Hey guys, sorry it haven't updated in a while. I've had lots of stuff to sort out and literally no time to write or post anything. Anyway, here's chapter 5!

It didn't take long for the fuse to be lit.

When Loki fell from the Bifrost, I was in agony. I watched in dread as Thor destroyed the Bifrost, causing an explosion and for both princes to be thrown off the side of the bridge. I watched as Odin caught them, and they dangled there, Loki at the bottom.

It was like a car crash. Terrible, a nightmare come true, but I was unable to look away.

And when Loki pleaded to his father, sounding every bit the lost boy he was, I could have done it. For you. For all of us. And when Odin looked down at his youngest son, at the boy he had lied to his whole life, at the monster, and said those earth shattering words: "no, Loki."

As the realisation crawled across Loki's face, anger and rage spread across mine. As he let go of the staff and fell down into the void, I prepared for battle.

And after my spies gave me that one last bit of information, that "Heimdall has confirmed that Loki has died in the void.", I knew that I was ready. I would mourn Loki by taking it out on the universe. They would feel my pain, they would know my wrath, they would fear my name. I would take the lives of hundreds of Yggdrasil's innocent souls, in revenge for the one soul that ever truly mattered to me and was now lost forever.

With all my enhanced magic, and the darkness in my mind spreading through my veins and into my heart, turning it cold. With the express purpose of causing as much chaos and killing as many people possible while I did it.

I lashed out.

Sitting alone in my cell, I smiled lightly as the memories washed over me. I remembered that I had started off slow, causing minor disruptions in Jotunheim and Alfheim, which were immediately blamed on Asgard. As tensions rose between the realms, I traveled through Yggdrasil, stopping at the first realm I came to and destroying cities and killing. Of course, none knew it was me, as I was still presumed dead. The realms naturally blamed other realms for sabotaging their homeland, and in turn the other realms blamed those realms for the sabotage on their homeland. Before long, I had the whole universe teetering dangerously close to a full blown war.

I grew bored of small disturbances, so I traveled to Vanaheim to raise the bar. I destroyed the cities surrounding the Palace, remaining invisible to the Vanir, and eventually closed in on the Palace itself. I burned down the trees closest to it, and, being made partially of wood, the Palace burned with them. With their Palace on fire and their cities demolished, the Vanir had no choice but to call on the Aesir. Young and arrogant as I was, I stayed in Vanaheim until they came.

They found me almost immediately, and I fought them with all that I had. They had thousands of the best Einherjar, however, so I was soon overwhelmed by the sheer numbers. That doesn't mean to say that I didn't kill a good load of them, though. They captured me and transported me via Bifrost back to Asgard, where I was given my sentence by Odin.

He seemed surprised at how much I had changed, after he got over the initial shock of me being alive. He asked me what had happened to me for me to change, and I told him that I had found out the truth. He said nothing to this, only motioned for his guards to take me down to the dungeons.

My punishment was torture. I was staying in the deepest cell in the Palace, and the Guards down there were never seen above ground. I was tormented for hours at a time, then left alone, covered in blood and vomit, to freeze as I tried fruitlessly to sleep.

Sleep never came, and I was shipped off to another torture session.

They cut me with knives, they burned me with hot wax, they sawed at my limbs with axes. They stretched me out until my shoulders dislocated and if could no longer feel my legs, then made me carry sacks of sand around the dungeons. They carved symbols into my skin, then covered them with lemon juice and left me there crying out as the pain took over.

They always healed me after, a clean slate just to be tortured over and over again.

One of the worst parts was the terrible knowledge that they would never let me die.

I saw my organs hung from the ceiling in plain view. I saw my bones break and shatter, bent at unnatural angles. I saw my blood slowly pooling onto the floor, lightheaded ness telling me that I shouldn't be losing that much. I saw my tormentor's expressionless gazes as they hauled me up and dragged me away for another session.

I was there for seven Midgardian months, but in the dungeons time ran more slowly. It was almost two years of torture before I finally got out of there.

I finally managed to break the magic restraining cuffs that prevented me from defending myself or attacking. After two years of wearing them down, little by little, they finally broke.

And then it all went to hell.

I murdered all of the guards in the dungeons, releasing a blast of energy so powerful that it completely obliterated everything within a ten mile radius of me. With the dungeons destroyed, my tormentors dead, and fresh leagues of Einherjar racing down to fight me, I teleported back to the Void, where even Heimdall could not see me.

My anger until that point had been directed at the whole universe, but now I channelled it all to Asgard. The punishment had made the edges of my mind fray, the darkness of the void mixing with the darkness of pain and rage.

Blinded by rage and by the consuming need for revenge, and fully healed from my ordeals. There were no physical scars, but my mental state felt like one big scar. I lashed out at Asgard, my rage flowing through the cities, making even the most strong hearted quake with fear. Amidst the wreckage, Einherjar and Vanir, who had taken refuge in Asgard after what I had done in Vanaheim, joined forces and ambushed me. I was drove out of Asgard, and they followed me into the Void. I knew I had to retreat, to hide out somewhere until I could gather my magic and strike back. I was weakened after my torture, and my escape, and my use of power on Asgard. I let my remaining magic reach out, feeling it grasp onto the nearest realm, and teleported.

I woke up on Midgard.

Twenty years later, I still had not been found, and I was perfectly happy there. I lay low, only killing when necessary, keeping myself hidden from Heimdall.

Until That Day, And That Fight. And Those Goddamn Knockout Drugs.

And that was how I had ended up where I was now, trapped in a cell by mortals, seeing Thor again for the first time in decades.

Sitting there now, I sighed and let my head hang back against the wall.

My life sucks.

Don't worry, there will be an actual plot line soon enough. I have an idea of where I want to take this story, the only problem is getting there. Huh.

Anyway, please review, let me know how I'm doing here.