Reiði

Anger

There was no concept of time in this prison. Though, prison didn't seem to describe it. What was it the humans called something like this? Hell? Yes, that would do. He wondered about the concept of Hell. He knew it existed in his realm, he knew of Hel, the goddess. But it wasn't a torturous place, or person, she was actually kind of nice. But he supposed that mortals must have some "naughty corner" for the "bad" people of Earth. His attention dozed off across the floor, looking at the figure's feet.

The figure had since welcomed a partner, an older one. He recognised him of course, but didn't say anything and kept his eyes on their feet. They were talking, but he didn't bother listening, he shouldn't listen. Not his business, as he had been forcefully taught. He had long since given up breathing, as his body seemed to cope without it, though the sensation was still very peculiar to him. The only oil running from him now was when he moved a wound, coughed or was beaten, which he was, often for simple reasons such as blinking too loudly.

Collapsed on the ground he kept his eyes closed, pretending to be dead, but of course it didn't work; his eyelids were made of glass, so he could easily see, constantly. Another traitorous reason to prove he was alive was the random bursts of spasming and jerking occurring as he vomited up his boiling insides for the thousandth time. Of course he tried to keep these quiet so the figures would ignore him, but it never worked. It would break their conversation, and he would be punished accordingly. Sometimes they were gentle, or, as gentle as they could be, such as lifting him by his half-broken horns and slamming his face into their knees again and again. Then sometimes they were harsh.

Oh no. He could feel another spasm rising in his throat. No, no, no, no, his body was just starting to cool down, no, no, no! Without thinking, he grabbed his own horns and smashed his face into the ground, causing the bile to hiccup in his throat, burning it instead of pouring out of his mouth. The smash wasn't quiet though, and the figures looked at him. He coughed and shivered on the ground, anticipating the punishment. There was none.

"That pleased me, do it again, Goat."

He couldn't believe his ears, they… He thought about it for a second, but it was a second too long.

"I SAID, DO IT AGAIN!"

The larger figure grabbed his horns and picked him up, lifting him above his mighty head, held up only by his horns. His neck creaked horribly, not designed to be burdened by his entire weight like this. It looked like it threatened to snap, so he shrieked, "STOP!"

The figure paused, and then let him go. He fell to the ground, his head banging into the ground as he looked up at the figures, now leering and leaning over him. He gained some courage; they had no right to treat him like this. He was a king, a ruler. Not a peasant or pet. He was their equal, no, he was higher than them. They were trying to usurp their lord with pain and torture. They thought it would work! Hah.

"You will stop."

His voice came out surprisingly clear, as if the bile was retreating. He wobbled to his knees, then to his feet, breathing heavily, swaying, only tiny trickles of oil exiting his mouth and broken nose. The figures frowned and took a step back.

"This is not real. You are not real."

The words seemed to be exiting by themselves; he didn't even plan to say them. This could be real, why was he saying otherwise. It felt real, it looked real, and it seemed real, so why was he saying this? He was meant to be commanding them! His voice changed to that of a different man, and he was shocked.

"It's okay. It's okay. Calm down. This will help."

The figures cocked their heads, confused. He was too, he wasn't making sense, he tried to cover his mouth to stop the alien words from leaving, but they ran through his fingers. His hand fell to his side and he gasped, his head arching back, an icy cold was pouring down his throat. It ran down his throat, soothing his burns. It ran through his veins, slowing his heart and clearing his head. The figures started to warp and glitch, but became angry, trying to move towards him, but could only jerk and stagger.

He saw darkness for the first time, and he welcomed it, he closed his eyes and fell back, the cold smoothness running across his worn body. The ruler would rest.

"What did you do to him, human?!"

"I-I gave him a sedative!"

"How did you know that would work on him, he's not human."

"I could only guess, plus we don't have sedatives for non-humans-but-still-kinda-humans."

"That does not matter! Will he be okay?"

"If his wiring and chemical balances are somewhat human, then yes."

"… And if they aren't?"

"He-"

"No. He'll be fine, Thor. Just be happy he is sleeping, he looks like he hasn't slept in a thousand years."

"That may actually be correct."

