, he could have easily been lifted off the ground and able to zoom. He'd zoom right up behind Malekith and pick him up and drop him off the broken edges of the Rainbow Bridge and drop him into the Forever Sea. He would soar up behind Loki and... and...and he'd...oh by the Norns he didn't know what he would do to him. He didn't know if any punishment could be enough. He didn't even know if death would be good enough. But he'd surely pick the slimy snake up and he'd pummel him good. He'd take Mjolnir and play a sporting game of tennis with the traitor's body. He'd bat him back and forth for hours for all the people of Asgard to see. He'd finally let the people of Asgard see that that monster would be punished for his crime against them. He'd let the Norns and the Great Kings of the Past see that he was worthy wear the crown royal of Asgard and to possess Gungnir, the Ancient Staff and to truly call himself king of Asgard. He'd let them see. He'd make them see. Then when Loki screamed and cried and begged for mercy like the true coward that he was... well he'd he'd...he'd escort him to Helheim himself.

Thor's face was intense and red as he continued taking each painstaking step closer and closer toward the two leaders of this take over. His breathing grew more and more ragged, but he never faltered in his footsteps. He could hardly see as the ash blinded him. He thought he could scarcely make out the faint white light of dawn, but it was so dark, he didn't know. He couldn't be sure. It could have even been the white light from the glittering gates of Valhalla calling him forward. Still, he kept going. He decided to close his eyes. With his bloodshot blue eyes closed. He pictured his hammer in his hand. He could almost feel it. He could feel its familiar weight. The strength that came from hold it. It was electric. Being able to harness that type of raw natural energy. It was intoxicating. He could only imagine how addictive the Aether must have been for Malekith. He was a creature with no conscience, no natural affection. Just a craving for power so for him it must have been irresistible. Thor relished in his imagination of holding his mighty hammer once again. Feeling the grooves in it that fit his strong hands. The balance of it had always kept him grounded. His hands were bound in stocks, but he could pretend that he was swinging his hammer again. The swing was literally poetry in motion. He had never had the gift for verse like the bards, but when he swung his hammer things made sense with all reason and rhyme. It had its own rhythm and flow; it could bring great pain to an enemy or it could bring great joy to his own troops in victory. It could build or it could destroy. It was a great privilege to wield it. He lost it once he'd felt the shame and powerlessness that came from being disconnected from it. How could he have been so stupid as to allow that feeling to grip him again.

It had been nearly a week since he'd possessed the power of Thunder and Lightning which were rightfully his to have command over. Mjolnir was his pride. It was a part of him; just like his leg, his arm, or his eye. And he'd let it go. He'd let it go to save his brother. His heart ached as he remembered his foolishness. He was so stupid. He was an idiot. He had trusted and believed that Loki was still good. That Loki was on his side. He'd thought that Loki was...Loki and that he'd come back to them, but he was wrong. He was so wrong. And he'd given up Mjolnir. The tears started to fall swifter down his red cheeks as the thought started to solidify in his mind. He'd given up one of the greatest weapons in the cosmos. He sold his soul to save his kingdom so why should he have expected any different than to end up in Hel.

He started dragging. He started feeling the weight of the chains. If he had truly touched the Berserker staff then he would be moving with the speed of light tearing through the Dark-Elves like they were paper people. Malekith and Loki were getting closer and closer. They were only a few paces ahead of him. If he could just catch up to them. His vision narrowed. He got tunnel vision. His lungs continued to throb. He felt like knives were being thrust into his sides. Tears started to pour from his bloodshot eyes. Thor started to stumble a bit more, but he continued to run and race as hard as he could. He was slowing up. Some of the Dark-Elves have been able to latch on to him. They were holding onto him as he ran. They didn't stop him in his valiant efforts, but they were starting to slow him down.

Prince Thor grunted and strained. He pressed and dug deep with everything that he had. "Hold him! Hold him" one of the Dark-Elves shouted as he tried to dig his feet into the ground to halt the Crown Prince of Asgard. A few more Dark-Elves leaped on to his back. Prince Thor shrugged his shoulders like a bucking bronco and bucked them right off of him. It seemed like about twenty of them tried to jump on his back like a dogpile. The sought to bury him. Somehow, miraculously enough, Thor was able to stay on his feet and all though his once rapid pace had slowed to a jog, he hadn't stopped.

A few of the Dark-Elf soldiers seemed to get a little wiser to the fact that trying to stop Prince Thor head on was nigh impossible. He was like a bull in a china shop. He was like a Bilgeschnipe, an unstoppable force. So, they started trying to take him from behind. They got hold of his ball and chains. Seven Dark-Elves had to grab the long chain that had Thor's ankles fettered like a slave. The grabbed on it and it took the strength of all seven of the bloodless fiends to finally trip Thor up. They snatched his feet right out from under him. He fell flat on his face once more. They tried to wrangle him like a pig. But even in his disadvantaged state he still gave it all he had and fought tooth and nail to wriggle free from their wretched hands. Thor headbutted them. His cranium sent them spiraling backward. Somehow a few of the soldiers managed to grab him by the middle. They were trying to control the blonde-haired son of Odin, but they were hardly a match. Thor's feet that were chained together could still be used to kick the guards and kick the he did. He would kick them without much thought as to where, but he would kick them high right in the jaw or under the chin or he the head. Then he'd kick them low, he'd send them flying into the crowd and the crowd of Asgardian citizens would go wild. They'd scream with frenzied excitement and if a Dark-Elf happened to fall into a part of the crowd where no other soldiers were controlling the people, then the people would have their way with them.

"THOR! THOR! THOR!" they continued to roar.

"THANK THE NORNS!"

"FOR ASGARD!" joyful voice could be heard.

"What is that?" demanded Malekith as if he was finally becoming aware that the crowd around him was no longer wailing with misery, but filled with cheers. The Aether's own darkness could cloud out any sane thoughts. The closer it grew to Convergence the louder its power grew within the Dark-Elf General. He looked around. He saw fist raised in the air, they seemed triumphant. He thought he saw smiles on the faces of some of his future slaves. Smiles? How dare they! Never. He turned to Loki. His pointed teeth bared.

"Thor," the king of Asgard muttered as they both slowly turned around and beheld Odin's pride and joy leaping up off the ground and running toward them as fast as his weakened legs could carry him. He was grunting and growling furiously. Loki could see that the prince was overexerting himself and even the healing that he had performed was starting to wear off. Thor's was starting to bleed and his body was starting to swell once again. He was moving quickly, but Loki noticed the unsteadiness in his gate. He was sure his back must have been aching terrible from the hunched over position it was forced into and from the heavy battle armor and royal robes that he had been outfitted in, Loki raised his inky brows beneath the helmet. His emerald eyes opened ever so slightly and he mouth curled into a smile imperceptibly. No. Loki grumbled internally. Thor was always bold, always brash. His actions could make matters worse.

