As he took his first conscious breath Loki felt ice hit his lungs like an iron sword. As he took in his surroundings he felt as though he had landed in his own barren soul. The landscape seemed to be carved of hate, everywhere was twisted stone and ice. It was barren, long expanses of rough terrain were in every direction. There was nothing so obvious as mountains, only slight hills as though the very land itself was doing all it could to be as unhelpful as possible, to trip you up, injure you, leave you to die upon it's surface. All was grey, even the ice, nothing here would be as pure as white, it would not have belonged. Nothing good existed here, nothing good belonged here. There was a continuous howl of wind gusting through the plains, fog groping out to any living thing, eager to have you lost in it's clutches. There were the distant screeches of demented creatures tearing through the wind like a dull blade hacking into flesh. Loki breathed in the violent hatred of this desolation he found himself upon and, for the first time in his life, he felt like he belonged.
Loki wandered the frozen wasteland, breathing in the rage and hatred, letting it soak into his every pore. He encountered beast after wretched beast, each as disgustingly delirious with vehemence as the next. As they stormed at him any time of night or day, not that there was any way to distinguish them here, Loki learned to always keep attentive to his surroundings. They would never leave him alone, they were constantly persecuting him. Every single one that found him he killed; there was no point in running away. His killing became more ruthless, he began torturing them, as entertainment, to convince himself of his power over them. It made him feel... whole. When he was cold he would shroud himself in their furs, as though their hatred was guarding him from the elements, and camouflaging him from those creatures which would cause him harm. It became his defence. He ate their meat, feeding on their pain and suffering. It became his nourishment. He was in hell, and he felt more alive than ever before.
It felt like a lifetime before he saw the distant figure, just standing on a ledge of twisted stone. It was dressed all in grey. He should have melted into the landscape, been impossible to see. Yet there he was, and the malignant poison of his being signalled his presence like a beacon. Loki wrapped his pelt closely around him and began to stalk his way towards the ledge. By the time he had made his way to within a hundred feet of this figure it had been days and it had not moved a muscle. Loki had no idea who or what it was but by this point he was the ultimate predator, more beast than man and his instincts told him to be wary. So he waited.
After what seemed like hours Loki felt something. A whisper, inside his mind, but his mind was so broken that the whisper had to take time to mend enough that it could break through. Suddenly he could hear something, but it came from within. The whisper became clearer. Loki. He struggled for a moment, trying to understand before he realised that the whisper was talking to him. Loki was his name; he had forgotten that a long time ago. I can give you all you desire Loki. I can show you unlimited power. I can show you how to wield a power so great that you may rule over any land you please. I can show you how to be better than everyone. Than Thor. That name ripped through Loki's soul like a red hot dagger. He felt pain and anger. He felt his eyes moisten. His anger flared up at himself as he wrapped himself tighter in hate; of his enemies and himself. Stepping out onto the ledge he had to take a moment to remember how to use his tongue. It unravelled like a creaking leather whip which had not been used for decades, yet he still felt the faintest flickers of silver upon it. He broke out into a grin, one that was terrible to behold, even creatures which were there ready to pounce upon him shied away at the sight of the God's grin and all the malice it contained.
"Show me."