This originally started as a one-shot I wrote for one of my classes, and then I decided to expand it. Then Agatha All Along gave me some more ideas (I know the connection might not make much sense right now, but it will become clear later on), and now I'm back with an updated version to fit the canon better.

Chapter title is from Agust D's (ft. Max Schneider) "Burn It".

Chapter One: Burn It

What a stupid plan, and of course, it all came down to Thor's idiotic choices.

Never mind that Loki gleefully accepted the idea of watching Odin's palace finally get its comeuppance even though some nagging thought reminded him he had grown up here and would be burning his entire childhood—however rough and unpleasant at times—to the ground.

Placing Surtur's crown into the Eternal Flame did not take much effort. Leaving the palace as Surtur arose could catch even the most thought-out plan off-guard.

Of course, he should have expected it, but in the heat of the moment—pun not intended—it slipped his mind.

After all, Surtur ruled Muspelheim—the realm of the Fire Demons and all things a Jotun despised.

Originally, Loki thought Thor might have been onto something, using Surtur to take down Hela. Now, Loki cursed Thor for coming up with such an outrageous idea, cursed himself for agreeing with it, and cursed Hela's entire existence warranting him being in the palace as it burned around him.

He could have easily taken the Grandmaster's ship and flown off, found somewhere safe, and started a new life far away from this mess. Deep down, Loki knew he would regret leaving Thor—and his entire realm—behind. After all those years of struggling to regain Thor's trust and to prove himself worthy of his brother's love, Loki wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he left Thor to almost certain doom.

All thoughts of betraying Thor—again—vanished as all thoughts shifted to getting out alive.

Right after he placed Surtur's crown into the Eternal Flame, Loki waited a moment to make sure it worked before dashing off. He didn't look back as Surtur emerged and burst through the palace, breaking support beams and setting everything ablaze. Smoke instantly curled into the air, turning it thick and hazy with dark gray clouds and making it difficult to see and even harder to breathe.

Any normal Asgardian would've considered the plan stupid and downright dangerous. Being a Frost Giant only made it ten times worse. A Frost Giant, against a Fire Demon.

Yes, Thor, what a brilliant idea.

He would've rather have faced Hela and all her terrifying yet weird familiarity.

The heat alone could kill him. If not, breathing in too much smoke or getting crushed by a falling beam would certainly do him in if he didn't get out immediately.

Loki ran through the halls, trying to find the way back to the ship he had parked on a large balcony. Having lived here his entire life, Loki knew the palace by heart. He had memorized the layout of the halls and the several secret passageways in case he needed to get to safety quickly in case of an attack. Mostly, he used the passageways to wander the halls at night and play tricks on unsuspecting people without getting caught.

Even with the palace memorized, the smoke and heat made it hard to focus. With each step, his feet became heavier. Flames licked at his clothes, singed his hair, and threatened to burn him alive. The longer he spent in the castle, the more likely he could die.

Keeping that morbid thought in mind, Loki forced himself to pick up his pace. He stumbled over loose rubble, feet slipping. Coughing, Loki put a hand over his mouth and leaned against the wall for balance, unintentionally placing a hand against a metal wall sconce.

The metal felt like putting his hand into a bucket of lava. Crying out in pain, Loki pulled his burned hand away from the wall and cradled it against his chest. Keeping his hand close to him and coughing into the other, Loki struggled through the halls.

Beams and bits of broken ceiling fell around him. Sweat rolled into his eyes, blurring his vision even further. On the amassing piles of rubble, he almost twisted an ankle several times.

Dodging the worst of the debris, Loki finally found the ship. Even through the smoke, the outlandish paint job made it easy to spot. Filled with renewed energy, Loki ran towards his only chance of survival.

Fate, as always, worked against him.

Seemingly out of nowhere, a blast of fire shot straight towards him. The already large inferno grew in size until the flames on the floor could reach the ceiling. An enormous support beam crashed down, blocking the way to the ship.

Cursing, Loki peered through the flames, looking for a way out. Rubble or fire blocked all available paths. Cracks snaked across the ceiling, threatening to give out at any moment.

Sweat slid down Loki's face and back. Dizzy and weak, he felt like collapsing. His lungs hurt from breathing too much smoke and he couldn't stop coughing. The coughs racked his body, causing his weak limbs to sway under the force.

Another blast of fire forced Loki to his knees. Hacking, Loki attempted to crawl through a small opening under the beam. His attempts proved futile as a sudden shift in the floor caused the beam to drop onto Loki, pinning his legs underneath and trapping him in the fiery nightmare.

Loki cried out in pain and tried to pull his leg out. The beam, however, refused to move. Reaching out, Loki's fingers barely brushed the side of the ship. The visually upsetting color scheme mocked him for coming so close only to fail.

Loki struggled, stretching to touch the ship. He didn't know what he expected by doing so, but it gave him a sense of hope—like he wouldn't die buried alive under a pile of burning rock in the palace he once called home.

The attempt to reach the ship stretched his already sore limbs beyond a threshold Loki couldn't handle. Despite the desperation, Loki shifted his focus to the beam trapping him in place. Using both hands, Loki tried to push the beam off of him. The combination of a bad angle and exhaustion did nothing to move the weight from his leg.

Loki dropped his head onto the ground, staring up at the ceiling. Through various cracks, Loki could see Surtur's large, fiery leg standing in the ruins of the palace. A loud, deep rumbling above suggested Surtur proclaiming his birthright as the final destroyer of Asgard. Too out of it to understand the words, Loki's eyes went unfocused.

So this is it, Loki thought as the world spun around him, his vision narrowing and blurring with each passing moment, This is how I die…

Out of all the places he could've died, it had to be lying face-up, pinned, in his childhood home. Funny, how life tends to come full circle. He could have—should have—died when he fell from the Bifrost. Or on Svartalfheim.

In the Void, Thanos almost killed him numerous times—teasing him to the edge only to jolt him back to life as a way to assert total dominance.

Death would be too merciful, Thanos had said.

And then, Thanos would start the cycle all over again, not caring about Loki's desire to die simply so he would finally break free of the Mad Titan's clutches.

On the bridge, he had let go because he had wanted to die—hopeless.

Of course, when hope finally came fluttering back like a lost bird returning to its ruined nest, everything went up in smoke. Right when he hoped to reunite with his beloved woman and his brother and willing himself to start things over again to atone for his mistakes, he would die before he even made an effort.

Instead, all the hope got crushed under several tones of stone as the cracks in the ceiling finally gave out.

Too exhausted to fight it, Loki watched the chunks rain down in a stupor, wishing he could at least see his loved ones one last time. Eyes closing, he reached out to brush the side of the Grandmaster's stolen ship—accepting his fate.

Almost as if Surtur claimed the last laugh, before the ceiling could bury him alive, Asgard exploded.