"I will deal with this myself!" Malekith declared in his guttural tongue. The Aether swirled deep within side of him. And Loki noticed the way he started to quiver with the uncontrollable, raw energy. He let out another powerful blast. The shards of the Aether spewed forth like lightening. The people who were just once again finding their boldness were immediately frightened and scattered like sheep. Their cries and cheers were instantly transformed into screams of terror as innocents were struck down by the evil force.

"Get it off! Get it off!" some shouts came from the huddled mass and the Aether ran all over their bodies. Malekith could manipulate the Aether to more of its fuller capabilities the closer the hour drew to Convergence. He caused the shards to tingle and burn when they came in contact with Aesir skin, making their deaths more torturous.

Prince Thor heard the terrified shrieks of the people of Asgard. He tried to raise his head, to see more of what was transpiring around him. But his head was held down in the stocks. Trying to look up only caused his neck to locked down by the wooden planks that restricted him. In a sense he was happy he couldn't see the agony of his dear citizens. He didn't need to see. In his heart he knew that they had suffered enough. He knew that lives were being destroyed because of that evil blob because of Malekith and because of Loki. Thor let out a feral growl between his gagged mouth with his bloodied teeth and he picked up the pace.

"STOP HIM! STOP HIM!" Malekith continued to yell out to his men. The men broke ranks even more rushing from the sidelines and trying to push through the unruly crowd in order to obey their general's orders. They didn't catch him before he was right on top of Malekith. His chained hands were stretched out desperate to wring a bloodless neck. Malekith unsheathed his magnificent sword. The darkened blade with its many notches. Perhaps he would get his chance to kill the descendant of Bor after all. Malekith grinned ear to ear as he relished in the notion. "Ah," he sighed as he breathed in the toxins of the atmosphere like the sweet scent of lilies. "Come get what's coming to you little prince," he sneered as he raised the black blade in the air.

Thor saw him and he was in no ways afraid. He'd rather die with honor. He rushed toward the General from Svartalfheim. He'd wanted to die fighting. He wanted to have his people see him die valiantly. He closed his eyes a gritted his teeth and called upon all the strength that he could muster; he ran full throttled charging toward Lord Malekith. Malekith held his ground. He twisted his foot along the stones. He licked his ashen white lips and raised his black sword a little higher and angled it for the kill.

Just then Loki stepped right in front of him. Malekith's large black eyes grew wide as he noticed the golden clad king in front of him. He brought his sword down to strike Loki on the shoulder. His mouth dangled open when he found that his sword seemed not to penetrate the armor. He growled. Thor was still headed right toward them. He was only a few feet away when he opened his eyes again and he found his eyes looking at Loki's golden plated boots and his distinct emerald cape. He tried to lift his head up as much as he could. He wanted to look Loki in the eyes. He wanted to look in his eyes and see if he truly was a heartless as he seemed to be. Not that it mattered much now. He'd still tear him limb from limb when he got his hands on him. Nothing would stop him from that because that was Loki deserved. Thor's chained hands with his cracked knuckles and reddened finger tips stretched out as long and as wide as they could aimed right for Loki. He was only inches from him, he balled those hands into fists. When his hands landed on Loki, he wanted them to pack a wallop. He wanted them to pack a punch.

But when his fists made contact with Loki's armor they slid right through. He would have been more alarmed, more surprised, but before his frantic mind could even come to complete grips with what was happening, he found himself sprawled out on the cobblestones of the square. Thor was down on the ground for but a moment. He shook his head and tried to get his bearings about him. He blinked his bloodshot blue eyes blearily a few times and that allowed the tall figures to come into focus before his eyes.

He first noticed King Loki looming over him. He looked up at him. His pale face wearing a sickening smile on his severely thin lips. It was horrid. It was like staring into the face of a stranger and not someone that he'd known for more than 1000 years. Loki was laughing. Laughing! Laughing? How could he laugh? How could he see these innocent Aesir lives and still have every intention of going on with this terrible action? How could he be alright with destroying everything? It was not right. It was despicable. Loki shook his head. He placed his hands on his hips and pursed his lips. He clicked his tongue. He cocked his head to the side in a nearly comical manner, "Are you ever not going fall for that?" he taunted.

Prince Thor saw red! He let out a feral growl and sprung to his feet. "Die! Die son of Odin!" the Dark-Elf roared with his dark blade raised high over his head. He intended to bring the deadly weapon down swiftly and end Prince Thor in one blow, but Prince Thor was up and, on his feet, so fast that Lord Malekith seemed to have missed him by a mile. His sword got wedged in between the cracks of the golden cobblestones that didn't even look gold due to the ash that was raining down on the square and truly the clouds were starting to spread all over the kingdom. He fiddled for a bit trying to get the sword from between the stones.

All the while Prince Thor had moved closer to Loki who seemed to be dodging him like a slipper eel. Malekith raised his blade and tried to strike Prince Thor again. Prince Thor deflected. In the moment of passion his senses were heighted. He shook his shoulders and thrust the stocks that his neck and arms were being held him upward. The powerful sword sliced right through the wooden stock, but still missed Prince Thor's body. Malekith screamed as he found that he had missed Thor again. Thor swiveled he turned furiously into Malekith ramming him with the other side of the stock that he was confined to. He rammed the stock's end right into Malekith's chest. Malekith grunted as he was hurled backward. The great and mighty general lied spread-eagle on the ground. A few of the Dark Elf soldiers rushed to his side while he huffed and puffed angrily from the ground.

Lord Malekith was easily embarrassed. The Aether likewise did not take kindly to any assault on its safety. Loki noted the way that Malekith began to puff and swell and rage and fit. He would release another Aether blast with so much venom and fury that it would annihilate everyone. He had to do something. Thor came rushing back toward him. The blonde-haired son of Odin was relentless as ever. Loki couldn't help, but feel a twinge of pride at the old boys engrained Einherjar tenacity, he was on his last leg and the odds were stack against him. He had no chance of winning and yet he wouldn't quit. But enough was enough.

Loki stretched forth his hand and he froze Thor in place in his tracks. Thor was frozen mid-air in a crouched over position for he was about the spring on to Loki. Loki stood proud and erect unphased with his hand still out-stretched. He watched as Thor's eyes were the only part of his able to twitch. Thor made pitiful wheezing and gasping sounds. It was obvious that he was struggling. That he was trying to break free of the enchantment that Loki was holding him prisoner in. His muscles ached as tried to break free with all his might only to find his efforts completely futile. He continued to struggle. His eyes were wide. Loki looked Thor in his frightened blue eyes and his eyes housed little pity and his face wore the signature smirk that they always did when he was up to no good and mischief. Thor had exhausted himself. His eyelids slid closed.

