Disclaimer: Bahahaha - wait, you're serious. Nope, no siree! I own nothing.
This is an answer to a prompt on Norsekink and a cannon!AU:
"Scourge; 1. a whip or lash, especially for the infliction of punishment and torture. 2. a person or thing that applies or administers punishment or severe criticism. 3. a cause or affliction or calamity (disease and famine are scourges of humanity)
Loki is the Scourge of Odin and the most powerful sorcerer in the Nine Realms. When someone truly angers him, Odin sends Loki to met out punishment. The position has given Loki great power, but he hates it. It isn't the magic he dreamed of performing for Asgard when he started learning spells. Odin also commanded him to secrecy (a misguided attempt to prevent Loki being feared by the Asgardians).
Loki can create plagues that wipe out entire populations, famines that starve entire planets, extinctions or overpopulations (locusts ect) that devastate entire ecosystems, and calamity's that change the very shape of the land (wars and natural disasters). Odin keeps the Nine Realms in check with the threat of these.
When Loki called himself a "monster" he really meant it - the revelation of his Jotun heritage enough to finally push him to say what he's thought of himself and the horrible things he's committed across the Nine Realms in Odin's name. It's also why he tried to destroy Jotunheim, along with destroying a part of himself he hated he was acting out a punishment he truly thought would please Odin.
When Odin has need of his services, he goes to Midgard to give Loki orders - in front of the Avengers. Thor is horrified to learn Loki is the Scourge all in the Nine Realms live in terror of.
Unbeknownst to most Asgardians and even Heimdall, there is a series of networks of hidden routes that work their ways up and down Yggdrasil, connecting realms with other realms. The opening to the pathways are concealed with mats of magical string, stitching the rifts in space closed and effectively keeping anyone who happens to accidentally stumble upon them out. Though the chances of someone even finding an opening are slim for they are hidden for a reason even if that reason remains unknown. But if one did happen to find not only a pathway, but also a way to cut the threads away in order to pry the opening open, they would be free to travel to all the realms undetected.
When Loki first heard of these cracks in the trunk and branches of Yggdrasil, his scholarly mind and natural curiosity drove him to endure many frustrating years of research and failed attempts to locate the passages. While he has developed a seemingly endless amount of patience as Thor's brother, he does in fact have a limit to how much he can take before he finally gives into his anger.
Since Loki isn't one to lose his dignity and indulge in any acts of violence, he prefers to busy himself with many projects at once until till he collapses from exhaustion. He would start reading a book, only to stop mid-chapter and switch over to practicing some spells, before deciding that something in the palace needs fixing - there usually is something - and his magic is the only thing that can fix whatever is broken. About half-way finished with his task, he would abandon it and return to his book to eventually repeat the cycle once more. This carries on for, at minimum, a couple hours or if he is really agitated, a couple weeks. Occasionally, however, he does find himself throwing whatever he has on hand across the room in a rare Thor-like tantrum.
He doesn't like to admit it, but there is something uniquely cathartic and relieving about seeing a book crash against the wall or a plate shatter into millions of tiny ceramic pieces.
After the deaths of about a hundred plates or so - to which his mother, Frigga, was absolutely furious about - the time he spent on what was beginning to seem like an exercise in futility paid off when he finally discovered a pathway. It would take him several weeks later to carefully unravel the strands that blocked it before he could reap his hard-earned rewards, but he didn't let the wait bother him. At long last, he had accomplished what he had set out to do; waiting was very trivial after that. The knowledge that he had found a way to slip away from Heimdall's gaze not only did wonders to his self-confidence, but it proved to him that magic wasn't as useless as he was beginning to think. The pride in himself that he felt was immeasurable and pure. The secret pathways were his and his alone.
And Loki absolutely loves it.
On the day of discovery, he had made himself promise to only use the passages to gain and collect knowledge from the other realms. For every trip he makes, he has to be cautious that, for the good of Asgard, he is not seen or if he needs to go out in public that he is not remembered. Even with all the safety measures he takes, he has encountered more than his fair share of close calls. One of them involved a drunken Midgardian pinning him to a wall and nearly having his way with the trickster god. It was purely by luck that a random passerby had come to his rescue. Otherwise, he would have been forced to use his magic and that would have broken his strict no-magic policy - the explanation to Father would have been just lovely.
But the most important vow he made that day was that once his people became more receptive to magic and non-traditional methods of doing things, he would share his findings with everyone else. He did not spend years of trial and error only to stow away the critical knowledge he gained. One of the greatest rewards a scholar could gain for his studies is the recognition and respect of his fellow scholars. Besides, his discovery was good.
It deserves to be shared.
What it does not deserve is to be exploited and used for evil intentions.
When Loki wished for the day where he could reveal his proudest achievement to the Allfather in hopes of some approval, he did not mean for it to become a key component in the suffering of many. To carry out his duties as the newly appointed Scourge of Odin, he needs another way to sneak into the realms without being caught. The Bifrost, while utterly efficient and amazing in its own ways, will do nothing but attract some very unwanted attention. Without a way to silently traverse through the realms, his mission remains at a standstill.
