There was a roar of excitement as Thor entered. His subjects stood and praised him, followed by a round of applause. It seemed like the entire kingdom had flooded the room. Thor smiled, waving to his citizens, allowing the energy to settle before following his friends over.
"Thor, celebrate with us." Volstagg exclaimed thrilled to see this good friend back in a single piece. He extended an arm, embracing him, nearly knocking him over. He curled his thick forearm around the other's neck and tugged him inside the mess hall where a bountiful feast had been laid out. "Come sit, you've earned it!" Hogun waved him over to the bench, patting the seat beside him as an invitation.
Thor faked a smile, pushing aside his frustration as he honored their request. Sitting alongside his friends, the table overflowed with a bountiful feast; most of which were his favorites and although tempting he held no appetite. Everything smelled incredible, remembering how he hardly touched his last meal before leaving Earth.
He didn't understand why he couldn't get him off his mind. Letting out a subtle sigh, it didn't feel like much of a celebration. He received the only thing he wanted, just not the way he'd hoped. He clenched his teeth, visibly bothered and the rest could tell. It hurt him to see his brother this way, after so long he was still lost. He wouldn't expect any of them to understand. He hardly did.
"There's nothing you can do for him." Sif said suddenly, catching Thor off guard. He didn't want to acknowledge it but it seemed like the others were eager. "Neglecting yourself isn't going to change anything."
Thor nodded, not really wanting to get into the conversation. It was hard to accept, they'd grown up together, fought alongside each other numerous times, shed blood for a cause and yet none of them seemed to notice there was a darkness growing inside of him. They were just as ashamed.
"None of us expected this." Hogun sighed, setting his hand on Thor's shoulder with a friendly squeeze. They remembered how it was like when Loki became King, if only by default still it seemed like something changed drastically, like something snapped. She could see it in his eyes. The moment they came to Odin for council and found Loki in his place, it was almost a bittersweet victory for the jealous prince. They hadn't the slightest idea what he was planning, being the first to admit that they'd underestimated what he was capable of. Even now they hadn't the slightest idea.
Thor held his head down, preferring to forget the whole thing. He would not let the thought of Loki ruin the mood. It wasn't fair to the others. He would be heading back soon, feeling just as responsible for the damage, he wanted to assist anyway he could, promising a swift return after he tended to things here. But for now he would do his best to enjoy his time home.
…
Loki stepped further into the room as the door slid shut, audibly locking behind him. The guards dissipated within moments paying him no mind. The captain twirled his key ring around his finger before hanging it up and following his men. Whistling a sort of broken hymn he didn't quite recognize. Leaving Loki alone with his thoughts. He held his head down, tracing the marble tile.
This was a cell? Judging by the other cells he passed along the way this was the only one like it. Fully furnished with every amenity to suit his needs. It was unexpected, afterall he'd openly declared genocide never yielding fairing results. He'd attempted it twice, it was unheard of.
Anyone else would've been executed without hesitation, so what's the deal? Why was he so special? Was this a trap to catch him off guard? What difference would it even make? They had him right where they wanted, there'd be no need to corner him, other than out of sheer giddy. He was sure the others would love to see him in this state, ridicule him as if he were a feral creature caged.
Although the leisure set up would suggest something else, as if they still cared. He knew full well his mother was the only reason he was being treated this way. He would rather not. At some point she'd only succeeded in singling him out, at best convincing the rest of the prisoners how special he was. All while giving him the same decency as a common house pet.
He let out a heavy sigh, a bit short winded like he'd been holding his breath, finding it hard to maintain. He noticed several things. In the corner there was a hefty pile of literature beside a table brandishing a silver bottle of what he could only expect to be wine. There was a washing station and a magnificent bed among many other things he knew he didn't deserve. He balled his fist, his eyes dark and hardened. Even though they tried, nothing would make it feel like home. It was a great white room, with bright lights making him feel as if he was on display, to become another forgotten relic. His eyes were dark and distant, looking past all the amenities. There was plenty of food waiting for him on the table. Even though his stomach was barren he held no appetite. He passed by it paying little mind.