The people of Asgard raged upon seeing their beloved prince's broken and chained formed dangling listlessly in midair. Cries and screams of panic rang out from the crowd. The Dark-Elves took to trying to control the Aesir once more. As they desperately scrambled and pressed pass the barricades. They were clawing and scratching and heaving and screaming doing anything they could to try to help the son of Odin.

"NO! NO! YOU CAN'T DO this!" horrified cries rang from the crowd.

King Loki turned and faced the crowd with Thor still hanging in the air grunting and straining. Blood started running down his mouth, but he couldn't break free of the magical hold. "Let's speed things up a bit, shall we," Loki said with a wink and sly grin as he turned to Lord Malekith. He then turned back toward the mob of Aesir citizens. Their faces were a blur, dusted and fogged in the bath of Aether ash. He couldn't make out their faces, but from their frantic screams and angry growls and hisses from the sounds of electro-shockers going off steal crashing against steal he could do well enough to imagine the righteous fit the people of Asgard were working themselves into.

Lady Sif and Volstagg stared at their dear friend who was hanging in the air, with Aether ash whipping all around him. "Volstagg we have got to do something!" Lady Sif declared. She had been pushed back further into the crowd, but her and Volstagg had still managed to stay together. Lady Sif sword was out and drawn within a moment and she was starting to shove other people to the side as she tried to get to Prince Thor.

"Sif," Volstagg caught her by the shoulder, but she easily shrugged out of the grip of his plump hands. "Sif" red-head called out once more he raised his voice loud as he could over the masses of screaming, crying and scuttling souls. He caught her by the wrist and held her fast.

"Let me go, Volstagg, I swear!" she growled as she pulled and tugged against him. His plump hands didn't relent. She spun around with hurricane fury in her brown eyes. Her lips were tight and fashioned in a snarl. Her sword was raised daringly. Volstagg's eyes grew wide as he noted the angle the sword was curved in. Curved at an angle for a kill strike. But it was also raised high in the air and it seemed like she would give away their position. The Viking immediately reached up his large arms and started to try to pull her arm down, but Sif was incredibly strong. She could hold her arm as rigid as a statue.

"Sif! Sif!" he shouted at her once more.

"You let me go! You let me go! You let me go, right now," the warrior woman started to shout vehemently. "Let me go...or...or I'll...I'll..." Sif growled furiously and tears sprang forth from her eyes.

"Sif you've got to listen to me for a second," Volstagg muttered.

"No, no, no," she shook her head violently Her long, dark tresses slapping her face. "There's no time! There's no time! Volstagg! They'll kill him! They'll kill!" she protested. She finally lowered her arm.

"We need a plan, Sif, we weren't prepared for this." Volstaggs eyes were wide. He desperately tried to find a few more of the Aesir warriors. Even though the sun was making its way over the highest peaks in Asgard it was still incredibly bleak and he could not make out any clear visage save that of Lady Sif who was right in front of his face.

"I have plan," Sif shouted back at him. "Save Thor!"

"You and I can't take on all of them, Sif," Volstagg was holding her by the shoulders.

"The people will follow!" Lady Sif declared. Volstagg gulped. That could be half of the problem. Perhaps the people would follow. It was highly likely that they would, but the people had no weapons, the people were weak and hurt and injured. There were elderly among them. There were children among them. There was nowhere for them to retreat to. They would be slaughtered it would be a massacre

"That may be just the problem," Volstagg said as he dropped his head. Sif glared at him with a defiant look in her eyes once more before she too bowed her head.

Her eyes were glistening. The hardened warrior woman would have liked to have said that it was merely the sting of the ash all around her that was making her eyes tear up so. "We have to do something!" she continued to protest twisting away from her friend. Her breath hitched as she watched her handsome prince's life hanging in the balance. His body just dangling in a maniac's hands. "We can't just let him die, Volstagg," She continued to shake her head. "We can't just let him die," the tears flowed now. "What are we to do?" her voice cracked and barely managed to escape her throat.

The burly, red-bearded Einherjar general wrapped his portly arms around Lady Sif's slender frame. "Pray," he breathed.

Lady Sif looked up at him her lip quivered just a bit and only for a moment before the shield-maiden was biting hard into her flesh to stifle the weak tendency. Now, Lady Sif was an Aesir through and through and she believed the Norns and Spirits and the Kings of the past just like any Aesir did. But she was a woman of action. She wasn't the type to just sit idly by. That wasn't her way and it wasn't the Aesir way. But here in the midst of this blackened dawn and the screams of her people who were being beaten back like wild animals and the sight of her enemies overtaking the realm that she loved and she called home, well she knew that it would take more divinity than the typical Aesir possessed. She allowed her eyes to slip closed for just one second as she muttered. "Norns help us," she opened her eyes only to find that Volstagg's blue pupils were still closed.

The female Einherjar heard a faint beeping sound coming from her wrist. She was amazed that she was even able to notice the shrill little ding in the midst of the utter chaos and anarchy that was breaking out around her, but she did hear it. She looked down at the wrist device that she had for communications. Her eyes grew as wide as they could considering the fact that they were stinging viciously from the Aether ash that was assaulting them. She couldn't believe that she had reception in this terrible, violent Aether infused storm that was raging all around. Sif shook her head and pulled herself out of her astonishment. "Hello! Hello! Hello!" she called furiously into the device as she twisted the knobs and dials on the wrist communicator. People were starting to run and rush desperate to get away from their tormentors' whips and she was getting jostled and shoved about quite violently. She fell to the ground. "Hello!" she muttered desperately as she grabbed at her side. One of her daggers had gone and grazed her near the ribs. Sif gasped as she felt frantic feet stepping on her fingers.

"Sif! Sif! Lady Sif?" she heard her fat friend calling her name through the roar of all the assembly.

She wanted to call to him let him know that she was right below and he better not step on her, but the pain from the knife stabbing her side and frantic beeping cause her to think otherwise. She continued to fiddle with the dials until an unfamiliar face came into focus. "Hello," she uttered breathlessly with a wince.

