Here's the next one! But before that, I must thank you all so much for your kind reviews! I simply cannot express how much it means to me... I truly appreciate every single favorite and follower xoxoxoxo

*** TRIGGER WARNING ***

This chapter contains rape/non-con. If you would like to continue reading please skip ahead to chapter 7, but know it will be mentioned after the fact.

As the days continued their slow and steady procession, Loki began to wonder when in the realm she was going to run out of things to do. He'd have gone mad by now if it weren't for the books, but she found countless ways to keep herself occupied despite having only a handful of things at her disposal. Today her ring of metal keys was the distraction. Having plucked each one from the ring, she was now lying on the floor and sliding them across it with the apparent intent of getting them within one of the three rings she'd drawn on the floor across the room. She tightly pursed her lips, pinching one eye shut as she readied to send another key to its fate. She moved it left and right until she'd lined it up and then gave it a solid flick of the wrist. For the third time since the game began, she replaced the key occupying the center ring in order to earn points, he assumed. That was, if she was keeping track.

After the seven or so keys were scattered across her makeshift scoreboard, she hopped to her feet and collected them, before returning to her perch and playing again with renewed vigor.

She'd been quiet today. He couldn't even force a witless insult out of her. She seemed remarkably focused on so trivial a task. Which made it all the more surprising when she spoke up without provocation. Still carefully aligning her next projectile, her face totally expressionless otherwise, she asked, "Was there some point to taking over my pathetic planet?"

That was rather blunt. What twisted train of thought had led her to such an inquisition? He could only imagine. "Of course there was a point," he retorted. "I wouldn't have expended such energy and resources for nothing."

"Well, it just seemed like an odd course of action considering how dim-witted and worthless we are. Doesn't do a god much credit to subjugate a bunch of humans."

Loki frowned. Is she serious? For the first time since she'd come here, he was genuinely unsure of her sarcasm. "Midgard was merely a consolation prize, dwarfed by a much higher cause. It was a casualty of war, suffering a self-inflicted wound. Had you humans not been so hungry for power, squabbling like animals in an attempt to wield a force you couldn't hope to control, perhaps you could have avoided the conflict entirely." She pushed another key toward the ink rings as if she weren't even listening. "My original intent had little do to with your pathetic planet, as you so aptly put it."

She rolled over, thrusting her arms into the air in silent triumph as she managed to get more than one key in the tiny center circle. He heard her sigh, her hands absently massaging her stomach as she stared at the ceiling. And then her rather deep stare settled on him. She folded her hands across her chest. "So what was your original intent?"

A hundred thoughts flooded his mind, but for some reason none of them stuck. He didn't latch onto any one in particular. Words eluded him. His silver tongue turned leaden in his mouth as he suddenly fumbled for an explanation. It was a quest for the honor he deserved – the power he craved – another chance to prove wrong all those who looked down on him as some petty excuse for a warrior. He meant to rule them, as was his rightful stead in the scheme of the realms. That was his intent? Was it not? Or was that a later developed notion to justify that he was once more wandering in the shadow of another. His lips twisted with disgust. Thanos thought me a puppet – a pawn, but that was the intent, was it not? He put the power and the purpose within his grasp asking only for the Tesseract in return. A simple task. A mortal could have accomplished it. So he bought into his scheme with the intent to deviate of his own accord when the timing was right. Means to an end. The intent was to be the last one standing – the one holding all the cards. Only then would he be free of the shade created with the potential of others. This was the intent. Was it not?

You lack conviction.

Conviction, Loki sneered. Conviction. He remembered that man clearly enough, beloved among his fellow suited kinfolk. And now dead like so many others. But as his near last words in life, he made one final jab. You lack conviction. Oh no. It was not conviction he lacked. He knew why he'd done it. Out of anger and shame and spite and hurt. Revenge. It was a need to be better – to be stronger – after he was so horribly wronged. Disowned and abandoned. Completely forgotten. Sucked into the void to be torn apart by the branches of Ygdrassil, he had nothing but his anguish and the sad inevitability that he would survive that norn-forsaken Hel. And when he washed up on the edges of a world unknown, he was left with little but ambition and hopeless dreams. He wanted nothing more than to see his brother rot for his sufferings.

You lack conviction.