His body irked in discomfort as he shifted his weight forward, he knew his legs wouldn't be able to hold him much longer, he could feel them shaking as he made his way to the lonely chair. Nearly knocking it over as he dropped all his weight. Each subtle movement unnerved his whole body so he stifled the urge best he could. He became rigid, struggling to catch his breath under the bodily stress. He could feel his ribs shifting, many cracked if not totally broken, moving with each hesitant breath. Imagining their sharp edges constantly jabbing at his lungs as if routine.
He gritted his teeth, straightening up and stretching his arms across the glass surface in feeble attempts at bracing himself, opting rather to rest his entire upper half against the table. He laid his head against the cool surface. A refreshing contradiction to the heat radiating off of his forehead. He let out a heavy sigh, slumping back against his seat. He stared at the porcelain bowl of fruit, reaching out to take an apple. He couldn't even remember the last time he had a proper meal. Still something about it made him feel sick, as if he'd be unable to keep anything down. He thumbed the fresh red flesh before putting it back. Even after all of that, he convinced himself he wasn't hungry.
He swallowed hard, feeling off as gravity tugged him forward. He wrapped an arm around himself, feeling the warm dampness against his side and the substance seeping through the leather. He'd mentally prepared himself for what he might find. Slowly pulling back the fabric, hooking his fingers around the facets idly plucking each one until his coat unfurled and fell onto the floor. He removed his chest plate, revealing the worn clothing underneath. There was a noticeable relief when he removed the tight fitting article, having worn it for days on end.
His shirt was soiled and tattered, it would take minimal effort to tear away and yet peeling away the fabric would be more taxing than he thought, clinging to his body like a second skin. It seemed his wounds mended with his clothes attempting to clot. Tugging it loose, as much as it stung. With a forceful pull tearing it free, sending tears to his eyes. The pain nearly made him keel over, he braced himself with the table, reluctant to stop. He had to know.
He sat there allowing gravity to tug at his beaten form. He slipped his hand between the soiled fabric, feeling his rough, scarred skin, concern etched on his face. Unable to recall where he'd received these wounds. He probed his abdomen, noting numerous discrepancies along his body, many still fresh and healing. More tender areas he held no memory of. His brow hardened, remembering fragments of time spent in captivity, now a blur. He clutched his side, producing a pang of discomfort. The thought of what happened being unknown set him on edge, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he withdrew his hand and it was tinged with a dark substance,
He could feel his heart leap at the thought of that figure residing in the recesses of his memory. It made him uneasy. He blankly stared at the grapes in the bowl as his mind drifted back, thumbing the thick scar running the length of his chest. He clenched his teeth, as a surge of pain washed over him along with the vague memory of being held down and carved into. He'd been butchered and couldn't remember it.
He forced himself to stand, staggering over to the lonely mirror. It seems the several hits he's sustained managed to reopen these wounds. He vaguely remembers receiving them but it would be no surprise HE was involved. He narrowed his eyes, setting his hand firm against his side as he neared the mirror. He hadn't looked at his reflection much since his release, hardly able to recognize his face, becoming a shell of himself. He traced his sunken cheeks and slender frame. His eyes falling on his bare chest etched with thick scarring. His eyes widened, unexpecting the sight, he set his hand against it, feeling the twisted bruised flesh as if it wasn't a part of him, pulling back the dark cloth to get a better look at his discolored skin, brandished with aggravated cuts and gashes. He hadn't realized he'd been carrying around such heavy damage. It would explain his fatigue but how was he even able to stand?
He held his head as his mind seemed to lapse in time. His thoughts became mixed together and sporadic. Most of them were a blur while others came clear as day. He was starting to doubt whether he was even in Asgard or if this was just another trick. Unable to accept the fact that he'd lived through this torment once already, expunged from his memory just enough to shift his hatred toward another force, as if he didn't have resentments against his captors. They affected his mind and mood as if he was their plaything, stringing him along against his will, swaying his every movement and emotion.