"Lady Sif," the figures technicolor holographic image flickered before her already bleary eyes. Sif could only nod in response. "This is Queen Frigga's Captain of the Guard from the Southern Palace in Kytheria." he explained. Her eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as she listened to those words. She practically hollered for joy. Had he actually been before her and not just a tiny pixelated image coming off of her wrist, she might have kissed him. She listened carefully as he revealed how he and a few of the queen's finest soldiers had managed to infiltrate the Imperial City. They had allowed themselves to be led captive into the City Square, just like the citizens and the Einherjar had, but they were there...they were there and they actually had hidden weapons and ammunitions on them and they were only few in number, but they were ready to fight. That was all she needed to hear. All she needed to know was that there was a fight to be had that they had a fighting chance. "I have men stationed around the perimeter," he explained. "We can take out a few guards. Create enough of a diversion if you and some of the Einherjar can get to Prince Thor," he explained.

"We'll have to act very quickly," Lady Sif expressed as she winced while pushing herself up off of the ground.

"I can get my men into position within minutes. We're all poised and ready for action," he reported to her as quickly as he could.

"I'll see if I can scout out a few more Einherjar," Sif stated. A smile was spreading across her face as she started to cough.

"We'll await your signal, General Sif," the captain of the guard saluted the shield-maiden and his image flickered off.

"Sif, Sif, is everything ok? They are pushing the people back. We better get moving," he pointed out as a few more of the Dark-Elf soldiers started shouting orders and slapping their taser whips against the backs of the people.

Sif momentarily allowed herself to be huddled off with driven crowd. Volstagg's plump hand on her back slowly guiding her. Finally, she spun around. "The queen's forces," the brunette uttered breathlessly. "They are here!" she practically exclaimed.

"What?" the curly-haired warrior asked.

"They came! They came the transmission went through!" Sif's brown eyes were wide. "They are here! They are poised," she explained as quickly as she could as she grabbed Volstagg by his wide shoulders. "They have...they have weapons," Sif uttered. Her breath was coming out quicker and Volstagg noticed that she was starting to sway on her feet.

"Weapons!" the red-headed Viking cried. He was giddy as a child.

"They have citizens from Kytheria who have come to fight," Sif continued to inform him,

"How many? How many, Sif?' Volstagg asked excitedly.

"I don't know...I don't know," Sif muttered back. "He didn't say exactly. I'm sure that they have got a few hundred at least...maybe more," she pressed.

"Those citizens are strong and healthy. They can protect the others..." Volstagg mused.

"Yes! Yes!" the dark-haired woman clad in armor stated as she bobbed her head. "We've got to signal to the other Einherjar and let them know. We can rescue Thor while they take out the guards!" Sif got so excited that she raised her arm triumphantly in the air and pulled too hard on her side. She immediately winced and grabbed at her side.

"Lady Sif," Volstagg's pudgy hands reached out for his friend. He caught her by the side and under the arm. "You're hurt," he noticed that Lady Sif's side was bleeding.

"It's nothing," she hollered as she felt his hands pressing against her armor and trying to examine her wound. "It's nothing!" she hollered again over the crowd that rushed by. She popped his hands for their coddling performance.

"Sif, you are bleeding," he pointed out once more.

"I fell on my own sword," the female Einherjar confessed. "Silly mistake," She said wincing and she leaned into her friend's arms. "Isn't that the first thing every child learns? Always sheath your sword properly?" she laughed as the blood started to pool at her side soaking through her armor. "it's my fault," she expressed and shrugged then pushed herself up and out of his hold so that she was standing on her own two feet the way a general should be.

"We have to get you some medical attention," Volstagg mumbled earnestly. His eyes darted all around, but it wasn't as if they had a team of healers available.

"No!" Sif commanded forcefully. "That won't be necessary," she shook her head.

"But Sif," Volstagg's round face formed a severe frown. They'd already lost so much. He couldn't bear to think of them losing Lady Sif.

"Come, come, Lord Volstagg tis nothing, but a scratch," she insisted and she threw her head back and let out a hearty laugh. "Others have suffered for more," she motioned to the frantic citizens of the Imperial City who were scuttling like frightened mice. Some had lost their eyes and limbs; some had lost their parents or their children and loves. Homes and businesses had been destroyed. Many had burns and scars that would never heal properly. She'd not lie down like wounded gazelle while many of Asgard's civilians were fighting for their lives and the lives to the fellow Asgardians.

The plump Viking warrior shook his head, "My communicator isn't working," he expressed as he tapped the face of the watch like device.

"Take mine," Sif urged as she slipped it off her wrist.

"The signal is so weak," Volsagg squinted and looked at the lights that flashed on the screen of the communication device. "I don't think its strong enough...I'm surprised you were even able to receive a message."

"Me too," Sif said as she winced and rubbed her side.

"Sif you need to have that looked after," Volstagg said once again as he turned his attention from the communicator and back toward the shield-maiden.

Through the haze she could see his eyes getting tender. His hand once again stretching out to touch her injury. "Not on your life, Volstagg!" Sif shot back harshly. "We've got to find the rest of the troops and regroup with Queen Frigga's forces," she warned him.

The red-bearded warrior resigned himself to a sigh. There was no point in arguing with Lady Sif. She had no problem settling an argument with a quick punch to the face. With something this important he wouldn't have been surprised if Lady Sif would have gutted him right then and there. She may have loved him as a friend, but she loved Asgard more than life itself. Dutifully, as he shuffled with the restless crowd that was screaming for mercy for Prince Thor, he pressed buttons and tried to get Sif communicator to pick up signal. Sif was limping a bit, but was moving slowly enough on her own. "I think...I've almost got it," the rotund Einherjar expressed.

"Hurry," Lady Sif urged, "Or I'll be inclined to think we need to do this the old-fashioned way," Sif added as she hobbled as quickly as she could by Volstagg's side. A slight smile graced her dirty face.

"You're in no condition to run off trying to find the Einherjar, dear Lady Sif," Volstagg chuckled in return. He raised the communication device higher in the air trying to see if her could get any more signal in the storm.

"Oh, I wasn't planning on doing all that," the warrior woman insisted.

"Then...then...then, what?' Volstagg raised one of his bushy brows that was hidden beneath his helmet.

"I told you, Lord Volstagg I'm talking about doing this the old-fashioned way," she went on as she pulled on a small ivory coated ram's horn from within the fold of her cape.

"It'll give away our position...it'll let the Dark-Elves know that we are here," the rounder of Thor's boon companions expressed nervously.

"We don't have any more time to wait, if you don't get that thing working, they'll be no over choice," Sif said as she started to pant.

"Come on! Come on! Come on!" Volstagg mumbled to himself as he raised the communicator all around desperate to pick up even the faintest glimmer of a signal. Finally, he did. The communicator started to beep indicating it was getting some readings. "We've got something! We've got something!" he cried merrily like a child.

