Warning: This chapter contains depictions of torture and implied suicide. Told you we would earn some of our M rating here…

I took the title of the chapter from the graphic novel V For Vendetta, specifically the quote from Valerie's letter: "An inch. It's small and it's fragile and it's the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it, or sell it, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us." I felt it was appropriate for his situation, and it served as kind of an inspiration for this chapter.

From The Ashes

By Anna Morgan

Chapter 4 The Very Last Inch

Loki couldn't remember how exactly he had gotten there. He felt groggy and sore as if he had been beaten by the Hulk a thousand times over. He blinked several times before slowly opening his eyes completely.

He was sitting in a small dark room surrounded by black steel walls, except for one semi-transparent wall to his left. A soft blue-white glow emitted from the wall though it provided little illumination to his surroundings. A single light shined down from a lamp that dangled overhead. The white beam nearly blinded him as it cascaded downward onto his face. He seemed to be bound to the chair he occupied, the chains that had been thrust on him still dangling from his limbs. His arms were behind him hanging uselessly as he struggled against his bindings. His magic failed to respond when he called for it and he let out a frustrated growl.

Behind him came the screech of the metal door swinging open as The Other strode in, followed by a handful of other Chitauri soldiers.

"Loki Laufeyson," The Other hissed. "At long last. You have evaded us well, but not well enough."

"I missed you too, darling," Loki replied with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

A knife slipped from underneath The Other's sleeve and dropped into his hand. Swift as lightning he grazed the blade across Loki's left cheek.

"Hold your silver tongue!"

The cut oozed a thin red line that slid down his cheek. Suddenly a piercing burning sensation filled the area around the slit, making him grimace from the sting. The blade must be impregnated with poison…

The Other spoke again. "Did you think you could hide from him? Did you think you could keep what is rightfully his from his grasp? I shall enjoy watching you suffer for your failures, Asgardian…"

"Surely you must know that I no longer have what you seek," Loki said as calmly as he could, his cheek still stinging from the poison.

"Where is the gem?" The Other hissed at him.

"It has been sent off, I know not where."

"Liar!"

The Other thrust the poisoned blade straight into Loki's rib cage, plunging it in all the way to the handle. This time, the burning seared through him immediately coupled with the pain of the stab wound. He looked down at the ground to hide the painful expression on his face but he did not make a sound. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

"Where is the gem?" The Other asked again, more forcefully this time.

Loki gasped for breath. "It has been sent off. It is no longer in my possession."

"Where have you sent it?"

"I know not where!"

This earned him another stab, this time in the thigh. He could hear the blade slicing through his skin, could feel it tearing his muscles all the way to his bone. He grunted in agony as The Other twisted he blade before slowly pulling it back out again. The poison seemed to get stronger over time as the burning engulfed his entire lower body.

The Other grabbed the front of Loki's collar and held his face close to his. "You will tell us where it is. Until you do I will make you writhe until you beg for death. Then you will speak. And being merciful, I will swiftly oblige."

"Oh, good, I hate long waits," Loki gasped sarcastically.

The Other held the knife to his throat. "This is your last chance, Asgardian. You will tell me where it is."

"I know not where it is." Loki closed his eyes tightly. Truly, he did not know what had become of the scepter or the gem within it, but he could not have them going to Midgard to search for it. Not if he was to take the Gauntlet there for protection.

The Other tore him from the chair, snapping the bindings clean off of him and threw him into the corner. The fatigue in Loki's muscles kept him from pushing himself up off the ground. Before he had the chance to move again, two of the Chitauri forcefully lifted him from the ground and carried him to the center of the room, directly under the light.

They slammed him down with a force strong enough to rival the Hulk as Loki made contact with the cold ground. His head crashed onto the steel floor and throbbed painfully as the edges of his vision blurred. In a flash his jacket and shirt were removed so that his torso was completely exposed. The cold floor was a welcome balm against the heat searing through him from his wounds.

He knew he couldn't fight them off just now; he would have to wait until the opportunity presented itself and make a break for it then.

Two of the Chitauri soldiers in the room held him down in a spread-eagle position, one each pinning his arms to the ground. The Other partially straddled him, one knee on his chest, the other on the ground beside him. He began to cut and slice every bit of Loki's skin with the poisoned blade, scattering gashes long and short, deep and shallow, across his chest, abdomen and arms.

Loki squirmed and recoiled with the cuts, but still he did not make a sound. He willed his mind to focus on his escape. He shut his eyes tightly again, as if he believed that if he couldn't see them they weren't really there.

Finally, The Other stopped his rampage and looked down on Loki to admire his work. The trickster was trembling near uncontrollably, his muscles spasmed from the burning of the poison that coursed through his entire body now, and covered in a thin layer of his own blood. Satisfied with his work The Other grinned and rose to his feet and spat in Loki's face before taking a couple of steps back to observe the scene.