His intent was clear as an Asgardian night. I lack conviction? I wanted to watch the world burn! And to see my brother weep at its expense. But that's not the way it happened. He, yet again, rallied the meager might of Midgard and Loki found himself belittled, outmatched, disrespected. They made a fool out of him. It was a new level of humility. Never again. I am a god! A king! Reduced to prisoner – a captive. What was his original intent? It didn't matter now. He had failed so spectacularly given that being locked in a cell was never his intent.

You lack conviction.

"I suppose it doesn't matter," she said as if reading his thoughts. "I was only wondering – thinking out loud."

Probing little minx, Loki thought with a growl. Of course it didn't matter. She was scrounging for information. But why? What would it gain her? A more affirmed knowledge that she was inevitably trapped here, perhaps? Or maybe it was merely curiosity. How dangerous a game she played. "Thinking in my specific direction," Loki hissed. "Wonder what you may, I did what I had to do."

"You make it sound like you are not the one to blame."

"Perhaps not."

"Even though you taunt with misplaced pride of your failings?"

Loki scoffed. "While the outcome was not desirable, should I not take pride in being the bane of so many superhuman creatures? I was defeated but only at the expense of so many others."

"But you still lost. How could you take pride in loss, unless you weren't wholly responsible?"

"You are a fool in attempting to make me any less of a villain." She didn't deny that unconscious thought. She was still in this state of not being seriously concerned. "Power is a funny thing," Loki said with an empty laugh. "It's a balance that shifts as simply as sediment; leaders washing away with time, being replaced and forgotten by those who were but menial pawns before. I've spent my entire life serving under someone else, enduring their torture and control in my quest for power. True be it, the idea to attack Midgard was not my own, but believe that I took up that hollow crown willingly, waiting for the day I could rise – no matter the influence to my mind. No matter the consequence. No matter the outcome. There is always a place for pride. I am not the warrior my brother is – or anyone else in this damned realm! I am the trickster – the one who lies and cheats and cares not for some foolish morality. There is always a plan. I take pride in staying one long stride ahead."

He glared down at her, still intently admiring the stonework of the ceiling. "I would prefer not to be a captive," he said matter-of-factly, "but there are worse things. Consequences I've yet to face. Consequences I won't face." He chuckled in a dismal sort of way. "This place is not so bad."

"Did you know what you were doing?"

"What?"

"When you killed those people, did you know what you were doing?"

Still on this pointless crusade.

"Of course. The Æsir are renowned warriors – conquerors. Murders in some manner of speaking. I may not be standard in that supposition, but I am just as lethal. I'd make a man kill himself long before I put the blade to his throat."

"Or in his back."

Loki grinned. "You learn quicker than I deemed possible."

"Give me the chance and I'm sure I'll surprise you," she said, rolling over onto her stomach to continue her pointless game. When she didn't say anything more, he dropped back into his seat and snatched up one of his books, attempting to drown out the sounds of the little keys banging against one another.

Humanity, he thought, barely a few sentences deep in his book of choice. Humanity. Always searching for the good in a bad situation – in a terrible mess of a living creature. Well she wouldn't find it. It didn't matter how much of a contribution he made in concocting the plot against Midgard. All that mattered was that he despised it as much as the world he had previously thought to eradicate. And were he given the opportunity to do so again, he would not repeat his mistakes. He would see that world ruined – destroyed. He would see every living soul upon it dead. Dead without hope of salvation. Conviction. What need did he have to strive for anything more than the suffering of those that had made his life a living Hel? There was no need. He would find himself in a better place. Or die trying.

They glanced up as the dungeon doors unlatched. Loki was slowly tiring of these unexpected visits. Too early for dinner, he thought absently, and judging by the noise it wasn't their ordinary visitors. Two guards, but not their guards. He was good with faces and he recognized most that had the misfortune of coming down here. His nerves steeled when he finally acknowledged the ruckus and caught sight of the two drunken men descending the steps. He sighed. No good can come of this.

His cellmate ignored them. She'd stopped bothering with visitors and servants after Thor had so completely ignored her. Which still irked him to some degree – the valiant defender of Midgard shamelessly ignoring an obvious plea for mercy. For now, she continued with her game without looking up, but her aim suffered. She caught on just as he had. No good can come of this.