"Yes!" Sif sighed gratefully. She took a deep breath and nearly relaxed. Then she shook herself. "Send out the message Volstagg!" the Einherjar general commanded. "Come on do it quickly," her voice grew frantic.

And Volstagg did. He spoke rapidly into the machine. He reported everything that Sif had told him. He told the rest of the Einherjar troops where they should take post and to look for the Queen forces. Just as Volstagg started to finish up his message, he tripped. He stumbled flat on his face. He tumbled right over the dead body of another Aesir citizen. An older woman dressed in some jewelry although her clothes were torn and burned up like everyone else's. Sif called out his name and even in her own pain she rushed to her friend's side and tried to help him get up. But while Lady Sif was struggling to help her pudgy friend to his feet, she felt a whip crack against her armor.

The Einherjar armor that she wore was strong. So, the crack didn't affect her right away. "Come on, Volstagg, get up," she grunted between her teeth as she pulled him by the arm. The big, burly Einherjar rolled about trying to get off the ground.

Another swift swish of the whip came down. This time is slashed Volstagg on the arm. He screamed out. "Get up!" the Dark-Elf guard threatened as he kept his whip raised high in the air.

Volstagg attempted to push himself up. He apparently wasn't moving fast enough for the soldier of Svartalfhiem because he brought his whisp down. This time her turned it on. He activated its electric capabilities and electrocuted General Volstagg. Volstagg screamed as he felt the sharp pangs from the electro-whip coursing through his armor.

Lady Sif had seen enough, "STOP!" she hollered instinctively as she noted her friend was about to be struck again. The Dark-Elf soldier looked at her and snarled. He muttered something in his guttural language that Sif found less than flattering. She curled up her lip as she stared in the soulless eyes on a bloodless face. She was holding her side, but she wasn't backing down. The Dark-Elf kept his taser whip raised high. He pressed the button on the end of the whip's handle and turned it on. It flickered with bright blue electricity. He swung it over his head a few times. Still, Lady Sif stood her ground. He flung out the whip to strike her. She pulled out her sword strong and true and raised it defiantly in the air. Her double-edged blade sliced right through the whip. The Dark-Elf immediately went to reach for his blaster. Sif reacted immediate. She threw a knife right at his hands, slicing him before he could pull the trigger on the vortex forming blaster. While he looked down watching wear his weapon had fallen Sif came running toward him at full speed. She leaped over Volstagg's bulbous body and kneed the Dark-Elf right in the gut. He doubled over and when he bent down in met the business end of Lady Sif's blade. She yanked it out of him and it was slick with his black blood. She raised her might sword in the air and twisted it and sliced it through the terrible fog of Aether ash.

Volstagg finally fumbled to his feet. He wiped his brow. "Thanks," he muttered as he watched Lady Sif still waving her sword in the air.

Sif offered a smile and flipped her hair out of her face, "Always, my friend," she responded as she finally put her sword back in its sheath.

Volstagg extended his hand and the two long time companions embraced for but a moment. She observed her communication device that dangled limply from his wrist. "It broke..." he explained. The great bearded warrior almost sounded embarrassed. "I'm sorry," he muttered all the more humbly. "I don't know if the message got out," he explained.

"Don't worry," the warrior woman nearly chuckled as she rubbed his shoulder. "I think they got the one I sent," Sif informed him with a wink.

"Wh-What?" Volstagg mumbled in bewilderment as he stared at her. She quickly spun him around to face the majority of the Aesir crowd. The Dark-Elves were trying to fiercely control the rowdy congregation of Aesir. In the midst of the citizens who were screaming and pleading for Prince Thor's life to be spared there were a few swords that were raised high in the air. He scanned as quickly as he could. He could see scattered swords all over. Some huddled in groups of tens and twenties some just a pair together and some off by themselves but there were swords. There were many swords. Volstagg raised a bushy brow back at the woman.

"We act now," she declared to him.

"We sure do," Volstagg declared. A determined look flickered in his blue eyes. He pulled out his sword and raised it proudly as high as he could. The two members of Thor's merry bad went charging into the crowd.

"FOR ASGARD!" They both shouted as they ran toward the enemy slashing through as many Dark-Elves as they could.

---

Thor continued to float helplessly in the air. His body beaten and torn suspended a few feet over King Loki's head contorted in the most uncomfortable looking position. Loki and Malekith walked side by side quite a terrible pair. The Dark-Elf soldiers scrambled to return to their positions to stand like stately sentinels and lead the processional. Malekith's shrewd eye roved over his soldiers as he scrutinized them. He was practically growling and snarling and barking like a rabid dog for them to shape up. This whole processional had gotten way out of hand. It had been a mockery. Most of the culture of the Dark-Elves had been lost in time. But fine military processionals were a thing of pride that the Dark-Elves had held on to. They loved showing the display of might and power granted to them through the power of the Aether. They had only one holiday, the Feast of the Dark Moon. That had been a day full of pageantry. The general had planned to make sure that once they had conquered Asgard so utterly and completely that that day was remembered. This day, the marvelous day of glorious day, a day that he had been hopeful for nearly 5000 years ago, but was stolen from him, this would be a new holiday. It would be a day that the Nine Realms would come to rue, but it would be a day that he and his people would relish.

He nodded proudly to himself as he continued to stroll, now that his soldiers were back in their ranks and files. They were stomping and striding and standing so tall and proud and erect that he was sure and convinced that they would strike fear into the hearts of all the Aesir. Soon the rest of the miserable light loving realms would follow. Lord Malekith's head was held high when he started hearing more and more noise coming from the crowd. The mournful squeals and wails of the newly oppressed people would be expected, but this sound didn't sound like the bellowing and sobbing that he had just hear a few moments before, this sound well it sounded angry, but there was also a cheer that rang out with it.

Lord Malekith turned to see the Asgardian's becoming unruly again. The people were rising up and attacking his soldiers. There was a commotion running rampant through the crowd and the people had seemed to arm themselves. He watched for a split second in horror as Aesir soldiers seemed to mount up. They brandished their swords and their bows and their staffs and they took to fighting against the elves. His men tried to switch on their electro-whips to control the people, but for every man, woman or child they whipped and beat there was a warrior of Asgard that unleashed a fury tenfold on them. Some of the Einherjar had lightning infused swords, a gift from Prince Thor a long time ago. As they rose up and stabbed several of his guards. Malekith watched as his men fell, they toppled like little rag dolls into the crowd. Their plastered white masks fell off their faces. Desperate to control the unruly rabble many of the warriors of Svartalfheim started firing their vortex blasters into the assemble. The blast shot off everywhere. Their bright, white blue light the only illumination in the square that was saturated in darkness from the Aether ash. "CONTROL THEM! CONTROL THEM!" Malekith screamed as he watched his men slowly being overwhelmed. More and more Asgardians were rising up. They were arming themselves with whatever they could. They took rocks and started tossing them at the soldiers.