He noticed something in the corner of his eye, darting to meet it when it seemingly vanished. Most likely never there to begin with. He could feel the little hairs on the back of his neck prickle, and his blood ran cold. He shifted his eyes around the room, feeling as though he was not alone. His heart was beating faster but there was no one here. He calmed his breathing so as to not aggravate his already ruined lungs. The subtle spots in his vision were becoming more defined and he was sure he was losing it.
He set his hand heavy against the glass table, bracing himself as his head pulsed to the beat of his heart. He swallowed hard as something crossed his senses. A familiar sense of fear and dread brought along these strange memories. He was sure it was from his time spent in that place. Although he could hardly recall, piecing together his past would be as taxing as repairing a broken mirror. Even if he was able to get the fragments to fit back together again. There's no telling if that image would be clear at the end.
It hit him like a surge of electricity. Searing images in his mind, lingering just long enough to catch a glimpse but the pain associated with it was excruciating. He didn't want to relive it. Not one more moment with the horrible being. He held his head in his open palms, pleading with his subconscious not to reanimate the image of that monster. It was a futile attempt. His head throbbed vigorously, catching glimpses of dark images that sent him into a sense of dread. He couldn't control his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried.
He gripped his hair tight, folding into himself. He dropped down, crouching close to the floor, with his face buried between his knees. It was a terribly uncomfortable position to be in his condition. He balled himself as tight as possible but still the memories he tried so hard to repress were continuing to flood in. The last comforting image was the look his brother had in his eyes, deep ocean blue and full of concern. Thor never wanted any of this to happen; he didn't want to lose his brother. He'd been such a fool for longer than he could remember. He had an act for ruining good things. The two of them weren't so different from each other. He'd been more than careless, arrogant and blind. He wasn't strong enough. That last look from Thor was the proof that he still held a place in his heart. That was before he stabbed him in the back. He was uncertain if there was anything left. He'd be lucky if there was a special place waiting for him in Hel.
"If he'd just let me die, none of this would've happened." There were so many opportunities where he should've perished, he'd all but lost count knowing fate would've been so cruel as to delay the inevitable. Still, why was he still alive? What was his purpose? What would be the point of keeping him here? Subtle satisfaction in knowing he held no control. No direction over his path even now. It seems even in the spaces inbetween when he had little freedom his actions were fueled by the resolve of another.
Everything was going so fast, he was hardly able to keep up. His thoughts raced, flashing back and forth until they had been replaced by worse ones. He couldn't take it anymore. He gripped his head vigorously in order to make it stop, but to no prevail. He was done with remembering the past, it only brought with it shame and heartache. Regret among all others. His nails dug into the sides of his skull, hoping the pain would drown out this feeling.
Not all the pain and suffering he would bring upon himself would ever be enough to atone for the damage he'd caused. His endless suffering. If anything he'd gotten used to that certain feeling of anguish. He'd nearly become tolerant of physical pain. Thanos made sure of that.
Loki paused for a second, that name rang in his head like a distant screech from an unknown assailant. There was this overwhelming sense of dread. It was taboo. He knew if he spoke about him, that it would seal his end. No one was safe. His very existence made Loki shiver. How could such a monster even exist?
"It's my fault." He uttered quietly to himself. "I set off this chain reaction."
Had he known he would have been picked up by that monster he would sooner let Thor finish him off, although knowing him he probably wouldn't have been able to. He was supposed to have met his demise and yet he managed to find something so utterly worse, a living hell. This cage was a cruel reminder of the Sanctuary. Everything was coming back to him. Those memories of torture for almost a year were flooding back to the surface. The feeling of dread engulfed him. His heart started racing, eyes staring blankly forward focusing on nothing particular. Empty windows gazing through the glass.