Loki took this as his opportunity and sprang into action. He mustered all the energy he had left to swing his legs up and around to his arm, where his feet collided with the soldier pinning him down to his right. The soldier fell to the side and he turned his attention to the soldier on his left, kicking him in the chest as hard as he could. With the second Chitauri down, he made a mad spring toward the still open door.

But three more Chitauri pounced on him as another slammed the door closed, sending him crashing to the ground hard. He continued to struggle, to attempt to get up. But his reflexes were too slow, his body too weak, and he was once again spread-eagle on the ground, this time his legs and arms both being pinned down. The Other dived on him again and thrust the poisoned knife straight through the back his outstretched palm, slicing completely through his hand , with so much force as to embed the tip into the steel floor. This time, Loki did not hold back the blood-curdling scream, the sound echoing throughout the room. He was so loud that he was sure the sound would be etched into the walls forever. The Other produced another blade, precisely the same as its predecessor, and repeated his act to Loki's other hand as well, effectively crucifying him to the floor.

This is it. I've failed. They're going to kill me right now…Loki thought desperately, knowing he had been defeated. He had missed his only opportunity; there was no escaping his fate now.

The Chitauri that he had kicked had gotten back on his feet and rushed to him carrying what looked like a cylinder disk with syringes filled with a dark crimson liquid lining the outside edges. Without hesitation, as if it had been his plan all along, he thrust the cluster of needles straight down onto Loki's chest, directly over his heart, and squeezed the plunger.

If Loki thought the sting from the blade's poison burned, it was nothing compared to this. A burning that emulated the intense fires of Muspelheim had erupted in his chest and was coursing through his body in a flash. His blood was boiling from the poison; his muscles felt like they were disintegrating as burns broke out from his skin all over his body, blood gushing from the open wounds.

He twitched and thrashed on the ground, screaming until there was no more air left in his lugs to scream with. He could barely breathe anymore as he struggled to take short ragged breaths. He was dizzy and his vision had begun to blur. The only other sound in the room was the manic laughter of The Other as he relished in Loki's pain.

Please…Please…end it now…please make it stop… Loki begged hopelessly in his mind. He could not have voiced his plea even if had wanted to.

The Other's laughter subsided and he stood over Loki, looking down on him like an insect about to be squashed.

"You are weak, Asgardian, pathetic! You deserve every ounce of agony you have received, that you have yet to receive," he hissed.

And with that, he swiftly booted Loki hard in the temple, and Loki's world went black.

….

Loki lay on his back on the cold steel floor of his cell when he awoke again. He didn't want to think anymore, it hurt to think. Everything hurt. His muscles were still sore from the poison, even hours later, though the burning had dwindled to a dull smoldering feeling. His head throbbed painfully. He could feel the welt from the kick that mercifully ended his first round of torture.

After what seemed like hours he finally had the strength to sit up. A blood-encrusted hand rose immediately to his temple to ease the throbbing that still lingered. The cell was comprised of the same black steel as the previous room, but this time it covered all the walls and ceiling as well. A soft glow of light shined under the door that provided the only illumination.

He remained seated and used his free hand to feel around in the darkness. His hand fell to a soft pile of leather and fabric that he recognized as his own jacket and shirt that had been removed from him earlier. How thoughtful of them… he thought bitterly.

He knew that his situation was hopeless. He was too weak to even attempt another escape. He had been effectively tortured and humiliated. The only future he had to look forward to was whatever tortures they could concoct for him next.

His only comforting thought was that he could still feel the Gauntlet's presence in his personal space. Throughout the ordeal it had remained within his grasp, unseen. He had not completely failed. He was almost able to force a smile at this thought, and he allowed his feeling of accomplishment to fill him. This one shred of success awoke a determination in him that gave him light in this hellish darkness he fought through. As long as it was safely out of their reach, he would not give up.

I will not go down without a fight. Not here, he decided.

….

But as the time passed the determination that Loki felt faded gradually with every day, every week, as the Chitauri fabricated new ways to torment him. The Gauntlet's safety was still his only motivation (he had given up after a couple of weeks on Thor coming to his aid), though rather than a being a comforting thought it faded to more of an obsession. He would endure the tortures, thinking only about how the Gauntlet would be safe if he could endure just one more round.

Loki's punishment had become a game for them: do whatever they could to bring him to the brink of death until he was unconscious or else couldn't respond with enough energy to entertain them anymore. They repeated the knife-and-poison tactic often, but soon found other methods when they grew tired of the same routine.

The first "new" game was to use electric shocks during their interrogations. They chained to a metal chair that was bolted to the floor and jabbed at his sides and his head, sending electricity through him until it would burst right through his skin, sending blood spurting across the floor. Of course they spattered punches, hits, kicks, and spitting throughout the routine whenever they could find a window.