Loki stood from his seat, approaching slowly as the guards stumbled into the room, the last few steps nearly ending their crusade. It wouldn't be the first time he saw the lessers of the court make blundering fools of themselves on their binge drinking escapades. He had endured the worst of such encounters before. On more than one occasion he'd been decorated in ale, spit, and vomit. And all while suffering through their heroic epics and useless toasts. They would thoughtlessly stumble through tales of mayhem and merry making and he would sit there, hating every moment of it. This would be no different.

Their laughter echoed through the mostly empty chamber. On the floor, his cellmate jumped when one of them fell into the glass as he stumbled along. She glared up at them, her brown-eyed gaze piercing. The first guard finally recovered from his minor fall and acknowledged her stare with a deathly serious look. Loki's stomach flopped painfully. No good can come of this. Whatever joke they had been thoroughly enjoying was no longer even remotely funny as the first guard continued to stare at her – his gaze hungry and angry and unbecoming of sobriety. The second guard stopped giggling when he finally caught on.

"So this is the new prisoner I've heard whispers about," he said. She continued to foolishly hold their sickening looks. Don't. You won't win this fight. "Pretty fox, this one." Her eyes were like daggers and he saw it even at this distance. With something like a grumble or some inaudible jest, she finally looked away, fishing her pen from her pocket and starting to doodle again. It was a nervous tick, he decided at last. Whatever she said, or whatever they thought she had said, braced the room with a neck breaking tension to be shortly ignited. Not good. Not good. No good can come of this.

She jumped again when the first guard banged hard on the glass, this time actually getting to her feet and staggering backward slightly. "I don't believe you're in a position to be making remarks like that, missy." The barrier fell as the glass parted and she scrambled out of the way as he stepped into her cell. Not good. Not good. "Not so tough without the glass, are you?" Loki noted that her eyes were still as unforgiving as ever, though the fear in her posture was equally evident. "Do you have a name, love?" he asked, slowly edging forward – she countered in turn. She didn't answer. Her wide eyes were dead centered on him, her limbs tense – the fight or flight response soon to make its decision and ultimately fail. There was nowhere she could run and a fight, even against a guard so heavily intoxicated, would not be easily won. "No?" the guard tried again. "You must have a name," he insisted.

"Nameless, faceless subject," she finally snapped, glancing briefly at Loki. He grinned. So cheeky. The guard wasn't as amused. Even less so when he eyed Loki's dangerous smile.

"Found yourself a new pet?" he inquired spitefully.

He laughed, dark and quiet, his chest vibrating slightly. "Pet." He shook his head but offered little reply otherwise. Loki could hardly place her in the scheme of his chaotic life. But even if he could, he was not about to indulge this dull-witted, half-brained excuse for Einherjar.

The guard came forward, leaning toward the glass until Loki could almost smell the alcohol on his breath. "You are undeserving of a creature so beautiful." Loki only continued to smile, shaking his head, slow and not even remotely concerned. "Filthy silver tongue of yours- " He licked his lips tauntingly, half appreciating his observation. The guard turned back to her, not even finishing his statement. She hadn't moved. "You one of his whores? Is that why you're here?" Her countenance twisted uncomfortably. "He's the God of Mischief after all. I'm sure despite his bondage, he's found a way inside your head." She glanced at him incredulously, but he just shrugged. "Though I will admit," he said, creeping closer again. "He has good taste." He reached for her and she shirked out of his gasp with the same intense stare. Loki thought she might bite him if he got any closer. Of course, with that infernal weapon of hers still tight in her hand, it was more likely that she would just stab him. No good can come of this.

"There's nowhere to run, you little wench." After several weeks in captivity, she knew full well, but she continued to dodge his poorly aimed hands with a grace that seemed almost out of place. She shook in the instance of every brief reprieve. But held her ground when it mattered. But the guard's distorted patience strained until finally one of his hands clamped down on her wrist, the skin twisting in his grip. Painfully restrained, she had no way to escape as his other hand extended in a moment of blind rage and contacted her face with a loud crack and a smothered scream. Loki almost flinched when he saw the bleeding break in the skin beneath her eye and her already swelling cheek. Her shaking hand pressed firmly against it as she regained her composure, her wrist still losing circulation under his grip.