As his influence faded away, those memories that were locked away rose up along with the pain. The weight of emotion on his shoulders was so heavy he couldn't stand it any more. He slammed his fist against the mirror, shattering it. His mind was turning against him. Memories darted back and forth quicker than he could manage. Every time they cut and cauterized parts of his body. That iniquitous laughter rang in his ears to the sound of his bones breaking, all too familiar. The image of his face was etched perfectly clear in his mind. Along with that diabolical smile. The words he uttered were as effective as the dagger they used to glide through his flesh. That promise he made.
Loki felt like he was going to be sick. There was this looming feeling of uneasiness as his heart beat fast. It was like something was choking him. The wounds he'd long forgotten about started to fester. He felt like he was finally coming off the rails and he was ok with that. For a long time he'd fought this madness. Even though he was close to hyperventilating as he struggled to focus his thoughts. His hands were sweaty and balled into tight fists. He knew he needed to steady himself but everytime he blinked he continued to plague his mind. He could see his ugly face.
"Damn that bastard." Loki grit his teeth, picking up the chair, hurling it with such force that it exploded against the barrier. Sending pieces of wood splintered in every direction and he had to admit, it made him feel better. If only for a moment. The invisible wall that confined him to the tiny room flickered with an orange hue before turning clear again.
He knew destruction was what he was good at. Breaking things has always been used as a way for him to vent his frustrations. But it never did help. Finding it only dug the wound deeper. He'd become what he truly despised. A pathetic puppet. This hatred was all he held on to. As much as he refused to remember, it was inevitable. He was the fly stuck to a sticky paper and no matter how hard he tried he could never be free.
He would do anything to make that monster vacate his memory. Eventually he was sure it would lead to his own self destruction. If not already. He looked at the mess he'd made and it didn't make him feel any better. The only thing he was good for is ruining things. He caused mischief, mayhem and other atrocities. It was a title well earned, not that he was particularly proud of it. His existence has increasingly become an unpleasant one.
The hatred he held for himself was unexplainable. His actions were inexcusable. Rage rampaged over all other emotions. It was unlike him. His heart beat rapidly, like an adrenaline spike, trampling the fear and sorrow. Loki wanted to scream but instead he turned and punched the white wall behind him. Feeling every bit of force as he drove his hand into the surface. Over and over again until cracks spread in the granite. He kept going until he wasn't sure if he'd broken his hand or not. Only a bloodied smear remained. By this time he didn't really care. Finding comfort in the feeling. He'd been a pincushion for nearly a year. After all the pain he'd caused others. Sending countless people to their graves in his name, leading families to ruin the way he led his own. The pain was well deserved.
He held his bloody fist against the wall and hung his head, his long black hair curtained his face. His expression was unreadable. He deserved some kind of punishment. Loki had denounced his title when it all started. Wishing so hard that he could take everything back. Go back to what it once was. Be the one who lived benevolently in the shadows for the rest of his life. The silence; indulging if at all possible in blissful ignorance. Like it was supposed to be. Even after everything Odin refused to torture his son. Choosing instead for him to be comfortably confined. He couldn't understand why, so he was spared. Many have been executed for less. Why did they care? It would have been easier if Odin let him die long ago, at least then none of his suffering would have occurred. He didn't ask for this life.
Any infliction would be a small retribution for his selfishness. He twisted his hand against the wall until blood ran down from the spot. After a moment he pulled it back and studied it. Bits of skin were hanging off and blood oozed from several different places dripping onto the floor. He sighed, lifted his head up to look at the dented surface. His bangs were overgrown, shrouding his eyes still he was able to make out a couple thin cracks underneath the blood and flesh that coated the dent. He wiped the back of his hand against his black pants. He could punch this wall a thousand times and it would never make him feel any better.
"For so long I have prayed for death while under his watch. He made it impossible. What seemed like endless days of torture ultimately turned into months of relentless manipulation. I thought myself free for a little while but even that was too good to be true." He remembered how it was to be in the care of the Chitauri, bringing back bitter memories.