"We can't leave him here; he needs to be moved to a secure treatment facility, after which he can return with you to wherever you came from."

"Won't he just destroy anything you put him in? Do we need to go over his track record?"

"No."

"To what part of my question?"

"Let me answer please, Thor. If this sedative works then we have a reliable way of keeping him calm and somewhat reasonable."

"Very well, I will allow him to be moved."

"What hospital would take him?"

"One that doesn't know him."

He didn't want to open his eyes; he would see the figures and the indescribable environment that he was in before. Wait. He could see blackness. His eyelids were closed, and they weren't glass! He allowed hope to sour through him, and smiled. He felt mentally exhausted, more so than he had in a hundred years. But physically… He frowned; he didn't feel tired, just held back. Restrained, both muscle-physically and actual physically. He didn't have his strength, he didn't have is abilities, he was as weak as a human! He could whispers behind him, edging closer from the darkness in his, promising pain and torment to "Goat" from the back of his head. Terrified, he snapped his eyes open, but he winced and grunted as an intruding white razed across his eyes. Taking a moment to adjust he blinked repeatedly, and the room came into focus. It was white, so white. It was the purest white he had ever seen, and it amazed him. It wasn't pearl or ivory, snow was too tame for this wondrous colour. He pondered about colours for a while, then caught himself. What was he doing? He was going on about colours. What was wrong with him? He tried to lift an arm, but found he couldn't. Shocked, and a little worried (as this means that they could get him, he wouldn't be able to run), he tested all his limbs, finding out that he couldn't move anything but his feet, hands, head and just wriggle his torso a little. He bent his head down to look at himself, and was both revolted and once again shocked, momentarily forgetting the figures.

Where were his clothes? Or, at least, his normal clothes? Why was he wearing this filthy human gown-like thing? True, it was the same pleasant white, but it was too… mortal. Stupid. He didn't like to use the word stupid as it seemed to unintelligent to, but this seemed appropriate. He tore his eyes from the stupid clothes, and looked at his restraints, finding they were simply tough cloth wrapped gently around his limbs and chest and attached to the bed he was in. Why was he in a bed? He wasn't sick. He wasn't tired. Well, he was, but he didn't need to be held down for a simple task like that, nor did he deserve to be. He looked around the rectangular room; he was in the centre of it, on a raised bed or platform. The phrase strange and unusual mortal ritual came to his mind, but he dismissed it and kept looking. There was one window, but he couldn't bend his neck enough to see out of it. The rest of the room was bare, except for a door at his feet and a table firmly bolted to the wall to the left of him. He was glad of the brightness in the room though, nowhere for them to hide. Then again, a voice whispered in his head, it means you can't hide either. He shook his head violently, trying to physically shake the thought away.

He licked his lips, checking himself internally to distract himself from his mind. He was no longer burning, he actually felt cold. "Hello?" He breathed out, testing his voice. Yes, it was his, if somewhat shaken and timid. He shook his head, and cleared his throat, "Hello?" He repeated, with more power and solidity in his voice. He was scared of few things in existence, so any mortal captors wouldn't bother him, besides, they would release and obey him, or die, to put it sweetly. They would also suffer for restraining his powers. He waited what seemed like eternity for a response, ears flicking slightly to pick up any sort of sound other than his own breathing and the creaking of the restraints.

It must have only been five minutes, but to him it felt like far too long; a tapping of footsteps could be heard, more than one person, came closer to the door. He tilted his head down to look at the door, a strand of hair falling on his face. Annoyed, he tried flicking it off, then blowing it. By the time he got it off the two people who had been arguing over something had decided on that something, and the door opened (after a few locks were unlocked, he picked up) and two people walked in.

It was his brother and a stranger. First he was scared, because of the angle of his tilted head he thought they were the figures, well, he knew his brother was one, but the other was new, so he wriggled and jerked to get away, breathing heavily. "Leave… me… alone!" He growled, shutting his eyes and preparing for punishment. There was an internal fight inside of him as one side of him yelled to roar at them and command them to kneel and obey their lord – the other side cowered and whimpered, knowing that the figures could probably change their shape and environment, just another sick game for them to play. He didn't like those games.

