He awoke to darkness.
For a single, fleeting moment, he was certain he had gone blind and utter panic gripped his heart until a faint glimmer of blue light arose in his field of vision. Shooting upwards from his prone position, a sharp gasp escaped his lips as the harsh clang of chains filled his ears. It took him scarcely any time at all to understand his hands had been bound together with a chain that was attached to a post in the stone wall. Clawing wildly at his neck, he found the collar still securely attached to his throat and an overwhelming panic threatened to spread like poison in his veins. He'd been captured, that much was obvious, but the restrictions on his magic were keenly felt in his entire being.
It was his equivalent of being stripped of all armor and weapon but a small blade. He could still fight, yes, but without his magic...
Cool air smoothed over his bare skin, and he froze in dread at the sight of his bare body beneath him. He had been stripped of the majority of his clothing, cape and armor included, but his trousers remained intact. The frozen stone beneath his bare feet suddenly seemed to burn and he inhaled sharply, slowly standing with trembling limbs.
He felt so weak, so drained of vitality, and the shame of his own fragility burned like fire within him.
He eyed his prison with darting eyes, taking in the cold stone he was surrounded by. It seemed like a pit of sorts, as he could still see the skies above, but he was utterly surrounded by it. The air was stifling, cold and still, and somewhere above he could hear the foreign hisses and whispers of unseen foes. His breathing grew labored as fury swelled once more and he struck the wall before him.
"Do you hide like thieves in the night?" he bellowed into the air. "Do you try to taunt me with your secrets? Show yourselves, cowards! Make yourselves known!"
The ensuing silence was nothing short of deafening.
Loki growled and swung the chains as he struck the wall again. He coughed and grimaced, staring incredulously at his shaking hands. By the gods, he was so pathetic. Still unable to control this unending disturbance in his mind, and indeed, even in his body.
Some do battle, others just do tricks.
He spit on the ground and closed his eyes. Silently mouthing words to a spell of fire and power, he attempted to direct his magic at his bonds. When at first nothing happened, he persisted, trying a different spell until it felt as if his heart would burst with the disappointment. Absolutely nothing happened, except the sudden pull in his chest that he couldn't quite explain. He gasped softly and doubled over, pain rippling from his heart into his limbs before viciously pulling back once more to the center of his chest.
Trapped. His magic was trapped.
And as a result of such, so was he.
"It stirs, like a beast in its cage." Loki jumped at the smooth snarl of a voice and cast his eyes upward. He saw nothing at first, as the hooded being above him seemed to blend with the night sky. In the next breath the stench of decay filled his nostrils and he grimaced, squinting at the unknown beast. The creature that stared at him from above pulled its bloody mouth into a wicked smile and even as Loki blinked, the thing stood before him as if if moved with the wind, hands clasped in front of it.
"What are you," Loki demanded. He stood stock still, body taut with tension, staring the thing down with malice. It did not move, just simply stood there staring at him, or at least it looked as if it did - he could not see its eyes. "What. Are you," Loki snarled and the air was suddenly filled with what could be called a laugh.
The thing pointed an accusatory finger towards him. "How wretched it is," it cackled and Loki frowned. "How utterly beaten and hideous to behold. What are you?"
"I am..." He paused. The air was filled with something thick and evil and he felt as if he should not speak.
Coward.
He stiffened. No more. "I am Loki. Of Asgard," he proclaimed, taking a step forward. The chains clacked angrily against the stone floor and swallowing his embarrassment, he stood up straight and stared the thing down. "I know not what you intend, but I suggest you release me. I am of the house of Odin."
Liar.
"What brings you to our realm?" the creature said slowly and Loki narrowed his eyes. No inquiry to his position? No taunt, no laugh, not even some semblance of a surprise?
Something was not right here.
"Release me," he demanded, choosing to ignore his suspicions while holding up his bound hands. "You know not what you deal with. Release me, that I might escape this wretched realm of waste." In but a breath, the creature leaped forward, a frozen hand clutched deathly tight about his throat.
"Silence!" it screeched. "You have no power here. You would take the lives of mine and demand release? Stupid fool! Your insolence works against you." Loki refused to move, trembling only slightly beneath the thing's touch.
"Then kill me, foul creature," he whispered, jaw set and eyes shining with unshed tears. "I do not fear you." Do it.
"And ease your transport into peace? Idiot." He did not expect the sudden contact of its hand against his skull and Loki went crashing to the ground, barely able to utter a cry before he was grabbed by his hair and held to the creature's face. "You know not what is in store for you. I will take pleasure in breaking your bones and crushing your spirit, Asgardian." He was thrown to the dirt as the thing straightened, raising a hand to the sky. "You belong to us now, prince." Swarms of shadows from nightmares darkened the passages above, descending towards him with unseen faces and whispers not understood.
"You would…you would dare to lay hands on a son of Odin?" It was perhaps out of habit that he spoke the words, and despite realizing his slip too late, remained firm in his position and ignored the chilling sensation that was creeping up his spine. He cast a furtive glance at the approaching figures, but the damned thing said not a word. The figures pressed closer, advancing upon him, and it was then he realized they were the same beings he had so easily decimated earlier. "Away from me," Loki hissed, backing himself into the corner as he stood. The creatures advanced and an odd clicking sound filled the air. Dozens of pairs of eyes glowed red in the dark and the thing started laughing again.
"Through anguish we change," it whispered, watching Loki uselessly attempt to defend himself as he was shoved to the ground. Angry noises filled the air as the Chitauri avenged their fallen comrades on their attacker, slamming fists into his face and kicks to his body. The Asgardian was as a dog, defenseless on the ground before them, strangely silent as blow after blow rained upon him.
Loki refused to scream, refused to utter a sound as the monsters unleashed their fury. A solid punch landed on his jaw and his head snapped back just as another kicked him in the back. Crashing to all fours, he began uttering spells under his breath before he remembered they were for naught and the magic he so adored tasted as ash on his tongue. So he clamped his mouth shut and would not allow them the pleasure of hearing his cries.
For oh, how many times had he found himself here in this position.
How many times he had found himself powerless against too many foes, cowering beneath their violent hands.
And how suddenly familiar, almost comforting it all was: the taste of blood in his mouth, the vicious pull and ache in his muscles as they were repeatedly hit, the ringing in his ears, the lack of air in his lungs as each breath became more of a struggle. The sound of his skull cracking against the stone, the sight of blood dribbling lazily from his mouth and leaving wet, crimson spots below him.
It seemed almost odd, in a way, that the usual jeers were not echoing in his ears. The hateful voices that always accompanied the beatings, shouting words like argr and coward and weak. Despite it all, he knew he had faced worse.
So many times.
So very many times.
It took him a moment to realize it had stopped, that he was lying on his stomach in a pool of his own blood, that the clicking and noises around him had dulled into a hum within his own head. Body shuddering, he pressed his palms flat against the ground and pushed himself upright, even as his broken ribs shifted in his chest and every muscle screamed in protest. The world spun around him, blackness edging about his blurred vision, but he smiled grimly to himself because this was nothing, nothing compared to all he had faced before.
Indeed, they would not get what they sought.
It would have been better, had they just killed him.
"Through pain we learn," he was certain a voice whispered into his ear, and he tried to laugh before the sound was drowned out by his own bloody cough. The sight of frothy blood splattering the wall before him was the last he saw before he succumbed to darkness once more. He was left alone there, kicked aside as a corpse.
From above, snow began to fall.