"Those wretched things called me an ally." He balled his bloodied fist. He was nothing more than a puppet to be controlled. That heartless tyrant pulled the strings, forcing him to do horrible things to innocent people. The staff willing him to enjoy every second of it. There was this uncontrollable urge to puke every step of the way, solemnly hoping one of those humans would be strong enough to end his tirade. Alas he'd set his hopes too high. Still they managed to surprise him in the end. He smiled, the end result couldn't be any sweeter of a failure.
The scars on his body ached along with the memory. "How gracious of the Asgardian king to let someone of the likes of you fall into my hands." That voice resonated. He looked around frantically even though he knew no one was there. He hung his head remembering being discarded along with the trash. Those words bellowed deep within him, he would do anything to make that voice stop.
Fueled by anger, Loki kicked the glass table up, knocking it hard against the ceiling, shattering in a heated fury sending shards of glass and wood raining down to the ground. He held his head in frustration, his hair was a tangled mess. Sweat riddled his forehead and ran down his cheek, soaking in the collar of his ruined tunic. There was only so much he could take, without a second thought he reached down and picked up one of the glass shards. He squeezed it in his hand tighter than he thought, slicing into it but that didn't let his grip falter. Thick red blood fell to the floor and pooled around his foot.
'The pain would take it all away, at least for a little while.' He smiled pitifully, his already shallow breathing strained. He stared at the shard in his hand while his mind slowly drifted back, finally drawing a blank. He closed his eyes and against his better judgment and out of desperation, without a second thought he thrust the glass into his side. He let out a faint gasp not fully realizing just what exactly he'd done. Still he plunged it further into his stomach with unyielding determination. It was a familiar feeling, a moment of excruciating pain that after a while faded into something strange. A null feeling that could be mistaken for peace. It gave him the subtle urge to let go, to just give in to the bliss.
But his body was stubborn, even when his mind had come to peace with the idea of death his body continued to fight. Perhaps deep within the broken man that thought remained, the will to survive. Had he pushed his will so far down below the surface that he'd overlooked it. He didn't care enough to resurface it. Living had become too hard. It'd be simpler if he was gone, right? After all, it would be an easy solution to everyone's problems if he died. This was just a taste of what he had endured. Coming to know the peace in the burning sensation his body gave him. The memory was the real torture. Anything he could do to distract himself from that truth was worth it.
His body would heal but his mind never would. He absentmindedly pushed the shard deeper into his flesh, sinking it in about three quarters of the way. Nullifying that empty feeling within while drowning out those faint memories. Replacing it with this sharp physical one. He was unsure if he'd hit anything vital. Not that it really mattered, he just wanted to forget, cease to exist. He blacked out for a moment, stumbling back into the wall. He hit it rather hard with his other side. His legs felt weak. Using it as a crutch until his weight ultimately pulled him down and he met the cold tile floor with a soft thud. He took a shaky breath, his vision becoming increasingly more hazy. He blinked his eyes slowly in attempts to clear his vision but it was almost like his eyelids were sticking together.
His eyes wandered around the small room, wary yet alert, like he was expecting someone or something to happen. Loki was a man of habit. Although deep seeded and with the memory of his captivity a mystery, he'd learned that when he felt pain there was usually more to come. He could feel himself fading. His breathing slow and calmed, no longer panicking. Perhaps trying to remember what happened wasn't such a great idea after all. It wouldn't change anything. While attempting to flee, his pondering mind may very well send himself spiraling into restless sleep.
Thick blood ran out from between his fingers where he held the glass shard, saturating his clothes. His head throbbed along with the pain in his side. He leaned back resting against the wall, angled slightly to the side. His eyes unfocused, concentrating on the pain as it slowly lulled him into a deep darkness. He could feel his body going limp. All was quiet except for his light breathing. The only thing holding him back was himself. He let go and the images slowly faded into darkness.