A/N: So, we've got a bit of a shorter chapter this time, and I apologize for that. I can't really say it's a filler, because we're finally starting to get into the good stuff, but please bear with me. Enjoy.

He remembered, vaguely, that he had made promises.

That somehow, in the midst of what could only be called torture, he had offered them that which only the Silvertongue could, weaving sweet sweet words, speaking to their hidden desires.

"Whatever you desire, any possible hunger you may harbor in your heart can be yours, just let me go, release me, stop –"

Empty, empty. The words had died in his mouth even as he had said them. They were not heeded, in any way - not even by laughter or mockery. Just entirely ignored.

As if he'd said nothing at all.

Begging, screaming, crying - it was all for naught. Indeed, it seemed only to make it worse.

He was a beast. A monster.

And so he forced himself to be silent once more.

Even as they tore into his bones and spilled his blood upon the earth, or his body was thrown into the rocks, flung about like he weighed nothing.

Nothing at all.

"Frost giant runt," they would say, and he closed his eyes, unable to look upon his own hideous skin. He did not want to be reminded. Did not did not did not -

But you cannot hide that which you do not need to see.

Could not hide the truth.

Day after day after day.

He could feel the bones crumble in his mouth, watched as he bled onto the stones, frost giant blood, impure blood...

Red blood.

Everything hurt. Any movement, any sound he made, even if he simply closed his eyes wracked his entire being with an all-consuming agony that he could not understand. It came from the inside. Burning and twisting and wholly destroying.

It had been a long time - such a very, very long time - that he had been held here.

Repeatedly he was cast into visions, realities that were twisted and changed that seemed so real, he found he was losing touch with what he could trust. It was getting harder to determine which were real memories and what were the corrupted visions of his mind. Yet somehow...somehow...there were but a few that stood out in his mind that he knew were not simple fantasies.

That he was actually looking into something that was truly occurring.

He knew it now, of course. The details of the banquet hall were too sharp, too perfectly matched with what he knew was fact to simply be an imagined formation of what Thanos had stolen from his mind. He could hear the gleeful chirps of laughter, watch the expressions of those he had once forced himself to believe were his friends.

"Watch what your people think of your loss, Loki of Asgard," that ugly, ugly voice whispered harshly into his head, gleeful in its mockery, and oh, how he wanted to look away. But he was frozen, frozen in mind and body, and could do nothing as Sif popped a grape into her mouth and smiled in Volstagg's direction. It was all too clear that a feast was being held.

"In honor of your death," the voice snarled again, and much to his disgust, Loki whimpered. He did not want to acknowledge it. He did not want to feel the familiar ache blossoming with intensity in his chest, did not want to accept that this was the truth,and it always had been.

It always had been.

They smile, and they celebrate. Your secrets are no longer such.

I have seen you, Laufeyson. I have gazed upon that which you have seen, and I know what you know.

I own you.

His mind. No longer his. Owned and corrupted and stolen by another, and he could do nothing but lie there, unable to speak or cry or move, as he had nothing anymore. Not his sanity. Not his magic. Not his body.

Nothing.

When denied both life and death alike, he found he could no longer feel.

They loved to watch him suffer. Loved to force him to stand on battered bones, screaming out, "Dance, oh prince! Dance for us!" They would throw rocks, forcing him to attempt a dodge, and howl with laughter as he crashed back down to the ground.

"Don't," he whispered. "Do not do this. I beg of you -"

"Coward," they would hiss. "Unworthy pitiful dog. How useless you are."

And it seemed that was no longer in control of himself, because he would cry. He would be unable to stop the outpour of humiliation that consumed him and weep bitterly as they mocked him.

For what was he, truly?

Nothing but an outcast amongst monsters.

Despised, rejected, and rightfully so.

Useless

Indeed

"Kneel before me, prince."

The voice was disgustingly familiar, and from his prone position on the ground, a strange thought flitted through Loki's head: Perhaps, if I lie still enough, they will think me dead.

He no longer had the sense of mind to grasp just how ridiculous that was.

Rough hands latched onto the blue-tinted skin of his arms and he hissed sharply through his teeth. He could barely look at his own hideous body, but a brief glimpse was enough to understand how thin he had become. Rib bones sliced perfect lines through his concave chest, hip bones jutted out in awkward angles. His teeth were throbbing in his head, and his eyes felt like rocks.

He couldn't do this anymore.