"Suppose we try this again," the guard growled, dragging her closer. Her entire form was stiff when his hand touched her face and slowly pushed hers away, blood trickling down her cheek. He leaned forward haphazardly and her eyes widened in disgust as his lips met her cheek and her jaw and her chin until finally smothering her mouth. She pinched her eyes shut, her body trying valiantly to reject something obviously awful. He thought he saw her gag. It was almost funny for a moment, his sloppy wet mouth covering hers and the way she squeamishly tried to escape him. He half-expected the guard to fall asleep on her. But as he deepened their kiss and his free hand slid down her side, mindlessly groping at anything it could reach, Loki felt sick.

It was something like envy, dark green and haunting. He tensed, his muscles shaking in anticipation. He ran his hand up her thigh and it made Loki's skin crawl. His fingertips burned as the sei∂r pooled in the palms of his hands, just waiting to come free and wreak havoc on anything in its path. As the guard continued to caress her unwilling form, he could imagine the oh-so-terrible fate that would befall him. Dismemberment. Decapitation. Evisceration. The possibilities were endless. His cruelties were without limits. But he remembered the glass – the enchantment that bound his magic to the cell.

He watched as the drunken man tugged at her shorts making her squirm and shake. He saw that her very sharp writing utensil was still tight in her grasp – the hand braced by his tightening grip. She struggled to no avail and the other guard just watched, waiting to jump in himself. The look in his eyes. The vision of her hopelessly overwhelmed in a hurriedly escalating attack, burned him so deep he didn't even know how to respond. It made him want – need – to do something. But he couldn't. He could do nothing. No good can come of this. So he squirmed where he stood, his mind racing, trying to think of something he could do. Two drunken guards weren't going to be swain by his silver tongue. Nor would a mere verbal threat dissuade them from harming her any further. No good can come of this.

It wasn't the first time he'd been a helpless bystander in his life. It was uncomfortable and embarrassing and painful more often than not. This time was no different. In fact, it was possibly worse. Enduring Thor and the All-father's heated arguments was so far dwarfed in comparison. His lips curled back into a snarl. How had he found himself here again? His fists clenched and all of the furniture within his cell slid toward the walls. How could she have been so foolish? She should have learned by now! She was a captive – how stubborn did she have to be in order to think it a good idea to be instigating conflict? And knowing full well that she couldn't defend herself?

Loki heard the guard yelp as she finally escaped his hold on her wrist and drove the shank into his arm, blood immediately staining his bicep. But he responded in turn, dragging her backward by her hair until he dropped her onto her cot. He straddled her waist and braced her arms to the thin mattress until she could move nothing but her neck. Loki's mind whirled when he heard her sob as she failed time and time again to escape him.

When the other guard closed in and he heard her muffled scream as clothing was forcefully torn, Loki could take it no longer. He raised a hand to the glass and it was instantly enveloped with ice. It crawled out from his fingertips until the whole of his cell was incased in a thickening sheet of frost. His breath met the freezing air in little clouds. Despite his heritage and the cold world he was born of, he shivered. He continued to stare, even though all he saw now was ice and his own shadow upon it. Only the tiniest sounds reached him now. Chills traveled up his spine to imagine what continued to transpire on the other side.

How could she be so foolish? How could she put her life in jeopardy like this? Without thought? Why couldn't she have kept her mouth shut just this once? There has to be something I can do, he thought again. Something. He couldn't help the painful turn of his stomach, picturing the disgusting violation being done to her. If only he could help her. Help her? Where had this even come from? This notion of salvation and mercy? Why did he want to help her? What had possessed him to think such a thing – to care? She was merely mortal – here to endure justice for some petty crime, he was sure. Why should he care what became of her? What reason did he have? Had she so infected him to have utterly stolen his train of thought? Help her?

A particularly loud noise pierced the silence he had created – a cry. A shriek of jarring pain shortly smothered. He could almost see the hand clamped tightly over her face. Help her? No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't hide from his imagination. He couldn't convince himself that she somehow deserved this. That this was somehow her own fault. He couldn't un-hear her cries. He couldn't ignore the possessive attitude he'd developed toward her. She would be his – that was what he'd told her. His. Mine. It boiled his blood now. There had to be something he could do. Anything. But there wasn't. So he stood there, gritting his teeth until his head ached, silently hoping she would be all right.

So sorry for the cliffhanger! But if you haven't already noticed, I've been updating every other day (when I am able) so you won't have to wait too long :)

Thanks again to everyone who read! I love you all!