This is why Loki finds himself biting his lips as he stands before his father in the king's private chambers. The gleam in Odin's eyes tells him that his father knows he's hiding something and Loki very much doubts he'll be able to leave until he lets the truth drip from his mouth.
It's a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils, really.
He doesn't want to sully the secret passages by using them to enable to destruction of innocents. But at the same time, he has to obey father for if he fails to do so, Loki will disappoint the one person he has been trying to please once more. Not to mention that this is the one time that Odin has shown trust in his second son and the abilities said son possesses. But there is still a nagging feeling in the back of his mind reminding Loki that killing - no, slaughtering - intelligent beings will leave blood stains that stick for far longer than the ones from animal blood. Even if the blood belongs to the Jotuns, the spillage of such a precious liquid can't be justified for no one, no matter how monstrous they and their acts may seem, deserves to have their life taken away in such a manner.
Monsters are still living and breathing beings.
It is then that Loki realizes that should he succumb to Odin's will, somewhere along the line, he will be a murderer; a monster himself.
'Is it worth it?'
"Loki, for all your knowledge, you do not mean to say that have you not found some alternative methods?" Odin says and even an ignorant oaf could recognize the bitter disapproval in the statement.
Loki hesitates.
"There is perhaps...another way."
Odin's lips turn upwards, a barely noticeable movement, but to Loki's eyes who have spent years analyzing and watching the body language of others, the words unspoken leave him feeling even more at war with himself.
'This does not make sense,' Loki thinks as the snow crunches under his leather boots, white cloak fluttering wildly behind him. The falling snow is heavy and plentiful, obscuring his vision but at the same time, keeping him well out of sight. He pauses, his stride stuttering to a stop, and looks around briefly before moving once more. There is a sea of white in every direction, covering the barren, frozen ground with fluffy powder that when compressed, becomes as hard as rock. Crystals rise in large stacks from the ground, jagged and sharp, yet their blue tint gives them the appearance of sapphires. Spires of rock dwarf him by their sheer size, easily giving him the cover he needs as he slinks through the mini tunnels and arches. The sky is covered in a dome of dark grayish-blue, leading him to think that it is nighttime in Jotunheim.
'But why Jotunheim? We just ended a war with the Frost Giants; surely there must be no reason to strain the already tenuous peace between our kinds any more.'
Loki sighs and pulls the hood up as it begins to slip off his head; it is not his place to doubt the Allfather. After-all, there is always a purpose to what Odin does.
Green sparks dance eagerly from his finger tips, sizzling with promise, as he comes across a cliff that overlooks a rural town. He bites his lips and begins to make his way down from his perch, a desolate feeling forming in the pit of his stomach.
Loki walks through the latent town, steps quieter than the wind that howls through the empty spaces between the make-shift huts. The buildings themselves are constructed by ice, opaque, black ice that give nothing away when he peers at them curiously. The doors to the makeshift houses are closed, secure and locked against the cold and any loose Giants - or in this case, any loose Aesir with one very good invisibility charm - who prowl through the night unseen.
'Fascinating,' Loki admires with a childish captivation. Asgard doesn't really have a winter season. Snow is an uncommon sight amongst his people so seeing what it looks like with his own two eyes as opposed to what his mind could conjure up – which, he realizes, pales in comparison to the real deal – is nothing if not a marvelous experience. Oddly enough, he doesn't feel the chill of the land of frost and ice at all. It would have been alarming if not for the fact that he at least had the foresight to dress warmly enough, layering his normal attire with furs and pelts.
Shrugging the issue off, he continues his procession through the bare streets. With the steady beat of the silence he picks up on, Loki can't help but feel a certain atmosphere of peace and serenity.
'Such a shame…'
A frown tugs at his mouth. He can almost feel Heimdall's eyes - Father doesn't take too well to him being hidden from sight, especially on his 'contracts' - watching his every move, ready to notify the Allfather should he fail to complete the mission.
Sighing and shaking his head, Loki feels magic's eager pull as she sings her soft chant over and over, beckoning him with spindly tendrils. Something fizzles underneath his skin and a faint outline of green shimmers across his hands. Muttering an ancient dialect under his breath, he raises his arms, jade eyes glowing with energy. A tingling sensation starts at his fingers, slowly climbing up his arms and eventually pulsing throughout his body. He exhales through his nose, increasing the amount of energy he expends exponentially.
'I'm sorry,' he thinks, 'I really am.'
Magic in the form of green mist lazily pours out from his body, rolling along the ground, spreading in all directions. The night is young, the mist has plenty of time to cover the surrounding region with is poisonous, hoarse whispers.
Loki watches on with a heavy heart and a face contorted in displeasure.
'Your will is done Father, are you proud of your son now?'
The next day, the Jotnar are horrified to find that in the outskirts of the realm, none of their first born children arise from their slumber.
It is not long before Laufey's court begins to fill with his subjects and warriors, all equally shaken by the massacre.
