Chapter 3: Chained Bear

Loki's P.O.V

Even he had to admit the cell, that held him, was impressive.

The walls at the back and to the sides of him were made from a type of element that closely resembled earth's titanium; they were at least three feet thick like the other cells, in the closed and tight corridor, that held him and Asgard other treasonous enemy's. The shackles and chains that kept his arms and hands in the agonizing and embarrassing position, above his head were steel and bronze plated and to say the least, a little tight on his wrists. The bars, in front of him, themselves were steel and gold plated, at least in here I retain some symbol of my royalty.

The powerless god slowly raised his head.

He had no view outside the bars, only more mind numbing wall, no scenery, no window, not even another cell for the contact of another prisoner, no way to tell how much time had passed.

He probably would've gone mad a few months ago, if he already wasn't so.

The back of his neck and upper back had suffered the worst of Odin's physical torture, the serpent stone; bronzed and scaled serpent was at least five feet big and appeared to be an exact model of a coiled serpent about to strike. At the back of him it leaned over his kneeling form like an avenging angel, with large fangs protruding out of its abhorred mouth that were directly above his shoulders and neck, they had dripped flesh boiling acid or venom onto his skin, routinely, ever since, at the beginning. At the start, when he was bothered to actually scream and yell against the torment, the venom had boiled away at his flesh, at an agonizingly slow pace, it had felt like being stabbed by little knives until no area of his back was unmarked and then having his wounds cleaned by having poison nettles scraped over his back.

However they only made him groan on the occasion now. The only time it really hurt him now was if the venom dripped onto an exposed area of nerve or bone.

The mental torture was another thing however.

At the start of it all, when the guards still got a kick out of repeatedly stabbing and making him beg for mercy, they would send a healer to his cell at night. Always after he had suffered the worst of Odin's torture during the day and when they might have considered the thought of him dying, apparent of actual happening. She was there to build him up, so that they could knock him down even harder the next time, it was maddening. She was a pretty little thing, which was something, that would make him crave her flesh more than her actual healing abilities.

He hated her… her abilities would leave himself feeling the all too good after-effects of having his flesh and muscle tissue remade, and the warm sensation that travelled from his back to the rest of his body, like a glow was inside him, making him feel invincible. This would make him think that Odin might've still cared for him, but no… the torture would come more painfully than before.

She was stupid, for not only doing that, but for always locking the cell door behind her.

After the incident, where she had accidentally lost her head. He got no more healers.

It was her own fault, he thought, she was stupid enough to undo his shackles to get at the worst of his wounds, and which she had done many a nights before, even after his warning, she still did it.

He had no choice. Her stupidity had enraged him so.

He made sure, when she came to his cell that night that he looked as weak and pathetic as he could, he struck, when she locked the door behind herself.

He smiled, at that moment, remembering the look on Odin's face, when the All father himself came down to his cell to see what his…once son had done.

After that Odin had employed a more effective use of mental torture, for his adoptive son. The golden handled knife lay stark against the dreary grey floor. It was so close, but Odin in his trickery had made it that the chains that held him kept him from ever reaching the knife.

And, he, so badly wanted it…

He had spent many a night trying to reach for it, only to be stopped by, exhaustion from his own arm and back muscles, or, the thought of bringing an unrelenting vengeance down upon the heroes of Midgard, for what they did to him.

He could not die while they still lived.

He often thought of fun little ways to kill them all so, after a more than painful batch of torture at the hands of the guards, to bring a smile to his pained face. Well, he'd kill almost all of them…

He would leave Thor alive, just long enough, to witness his comrades and his mortal lover's death, at the god of mischief's hands. The person he once called…brother. For his betrayal.

He especially liked to think about the man of iron's death, he especially liked the thought of using, what the mortal's called, a pickaxe… was it? Because they could…

"Argh" the sudden outburst from the fallen god was soon followed by him lurching to the ground in a spasm of pain.

He could feel it…the Tesseract was calling to him.

Its power bubbled and boiled deep, inside the pit of his stomach, for a few seconds, before fading away. The taste of copper in his mouth was evidence, that it was the Tesseract's power and not his own or another's that had just been inside of him.

He could feel the Tesseract moving away from Asgard and into the abyss of space, it was heading for… Midgard.

A smile crept into his now twisted features that formed his face. He would have his revenge sooner than he thought.

He looked at his shackled right hand, it had been loosened by the last person that was here, which was the unfortunate, ill-stricken healer, the last time, she tried to heal him, and it had been loosened even more by the attempts he had made to get to the forged knife.

If he could escape his chains, which bound the last ounce of magic he had left, he could then teleport to Midgard and take the Tesseract, which then he could use to exact his revenge on the hated Avengers and the mortal inhabitants of Midgard.

His used his renewed energy that came from the thought of finally exacting his o so blessed revenge, he pulled against the chain, it lurched and groaned before finally come undone with a sudden crack.

Yesssss

Now the other….

He pulled and wrenched at his arm to undo it from his wretched binds, but still nothing. His, now free, hand brushed against something…the knife.

His fingers just touched the blade… he looked at his arm, with a thought coming to mind…

…They need to suffer; you can heal it, once you have the Tesseract….

Odin had stripped him of most of his power's, he needed the Tesseracts energy to heal himself from such a wound that he was about to inflict, upon himself.

Oh yes they shall suffer, greatly.

He grabbed the knife hard; he could feel his breath coming out quickly and shakily, against his gritted teeth he pressed the edge of the blade against the flesh of his forearm. He started cutting… the flesh was more easy to cut through than he thought… the pain was almost unbearable, grinding his teeth. It took him longer than he imagined, most of the time taken was spent on getting through the tough bone. After cutting through the last tendril of hanging flesh and bone, the god lurched forward resting on to his knees and forearms looking up in case the guards were coming, his breath heavy. His face, on the surface, looked emotionless, almost looking unfeeling of the events of the recent endearment, however the god was pained, it had felt like someone had dug their nails into his flesh and dragged them along the length of his arm, whilst pouring salt water on his wounds.

He just knew how to keep the pain inside. Now to teleport…

However the god had only noticed the loss of blood from his severed arm, his subjugated body was still bleeding, the blood forming a rather large, cold, lifeless pool around his knees, his vision was starting to blur, his head felt heavy.

Just need to rest…

OMG , so sorry about my painfully slow typing, I just came out my cave a year ago.

Thanks for so many review, keep enjoying!