~ Chapter 4 ~

In the darker parts of Asgard, where not many stepped a foot, laid the dungeons. They were not used for many years, since there were no criminals in Asgard to imprison. That also lead to under service in maintaining them. Water dripped in from the cracks in the ceiling, small paths that lead to the surface far above. A escape way only insects could take. It was a damp and bitter place that the sun hadn't seen in years.

Mold could be smelled in the air and although the iron bars had started to rust, they were still enchanted to hold their prisoner.

In there sat Loki. He huddled in his cloak, which he thankfully had been allowed to keep. Or they had forgotten to take from him, he had no idea. Two days he had been down here now and not even the rats wanted to keep him company.

The trickster rested his head on his folded arms, trying to not think about anything.

The first hour he had yelled his innocence. No one had heard him after the guards had left him. The following hours he had tried to sort through what had happened and the only reason he could come up with was that something had made Thor lie. Sif was probably a part of it, she had always held resentment toward him ever since he shaved her hair.

Then came anger and blame. That had lasted for a good hour until he fell asleep and woke up and began to ignore everything around him.

His stomach growled in hunger.

He wasn't a big eater but even he would feel pangs of hunger after two days. He had not been given anything. Not even stale water and hard bread. He had little doubt that in the golden halls of Asgard, the bastard Thor and his so called family ate their fill of all kinds of treats.

As if answering his wish, the door opened and a warrior held a tray of food.

He said nothing, only held forward the tray in the waist high hole in the cell door. Enough for a tray to go through but little else. Loki ignored the cold eyes and got up to take the food.

When he got close enough to grasp it the guard flipped the tray at him, spilling his food all over the dirty floor, staining his cloths and hands.

The warrior spit a short curse that sounded like ' unholy rapist'. Then he left without another word.

'So it's spread over Asgard.'

Loki looked down at the remains of his meal. His water had spilled over the floor, mingling with the dirty puddle, his broth was soaking into his shirt, pants and finally inside his boots. Luckily it wasn't even lukewarm to scold him. He picked up the last item, a piece of bread and tried to wipe of the dirt.

When he bit into it he immediately bit into a crunchy filth which had nestled inside the holes of the bread. He took the iron cup and tipped it over his mouth to get the last drops of clean water before he sat it under the dripping roof water.

The sound of water hitting metal was annoying and echoed against the stone walls. It wasn't like there were anything else to mute the sound with.

He went back to his place on the only wood bench that served as bed in the cell. The sticky feeling of the broth in his boots were disgusting and he wanted to take them off, but he had nothing to clean or replace them with. He could only hope no rats would come forward because of the smell of food.

The next time he awoke was not by himself but by the sound of the jail door opening and the sound of several feet entering. He sat up sharply when the door to his cell flew open and he raised his hand to defend himself if needed, but felt no magic in him.

The warriors who had entered over powered him, gagged him and bound his arms and feet.

For a moment Loki wasn't sure what they would do, but fists suddenly started to rain down on him and he knew he was in for a whole new pain.

His head was kicked and he lost his grip on what was happening. Unable to defend or protect himself he lay on the floor, accepting the abuse as best as he could. He felt his organs groan and bruise, his bones protested and his skin which had always been pale for an Asgardian began to color in different hues.

Luckily, there was only one blow to his head but he felt a trickle of blood under his hair and knew that some part of the boot had done that.

He didn't know how long it went on, sometimes he thought he would pass out only to have a foot in his guts. Telling him to stay awake.

However, there is only so much pain one person can take and he began to black out.

Someone bent down over him and spat in his face.

"Don't think you will get away so easily, rapist. We will make sure you pay for what you have done, filth." promised a hostile voice he didn't recognize.

Then came oblivion. When he woke up next he was alone and soaking from his cloths having absorbed the water. A rat ran away from him when he opened his eyes. His whole body screamed of pain but he knew he couldn't stay on the floor.

Pain struck, he crawled over to the bench. When he reached up to grab the edge it was almost to much for him to take. His whole arm felt like it would break from the exorcise.

While gritting his teeth until he bleed from his mouth, he hoisted himself up on the tree only to collapse on his side, groaning.

He didn't know why he deserved this. What had he ever done to become a victim to others. He admitted that his pranks wasn't always approved of, and he had tried to avoid his brothers abnormal desires, but was it enough to condemn him to this?

Shuffling until his legs were tucked on the bench and his wet cloak was wrapped around him. He tried to let go of his thoughts. He had to heal and find a way out of here. If those assholes came back before that, he had no idea what they could do to him. There was no way he could fight them without his magic so he had to come up with something.

The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes in sleep was the iron mug, laying on its side in the corner. Empty and alone like him.

TBC