"Brother, it is alright, I am not here to hurt you!" His brother's familiar voice echoed through his ears. He didn't trust it; the figures had tried that tone of voice too. He growled in response, trying to get his meaning across without talking, so he wouldn't be punished for talking. Goats can growl, right? He was sure they could. Goats could also bite, he realised, and it wouldn't be wrong of him to do so; it would be an animal defending itself. He had a form of defence now.

"Quiet, Thor, I think he is just a little scared at the moment." The other figure spoke, a soothing voice, he liked it. But he was confused, if these were the figures, why would they act like this? Usually they didn't keep up the ruse for this long, and he would be vomiting and cringing in pain by now. He creaked his eye open, scanning the two. The smaller man seemed somewhat afraid of the larger, stronger man, as he should be, but he still kept a tone of authority, as though this was his place. His brother had concern etched so deep in his face he could have sworn it would be visible from the back of his head. Odd, for a figure. They should listen to you, tell them so!

Maybe these weren't the figures. He processed what they had said a second time. Wait, the small man had said he was scared. Scared!

"I do not fear you, insignificant human!" He bellowed far louder than he intended, the angry voice in his head exploding forth. It surprised both of them, the small man reaching inside his coat for something, while his brother took a step forward, reaching out his hand.

"Calm down, it is alright, you are safe here." The reaching man repeated his mantra of hopeful calmness to his brother, until his brother felt his anger fall due to some unknown source, and his words hit home. He sighed, and let his head fall against the pillow, looking at the ceiling. The voices were silent.

"Why… am I here? Why are we not we at… your home?" He questioned, not fully realising what he was asking, but a logical part of his brain was questioning, so he guessed he should ask. There was weariness permeating from his voice, echoing around the room. He was starting to feel somewhat rational and logical; it was soothing, though he was still tired.

"We do not have the treatments for you there, but the humans do. We will stay with them until you are cured." The man replied, concern also in his voice, it didn't suit the face that had recently smashed a boiling pan into his face, neither did the voice when he thought about it, he needed to be angry, yelling. This didn't feel or sound right.

But he was sick? He didn't feel sick. He felt fine. Just tired and woozy. But not ill. He doesn't get ill. "I am not ill," He said stonily, squinting at the ceiling, annoyed with the men, did he look sick?

The strong man swallowed, he could hear it. He must have glanced around because it took him a moment to respond, "Not physically, apart from a few cuts and bruises, but you will heal quickly."

He thought about it for a moment, but then it occurred to him, "You think me insane?" chuckling slightly, he thought it quite funny. Him, a man as great and powerful as himself, fallen prey to insanity? Pah, never! But a whisper in his head said otherwise, you are crazy and you know it, you are scared of your own brother! That's just pathetic. Weak. But that seems to be happening a lot lately, the world and life harshly proving that you are weak.

The man was silent, so the small man joined in, "Not insane, Loki, just sick," they caught his attention with this new word, breaking contact with the voice and his mind. What was this new information? He went through what memories he had, skipping the painful ones. He had been born…

Loki. That was his name. It was powerful, he liked it.

"Loki…"

They looked at each other, "Yes, Loki, that is your name. Do you remember it?" The small man asked hesitantly.

Loki paused, going through his head to double check. Yes. His name was Loki. He was somewhat sure of it.

"Goat…" He whispered. Goat felt normal to him, Loki felt strange, but at the same time, almost like a memory, dying to be remembered and used.

"What was that? Goat? What do you mean?" The man asked, taking a step forward.

Loki shook that thought from his head, he would respond to Loki now, it was decided. After once again attempting to analyse the situation; he frowned, realising how this man was speaking to him, "Be silent," he snapped, bending his head to look at the other man. He squinted his eyes at his brother, "Thor… That… That is your name." He spoke slowly, checking his words with mental memories. He knew he was his brother, but he had forgotten that the figure had a name. Well, this figure anyway, until he proved that he wasn't the other one. What if they had switched? What if his brother was the weedy one? What if this big Thor wasn't actually a… Frost Giant? Why did that come to mind? Why did that name cause fear in him…

Thor looked concerned, well, even more so, and approached the bed until he was standing over him. Loki saw this as an oncoming attack from the figure and flinched and cringed, making 'ahh' and 'please no' ramblings under his breath. He shuddered, already experiencing the actual pain in his head, Thor snapping off his horns and… Wait. His horns.