"Only an Aesir would do such a heinous deed!" A soldier shouts, standing proud and tall with a storm of anger in his red eyes. Nods and voices of agreement rise through the crowd and Laufey has to silence them before the situation has a chance to grow out of control.
"Fool! We had not seen Bifrost's tell-tale signs of activation; no Aesir warrior could have come here without us knowing. And there are more realms than just the Asgard." Another comments, voice dripping with malice.
"Surely they must have found another way!" The soldier shoots back, completely disregarding any possibilities of the culprit not being an Asgardian. For all of them, it's very easy to just assume that the 'gods' were behind everything. They're weak and defenseless, but still very much alive. Maybe they are a shadow of their former selves, but there is still hope for restoration and glory to be had. It would be so easy for an Asgardian to saunter into Jotunheim for the sole purpose of dashing that thin thread of hope.
"Enough! I will have order in my court!" Laufey growls out, barely restraining his anger. Even he is disturbed about the deaths of the future generation of his race. He rubs his forehead and looks up to glare at the faces present before him. The rumble of voices eventually teeters off to silence.
"Servant!" He calls and a Frost Giant walks to kneel before him, "What of the guards' testimonies? Have they anything to say about the happenings of last night?"
"My lord, there was no activity reported from the guards other than a strange mist that appeared sometime late into the evening when everyone was sleeping," a servant, scared witless, reports. "Other than that, no one had been seen."
Laufey screams in rage, clenching the arm rests of his throne until large serrations are added to the fancy embellishments of ice. There are no known users of magic left on Jotunheim; the last one died from his wounds sustained from the war.
Yet something about this chills him so. The death of young ones, the first borns to be precise. He had a child once.
"This was the work of Asgard's sorcerers for sure!"
"The Allfather preaches about peace, but it is he who carries out acts of war!"
"He will strike again, we must take action and avenge our young!"
"Silence!" Laufey jumps to his feet and yells for order, not able to contain his temper any longer.
"Are you all so blind? Even it it was an Aesir sorcerer, what does it matter? This was not an act of war." He steps down from the platform his throne was perched upon, feeling the eyes of many watching his every move. "And we cannot just retaliate against those monsters! Not without the Casket, not without our source of power." His lips curl into a snarl, "This is a reminder. A reminder of what shall happen to us should we even think about going against the peace between our two realms."
And a reminder of something else, something he can't quite put his tongue on.
It is still quite late into the night by the time Loki stumbles back into his room with the grace of a drunkard. He struggles to lift the protective wards he placed on his doors and he knows it's not because he has exhausted his supply of magic. As if to prove his point, his hands shake with renewed fervor after years of meticulously learning to keep them steady.
Disgust is an ugly emotion.
The second he hears the click, Loki bolts into his room and re-locks the door behind him, wards humming in confirmation that they have resumed their duty as his invisible guards. He blindly reaches for the nearest corner and after locating it, he slides against the wall until he's sitting on the floor with his legs propped up to his chest.
His pupils are but tiny black dots, easily overwhelmed by a sea of dull, lifeless green. Loki folds in on himself, greedily gulping down air in short, stuttering gasps. Dizziness clouds his mind and he feels himself losing the ability to think.
All he wants is to escape.
His destination does not matter; all he needs is a chance to flee from everything. Staying still, he feels as if he's dying, slowly suffocating from the weight on his shoulders. He tries to force himself to stand, but his body refuses to cooperate. He wants the pain to stop, it hurts so much. He is going to die and the fear won't leave him.
His hands snake their way up his face and entangle themselves in his dark hair, still dusted with the white flecks of snow. He pulls on his raven locks, nearly taking out chunks of his now disheveled hair. A scream builds in his throat and he opens his mouth to let it out, but no noise escapes him.
He brings his hands to his front and stares at them, horrified.
Red blots out his vision and he tries to scream again but to no avail. Blood drips onto the floor, trickling through his fingers. The blood of his enemies, the blood of monsters, the blood of innocent children.
'What did I do? What did I just do?'
His palms are clammy and his breathing his ragged; all he can hear is the sharp thumps of his heart and the blood rushing in his ears. He swallows a lump in his throat, mouth uncomfortably dry. Shakily he raises a hand and touches his cheeks.
Wet.
'Monstermonstermonstermonster monster.'
Seconds tick by, easily melting into minutes. Time slips by in meaningless fragments and all Loki can do is tremble and twitch as he is lost in his own destructive thoughts.
[Edit]: Fuuuuudge. The page breakers didn't appear.
Oh my, I wasn't expecting that kind of a response. Thank-you all for the reviews, faves and alerts! I treasure them all!
Because of that, I decided to post the chapter early! Thank-you once more!
Anywho, on the story. I would like to clarify (because I am horrible at making things clear) that the part where we are right now happen quite a few years before the movie Thor. Loki is young enough to not be completely overridden with jealousy and spite (and still be innocent, no pranks and stuff out of pure malice yet!) and Thor is young enough to be more of a brother to our resident Trickster. He's still attached to Loki in a way most siblings are...Yeah.
Until the next chapter! Happy reading!