"Protect the people!" declared the Captain of the Guard from Kytheria. He spoke to his soldiers as he swung his sword rapidly and pushed back against the Dark-Elves who were trying to attack a mother and her young children. The frightened woman and her babes cowered behind the soldier. The Dark-Elf had a battle axe that he was bringing down hard against the queen's captain. He held his ground even though the assault caused the captain of the guard to sink to his knees. "Run," the Captain of the guard ordered the mother and her children through gritted teeth. He kept his body between the Dark-Elf and they Aesir woman. She was breathless and her eyes were wide as she looked for an exit, but she noticed that more and more unarmed Aesir were being backed into the corner. The Dark-Elves were starting to round them up and encircle them. Her breath hitched as she gathered her children closer to her bosom and tried to push deeper into the crowd and hope that the Dark-Elves wouldn't blast them to smithereens. Just as the mother was kissing her children goodbye as she watched the Captain of the Guard fall to the floor, she noticed a flurry of soldiers in purple plumage coming rushing forward with their sabers raised and shields held high. It was about 10 soldiers who came rushing toward her and the other citizens who were trapped. They rammed right into the Dark-Elf guards with their ion shield. The shields sent the Dark-Elves hurling into the crowd on their backs. When the Dark-Elves fell to the floor the people of Asgard took to doing their part in taking down their oppressors.

"Nice work men," the Captain of the Guard stated as one of the soldiers under his command helped him back to his feet. "This battle isn't over yet men," he reported to them. "It's not over until we have freed Prince Thor," he declared to them.

"Captain... I am getting a transmission from the Commander of Communications," one of the warriors of Kytheria pointed out as she removed her helmet and pulled out an ear piece. She pressed a button on the ear piece and allowed the message to play back for her captain.

The captain's hardened, dirty face managed to stretch into a smile. "I am so glad that we had the Commander of Communications with us," he declared as he heard the message. He kissed the communication piece that the commander had been adamant about outfitting his soldiers with.

More skirmishes were breaking out throughout the crowd. The Dark-Elves were getting anxious. Fires were breaking out as torches were being taken. The Malekith's merciless soldiers didn't hesitate to burn a child if that was what they had to do to get the adults to capitulate and bow down to them. "What are your orders, sir?" the Kytherian guard asked.

"I need 20 of you to stay here and defend the people of Asgard. The rest of you," The Captain began breathlessly as he pointed to a few of his best soldiers. "You're coming with me," he told them. "We're pushing through the front. We'll take out as many of the Dark-Elves as we can in the process to make enough of a diversion for Lady Sif, Lord Volstagg and the rest of a team of Einherjar to rescue Prince Thor," he explained. He didn't wait to see his troops were following him. He merely waved to them to follow as he went charging ahead.

They burst through the crowd. The crowd of Aesir immediately parted for them allowing them to race to the forefront. A few of the Dark-Elf guards took out their vortex blasters and shot at the soldiers from Kytheria who were racing pass them in a dizzying blur. Many missed their targets as the warriors from Svartalfheim had infused shields made of ion infused platinum. They were able to take on some of the assault, but not all. The frustrated Dark-Elves began rapidly firing their weapons at the soldiers and soon more and more young volunteer warriors from Kytheria were mercilessly sucked into the vortexes. Their screams were drowned out by the screeching sound of the vortex. The other soldiers and volunteer militiamen would try to reach for their comrades. They rushed to try to grab them, but it all happened so fast, in the blink of an eye they were gone.

"Come on! Come on!" Queen Frigga's Captain of the Guard called over the roar of war that continued to rage all around them. He led them through the minefield of bursting bombs with his sword raised high. "Don't look back! Don't look back!" he yelled to the brave souls who had volunteered for this most perilous mission.

"Captain!" A breathless young milk maid said as she raced up beside the leader of the Queen's forces. He turned to her. She wasn't a frail or fluffy beauty, but a solid built lady. She was just a woman who made her living delivering milk door to door. She lived a simple life and now she was in a warzone. "Captain! Captain!" she called at the top of her lungs. "Everyone is falling by the wayside," she pointed out.

"Just focus! Just focus!" he shouted back to her as he continued running as fast as he could as he dodged the onslaught of blasters being fired off at him. "They knew the risks, they knew the risks," he muttered to himself more so than to the brave young milk maid turned militia woman.

As the Queen's men continued to push through the thick throng of the people corralled into the City Square some of the other citizens began fighting back. Even old ladies took to jumping on the backs of the Dark-Elf guards, throwing them off and causing them to misfire their weapons. They knocked the weapons out of their hands and jeopardized their own lives. They didn't care. They had lived long and wonderful lives here in the Imperial City and they were determined to do everything they could to allow the poor children of Asgard and across the Nine Realms to have the same opportunity. They took down the soldiers. Elder men and little children helped too. When the Dark-Elf soldiers had been brought down to the ground they kicked them and beat them so that they couldn't get up.

When the Captain of the Guard and his men and the Commander of Communications and Lady Sif and Volstagg and the different groups of Einherjar arrived to the front of the line of the crowd they all drew their weapons. They raised their spears that were empowered with fusion technology, they even readied slings that had small but powerful pellets ready to be shot into the air. The pellets were mini bombs. They were small, but they would rain fire on the Dark-Elves. They'd do everything that they could to free Prince Thor.

"Everyone is in position," the Commander of Communication sent a transmission through to all the different military parties.

A might shout rang out from the crowd both a war cry and a bellow. " FOR ASGARD!" the Einherjar and Queen's Guard and militia troops screamed all at once as the launched everything in their arsenal. The militia took to shooting arrows over the crowd and into the processional of marching elves. Malekith's men had on black armor that was tough as a bilgschnipe's hide and most of the arrows did not seem to penetrate the shells, but they kept shooting and a few managed to slip through the cracks and plunge into a few necks. They struck in the jugular, blood splattered like it was springing from a broken faucet and a few bodies hit the floor. When the troops from Kytheria saw that the first attack was working they wasted no time in bringing out the big guns. They had prepared sonic spears. It was a powerful weapon state of the art. It was an old design that had been improved upon. The spears were beautiful and sleek. They were made of a heavy iron for the staff, but the spearhead was made of silver. Built inside the spearhead was a detonator. When the spear touched the ground or where ever it landed it would send out an intense sonic pulse that would create craters. About 20 of the silver sonic spears went sailing through the darkness. They cut through the fog and haze of the Aether ash. They landed in the midst of the striding conquering army. The Dark-Elf soldiers looked around dazed and confused by the attack. They immediately started to draw their own swords and start to charge back into the crowd, but before they could launch at counter strike an intense purple pulse was released. The pulse of bright purple light nearly blinded the warriors of Svartalfheim.