Loki paused from his ramblings and glanced at his forehead quickly, "Where… Where are my horns..?" He looked at Thor, but shook his head and cringed again, realising his mistake of talking. Stupid! How could he have fallen for the figure's tricks! He was supposed to know tricks! Mischief! Mischief! Mischief! Argh! He actually sort of welcomed the pain, he had been a fool. A weak fool.

Thor's heart was wrenching, his brother, a cowering mess before him, what could he have possibly seen to make him fear Thor in such a way? Why was he cocky and normal-ish one minute, and this… weak the next? What had broken him? Something in his own mind had been so horrid it had destroyed the brother he loved. Carefully, slowly, letting Loki see what he was doing, Thor lowered a hand onto Loki's tied down one, "Loki, dearest brother, listen to me. You do not need to fear me. I will not hurt you in any way. You don't have actual horns, only a helmet that you wear, remember?"

Loki squinted at his brother, "But…", once again he had spoken, and even though Thor said he would not harm him, he threw out, "IapologisefortalkinggodsmakeitquickIshallnotspeak !" and winced again. Fool!

Thor gritted his teeth; he could do nothing but stand and watch as his own brother's mind tore him apart. "Loki, Loki! You can speak! Talk to me, brother!" He almost shook the smaller man, trying to physically break the sickness from his mind.

Loki swallowed and opened his eyes, looking up in cautious fear. He didn't say anything for a moment, considering the possibilities. Thor could be lying, but he should be able to tell. That is what "Loki" is supposed to do, right? Thor could have carefully elaborated this plan to make him trust his brother, working up his hope, only to smash it to pieces again. No. He would not let that happen. No figures would win. Not against… Loki. He frowned furiously, opened his mouth, and bellowed at his 'brother', "Get away from me! I do not CARE whether or not you actually are sincere; I am NOT making that mistake again! Leave! Me! ALONE!" His face contorted into hatred, mixed with fear for his own life. He screamed at Thor until he could scream no more. He jerked his body, trying to either hurt or escape Thor. He didn't care about the punishment anymore, only to injure those who had so badly hurt him and his mind.

Thor could only stand, stunned, until the small man pulled him back gently, pulled out a syringe, and held down one of Loki's arms (though they were restrained, he was shaking them) and tried to soothe him. Loki wasn't listening, only intent on removing his captors, be it with force or words. Loki snapped and growled, almost biting the man's arm when it came close enough, much like a goat would. Thor was horrified, backing away into the desk, watching. The man eventually got Loki's arm still (thankfully the sedative he had previously given him had tired and slowed his body, so his above-human strength was all but gone) and carefully injected the needle into his forearm. Loki felt the cold metal invading his body, his eyes shot wide and he jerked to the side, almost breaking the needle off inside his arm. The man quickly pushed the plunger, ignoring the protocols of having to do it slowly, and pulled it out as fast as he could. Gasping, he backed up, scared.

Loki huffed, but was content that they had both backed off, so he let his head fall back against the soft pillow. He was still alert though, he would watch them, hear them, they wouldn't hurt him, they wouldn't… His eyes drooped, his body slowed, what had that man done to him? "I wi…n… what…" He murmured as he fell into sleep.

"What is wrong with him?! He has become a beast!"

"Not a beast, Thor! He is scared! I don't know what of though, but it obviously includes you. His mood swings are extreme though, is that usual for him?"

"Not that I've seen, usually he is calm."

"Next time he wakes up I'll go in by myself."

"Are you sure that's wise, doctor? He could hurt you."

"I know he could, but the more sedative he has, the weaker he will be."

"Not dangerously weak, I hope."

"No no. Just until he is taking medication will he be sedated, then the medicine will calm his mind and mood."

"Good."

"What about the others?"

"They are restoring the city."

"Are they going to visit?"

"I doubt it."

"I'd surprised if they didn't."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see."