One of their favorite games was to lock him in a small, closet-sized chamber, lined with shards of broken glass and blades whose tips contained a substance that would make him relive the worst memories of his life until he would scream or cry from his own self-induced anguish. Though it was less violent physically, they delighted in his child-like screams and tears and laughed at him as he humiliated himself. When he was no longer entertaining to them they would drag him to his cell and leave him.

….

One day, after a round in the electric shock room, Loki leaned against the wall and pounded his fist against the wall out of anger and humiliation. He needed something to release it all on, and the wall was a worthy candidate. After a few minutes, he stopped, breathing heavily. His anger had started to ebb away when he heard a soft, almost shy-sounding knock from the other side. Loki's eyes snapped to the wall and he stared as if it had just spoken to him. His heart pounding, he hesitantly knocked back, this time without the rage, and the knock was returned once again.

There was another creature in there. So he wasn't the only one there after all.

And so it became a routine for him: after each round of punishment, once he had the strength, he would crawl over to the wall and knock, and the creature in the cell next to his would knock back. Sometimes, when he was lying on the floor, he would hear it, and return the gesture in kind. He learned that it didn't matter how long it took for the other to respond, as long as they eventually did. The knocking became almost a source of comfort for him, as one prisoner would ask the other "Are you still there?" and the other would reply "Yes." He wasn't sure why but it almost seemed that the presence of another being gave him more strength to endure his torture, to know that someone else knew his suffering, a friend. And to his surprise, he actually cared about the being next to him.

But as suddenly as the routine began, it evaporated. Loki would knock after each round with the Chitauri, sometimes several times, but the knock was not returned. He held on to the hope that the creature in the next cell was still there, even after he sensed that several days had gone by (he didn't have a sense of time anymore).

Slowly, grudgingly, he accepted that he was once again the sole center of attention for the Chitauri's cruelty, and resigned himself to being alone once again.

….

After another painful round, Loki laid down again on the floor of his cell, precisely in the same position they had dragged him in, looking up at the ceiling. It would be hours before Loki could even think to sit up or move. When he did finally bring himself to sit up, he leaned against the wall and brought his knees up to his chest. His thoughts consisted of his past sins (courtesy of the hallucinogens from the small chamber still dully coursing through him) or else different escape plans, ranging in varying degrees of feasibility, chasing each other around in his head. He allowed himself to think about what his next step would be, once he was outside of his prison, though he realized how small a chance he had of those thoughts coming to fruition.

His head still ached from the drugs as he ran one hand through his matted hair. If I ever do escape from this place, he thought, I will never ally myself with them, or any of their allies, again…

He had decided this shortly after his first round and repeated it to himself nearly every round thereafter. He hated his captors with a burning passion, with every fiber of his being, more than he had ever felt for Thor, or Odin, or anyone – anything – else. Even himself, as he came to realize just how repulsive a being he truly was; he hated the monster he had become. He truly was the bane of the Nine Realms' existence. His thoughts drifted back to his words to Odin in the vault when he had first discovered his true ancestry: Because I'm the monster that parents tell their children about at night…

This is what your thirst for revenge has brought you, he would berate himself. A life of pain and misery and for what? Your own twice-damned pride…

His family hated him. Asgard hated him. Midgard hated him. Jotenheim certainly hated him. He had no true allies, save for Thor but he didn't exactly seem reliable just now. Everyone he had once considered a friend he had betrayed. He could die here and no one would mourn for him this time. He felt as if he already had died. He was alone.

The reality of those thoughts sank in deeper and more devastatingly than any wound he had thus received. Tears welled up in his eyes as he truly felt the effects of what he had just realized. He buried his head in his hands and didn't bother to hold them back as they fell. After all, there was no one there to see.

Not wishing to think about anything anymore, he lay back down and closed his eyes, inwardly hoping that it would be the last time he would do so…

….

So there you have it, another chapter down. It's a bit dark, and shorter than the other chapters, but I feel like it's necessary to see the cruelty that he suffered at the hands of the Chitauri in order to understand him later.

As always, please review! I love getting feedback (remember constructive criticism is good, flames are bad. If I suck at least tell me why lol).

ALSO! It has come to my attention that some of you may see a plot hole in this story already so I want to clarify: Loki cannot use the Gauntlet in his situation for a couple of reasons. The easiest is that the chains wears stops him from using his magis so he can't conjure it again (see the first paragraph). The second, for those who are familiar with the Gauntlent in the comics (I actually have read the Infinity Gauntlet comics 1-6. Yes I know my geek is showing...), the Gauntlet itself doesn't have powers, but is an object that holds the Infinity Gems and allows them to be used together.

And in any case, when do Loki's plans EVER go as he intended them to?