Malekith let out a scream as he shaded his eyes from the bright light. "AHHH! What is that?" he roared he flailed his hands everywhere.

Loki shaded his eyes for just a moment. He was momentarily so blinded and disoriented by the light that he nearly dropped Prince Thor for the magical hold that he had him confined in. He was rocked only for a second, but managed to keep his footing long enough to see the shockwave of light dissipate and see what was happening around him. Thor's body bobbed up and down nearly hitting the ground. "The Aesir," Loki mumbled. His green eyes were wide and astonished, but there was an imperceivable smile playing across his thin lip. He recognized the sonic spears. He had gone to see about the development of the new the weapon about a century ago. He was impressed with the design and he had signed the document for them to start being manufactured. He was impressed to see them working in person. Then he remembered that sending a blinding white wasn't the only thing that these powerful spears were supposed to do. He immediately took a step back from where he was standing just as a crater was being created beneath his feet.

Craters and holes started forming all throughout the cobblestoned street in the City Square. Loki's green eyes stared in amusement as he beheld the soldiers of Svartalfheim caught unawares and tumbling into the craters. Their rigid movements made them look like tumbling black dominoes. He nearly snickered.

Lord Malekith was below him. The short, heavily armed leader of the Dark-Elves lay flat on his back. He was like a tortoise. His limbs waving about in a futile effort to get up. "Help me!" Malekith screamed out. Loki looked down at him. He was sorely tempted to leave the bloodless elf lying on his back defenseless. He hesitated for just a moment, but it didn't take the Dark-Elf long to spring up. He sprung up. He somehow seemed to leap in the air about ten feet. He landed with a loud thud and stared wildly into the King of Asgard's eyes. The ghostly pale leader of the Dark-Elves was fuming and foaming at the mouth. His black, soulless eyes were swirling with a deep vehement red. "What is going on? What is all this?" He demanded.

"The Asgardians are about to lose their prince, their home, their lives," Loki looked Malekith in the eye and shook his head. "Did you think that they were going to give it up without a fight?"

Malekith crinkled his nosed. He pinched his features and sucked in a deep breath. "Well, I am going to end this fight," he declared in a deep voice. With that Malekith let out an animal like cry. It was an unearthly screech that tore through his throat. It sounded like a ravenous bird of prey. The veins started to bulge through the skin of his face. The puckered out all black. They slithered and crisscrossed all across his milky white face. The side of his face that had been burned like piece of charcoal also have veins bulging out the sides of it. The veins were bright red though, tainted with the Aether. His eyes glowed with an intense, bight flame. All of a sudden Malekith began to rise into the air. He floated on the power of the Aether. He was hovering above the crowd. His horrid reddened eyes began rolling about is in the back of his head as he drew on the power of the Aether. With every passing second Convergence drew a little closer and Malekith's connection with the Aether grew a little stronger. He called on the ancient gem's energies and forces. "Kneel before me Asgard!" Malekith called from his lofty positioned in a darkened sky while the light had just barely managed to be seen in the midst of the ash. "Kneel before me!" he yelled out at them. His voice booming and blasting over their shouts and wails.

But no one bowed before the Dark-Elf general as he requested. Instead, the Aesir only grew more defiant. "NEVER! "shouts rang out. He could hear each and every one of them.

"DIE MALEKITH! DIE!"

"We will never bow before you!"

"LONG LIVE ASGARD!" hundreds of voices called in unison.

"LONG LIVE PRINCE THOR!" more people yelled. The people started taking whatever they could find and hurling it at Malekith. With their superhuman strength many of the Aesir did managed to hit their target and nearly knocked the floating elf out of the sky.

Malekith raged as he took a few hits. He was pelted with rocks and debris. A few arrows were launched at him. Some were set on fire as they were shot high into the air. He turned his head swerving and deflecting the blows that the Aesir were trying to inflict upon him. He mumbled some dark ancient words and summoned the chaotic essence that was swirling within him. Loki stood gaping for just a second at Malekith. He watched as Malekith released dozens of Aether shards back into the congregation of Aesir citizens. The shards exploded into the crowd of Aesir like waves, like spouts from a boisterous furious fountain. The screams and cries of the people rang out. Malekith used the Aether's capabilities to freeze people like statues. Their bodies were crusted over and hardened in the Aether's ash like stone.

Most of the Asgardians were too busy running for their lives to even stop and mourn their friends. Mother's stood frozen in their tracks clutching their children. Young lovers were frozen in black granite, clutching each other in fond last embraces and fire and brimstone rained down on them from above. In another day, another time those face frozen and immortalized would have been romantic. Aesir for all their love of epic war ballads also loved legendary romances. Surely, such a story could have inspired the songs to be sung for 1000 years. But now it only sealed the deal on the depravity and mercilessness of the monstrous overlord that had taken over Asgard.

Lady Sif's brown eyes grew wide as she watched in horror everything that was transpiring around her. Left and right she saw her comrades and fellow Aesir being struck down and others being frozen like statues. She panted raggedly as she fought her way through every Dark-Elf who came to grab and accost her. Her sword was on fire and they only thing that could douse the flame was Loki's blood. The warrior woman looked beyond the frenzied haze and madness that continued to dance around her. She looked at the grand architect of all their pain and suffering. All this agony, all this destruction, all this death had been caused by one man. She saw red as she gazed upon his face. His face pristine and polished and poised like the pretty Aesir prince he'd always been. While their faces were cut, and scraped and beaten and bloodied and burned and filthy. He was dressed in regal raiment. He wore his flashy golden armor and a cloak on the most royal emerald. And the people of Asgard they had no shoes and their clothes were ripped to shreds, practically falling off their bodies, they were nearly naked. He wore his helmet. His golden crown. The crown that was supposed to name him as a son of Odin, as someone who was supposed to protect and care for the people of Asgard. And what had he left the Aesir people to be crowned with? He had left the citizens of Asgard to be crowned with the squalor and shame of slavery, with the sting of defeat, with death and despair. As Sif continued to defiantly stare upon his horrible handsome face, she didn't see but he was no son of Odin. He was monster and she killed monsters.