"Arise, oh majesty," The Other cackled, its soldiers forcing Loki to stand, only to slam his knees before their leader. "And kneel before me," it whispered again, the wicked mouth pulling into a smile. Tears pricked his eyes then, and he did not take a moment to wonder why. He could do naught but watch as the bloody mouth pulled into a snarling grin, and then it spoke once more: "I have come with a proposition from the Great One. But before you hear it, there is one thing I am to make clear to you." Here it grabbed Loki by the throat and lifted him to its face. "You will not be allowed to die," it hissed, breath reeking of rot and decay. "Thanos has the patience of an eternity, and you are an unwholesome sacrifice to Death. You will stay exactly as you are, rotting and bleeding and dying, but death will neverbe granted to you. What we offer you is a power and a peace you have never known. To refuse would be...unfortunate." It dropped Loki unceremoniously to the ground and spat.

He stared at the ground, wondering what it would be like to die, to pass into nothingness and return to the dust.

"Midgard is home to a powerful force. We know it as the Tesseract," the voice cut into his haze. "It is a portal to worlds unknown, and the humans are not fit to contain it. If you would travel to that realm and retrieve it, the rewards you would reap would be far from anything you have ever known."

"Why," Loki whispered. He gazed upon his frosted flesh, horrified still at the raised ridges that signified the ancestry of a Jotun. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. "Why me? Why...even bother?" He could not help the question. He knew of the Tesseract, of course. All youths of Asgard were properly educated in the origins and loss of the Infinity Stones.

And were not, apparently, in the existence of the Mad Titan.

"You are but a tool that we might use, a means in which to gain what we desire. The will of the Great One is not to be questioned, especially by the likes of you. To resist is foolish, and to align with us is a beauty within your reach." Tears blurred his vision and voices whispered with sweet beckoning in his mind.

Oh, gods. But it was so tempting. To know that there could be an end in sight. To know that his suffering might come to a close, and with the simplest of tasks no less.

But he knew.

Of course he knew.

A god of lies cannot be lied to. Sweet words could bring many greats to their knees, especially in the midst of eternal suffering. To go to Midgard and retrieve the Tesseract would only result in his immediate death afterwards, and countless others no doubt.

He did not know what had happened to him. Only that his mind had been stripped of everything that had once been sacred to him, and him alone. What had been solely his (precious, precious sanity) was now exposed to a great enemy. And the voice, still buried and deep in the back of his mind, rose once again to the surface and called him. Pleaded with him to accept.

But the voice was not his own.

And he did not…he did not want to be controlled anymore.

His life had already been defined by that.

If meager revenge was in his grasp, that being the option of refusing his captors, it would be the one he chose.

He would not die according to their will.

He would not die in their service, doing their bidding for a fleeting comfort.

Better to suffer forever, then allow them to win.

"You can beat me," he murmured. He looked up from the dirt into the face of The Other and for the first time since he'd landed here, his heart swelled with something like rebellion and he smiled."You can humiliate me. You can take my magic and my pride, you can change the color of my skin, and you can bring me to cusp of death. But you will never..." Pain lanced through his body even as he spoke, but he forced himself to his knees and stared hard at the wretched creature. "You will never break me," he spoke, raising his voice. "You will not succeed, even if you think you have. You will not have me."

"Pity," the thing spat. It gazed down upon him and the air filled with the static of magic, tingling threateningly over his skin. "That you would think the choice is actually yours." Heat suddenly bubbled beneath his skin and Loki slumped, moaning as the spell set his blood aflame, burning and tearing and hot.

I will not give in you will not break me you will not

And in the next moment, the stars burst in blinding heat behind his eyes and he knew no more.

"He knows not of the magic he possesses."

Thanos did not move from his throne and simply gazed upon his helper with deadened eyes as it continued to speak. "He does not know his power is known by only a few in the universe. He is confused, that we ask for his aid."

"I ask for nothing," Thanos said quietly, still unmoving. "His magic, I have tasted and touched, and it is of ancient beauty. To think such power would be bestowed on a Jotun runt disgusts me to no end." Here his face hardened and his voice became like thunder. "I keep the thing alive for that reason alone. And if he does not succumb to me, it will not be he alone who pays the price. He will do my bidding, the insolent child, if it takes the entirety of his life. Convince him, or his fate will be yours as well." The Other bowed before him.

"It will be done." In but a breath it was gone once more and the Being looked to the sky.

"He will be mine," he whispered. "And mine alone."

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