With a warrior's gaze set firmly in her eyes she got tunnel vision and she went rushing toward him. "FOR ASGARD!" she cried once more. Sif raised her sword and sliced a Dark-Elf through the belly who was attempting to attack her from the right side. She ducked down as one of Malekith's soldiers came rushing toward her. He shot a blast and a blackhole formed in the air, but it overshot her and she continued running. She could hear Volstagg and some of the other warriors and Einherjar falling in behind her. Volstagg must have been guarding her rear for she could see victims who she herself had not sliced falling by the wayside.

Loki watched with a slight grimace as Lord Malekith continued to drown the poor Aesir in the power of the Aether. They ran, desperate to escape a reign of terror, but there was nowhere to go. The people tried to escape. They tried to climb and scale the walls that surrounded the city square, but there was no way out. He listened to Malekith's fiendish cackling as showered the large square with hideous red shards that destroyed and burned and decimated all that was in their path. Loki shook his head. Malekith didn't care. He'd destroy everyone in the square if that was what it took to bring about his beloved Darkness.

The self-declared king of Asgard was about to rein in the Dark-Elf general, but before could he saw Lady Sif running at full speed before him. She jumped over a half dozen Dark-Elf soldiers using her double-bladed staff to help her perform the feat. She catapulted over them and fixed her weapon in the air. She roared. Her mouth was open and her face was contorted in a warrior pose and she was yelling at the top of her lungs and had it not been for the symphony of crashes and wails they might have heard her. As Sif soared through the air with the ash of the Aether beating against her skin her brown eyes darted back and forth between the two perpetrators of these most horrible crimes against the Aesir people and set her sights on which one she would take out first. She wanted her blade to draw first blood from Loki, but Malekith was closer and at the moment he was inflicting the most devastation to her people. Sif kept herself sailing toward Lord Malekith. The Dark-Elf continued to hover over the Aesir people trapped like rats inside the City Square. He continued to shoot the frightful shards like glass out at the crowd. He had to be stopped Lady Sif determined. With her double-bladed staff raised high over her head she hurled it toward the Dark-Elf General. Her blade was sharpened like a dragon's tooth. Her aim was straight and true. She never failed when she set her sights on a target. She was aimed right for his neck and she was hoping to take off his head and then the only red that would be spraying over the people of Asgard would be Malekith's blood. Her battled staff flew through the air and Malekith was too busy fiendishly cackling as he watched the Aesir people scatter like ants as he administered blow after vicious blow of Aether blasts to not the weapon. He turned his head just in time to see it out the corner of his eye. Lady Sif's double blade managed to land a glancing blow to his shoulder. It was enough to knock the Dark-Elf out of the sky. While he tumbled from the darkened sky, he reflexively sent forth a blast toward Sif. Malekith howled in pain, but allowed a powerful blast from Aether to be immitted from his fingers. It went shooting right toward Sif and knocked the warrior woman out the sky as well and sent her back several feet away from her original trajectory.

Malekith lay sprawled out on the ground with Lady Sif's double-bladed staff sticking up from his shoulder and pinning him to the ground. The shards had finally stopped spewing forth from his like some type of violent, bloody fount. Loki still had Prince Thor trapped in an invisible hold, frozen like a statue. His bright emerald eyes darted about. He knew if he didn't do something...if he didn't act fast as lightning then it would be too late. They only had a small window of time and they only had a few people. Malekith was wrathful and animalistic in his military conquests. He just wanted to conquer he didn't care how many he killed as long as he won.

Thanos' minion was fuming and foaming and roaring and groaning from his stuck position. "RELEASE ME! RELEASE ME!" he growled in the language of the Dark-Elves as he attempted to pull the pointed staff from his shoulder. He was pinned to the ground like a tapestry pinned to a wall. A few of the warriors of Svartalfheim started to rush toward him.

All the while Loki watched with a distinctly raised brow and a slight curl to his lips as the shield-maiden dubbed Lady Sif was rushing back toward him. She had instantly picked herself up off of the floor from wherever she had been tossed. She had managed to fight off whatever soldiers of Svartalfheim had tried to accost her. She was determined and relentless. She had another sword in her hand and she swung it over her head and took Dark-Elf soldiers out one by one. Their falling bodies were mere background noise to her. She had locked Loki in a gaze and she had tunnel vision as she came straight for him. "TRAITOR! TRAITOR! DIE TRAITOR!" Sif cried as she pointed the tip of her sword right for him.

She was close to him. She was very close to him. She was so close that she could see the perspiration on his milky skin. The spineless snake had never been able to take heat. She was so close to him that she could see the endless emerald of his eyes. She'd make sure that she'd never see those eyes open again. She set her sword in a deadly position and she was ready to strike Loki dead. Loki continued to hold a smug little grin on his pale face. He could die with that smile on his face for all she cared as long as he died. Loki took confident strides toward her. His gait slow and unhurried. His long cape simply billowing behind him. His head held high and proud. His arrogance would be his undoing. Come closer Lady Sif thought and I'll alleviate the burden of that heavy helmet from your shoulders. And Loki did approach. Like a fool he continued to get closer and closer. And she was about to do it. She was about to end this battle once and for all. "FOR ASGARD!" Lady Sif yelled loudly so that Malekith and Loki could hear. "DEATH TO THE FALSE KING!" she declared and her blade was not stayed.

Loki was in front of her and he revealed Gungnir in his hand. "This is your last chance, dear, valiant Lady Sif, kneel before us and you may be spared," Loki declared.

"DEATH FIRST!" she hollered as she ran toward him her blade ready. She got in his face and thrust her sword forward, but her blow was blocked by Gungnir.

He pushed her back just a little, but he didn't knock her down. She sprang back up and came ramming toward him. He shook his head. "I SAID KNEEL!" Loki's voice rang out. He stamped Gungnir on the ground and all at once Lady Sif was stopped dead in her tracks. Her body felt heavy. She felt like she was being magnetized and held to the ground against her will. She jerked and tried as she might, but she couldn't break free. Her limbs felt heavy like there were deadweights on them and she felt herself being pulled down...down...down toward the broken cobble streets in a bowed position. This same reaction transpired for all the Aesir trapped in the City Square.

A/N: HELLLOOOOO READERS! Congratulations! You made it through this chapter and it was a long one! Whoa. Give yourself around of applause and treat yourself to some hot chocolate! All I can say is that I hope it was worth it and didn't disappoint. This is my last chapter for the years of 2020 (can't say I'm sad to see it go) and I wanted to give you some encouraging words. As we celebrate this most joyous time in the most unusual of ways just remember that Jesus is the reason for the season his birth changed the world and gives life to all and brings us all hope. He is the greatest gift that any of us may receive. I pray for safety for all in the new year and that 2021 is much more fun. MERRY CHRISTMAS! GOD BLESS!