This chapter may contain some details that might be triggering for anyone who has dealt with complications of childbirth or otherwise lost a child either through a custody battle, illness/death, or some other sinister means like kidnapping. Baby Hela is not in any danger and she is never harmed.
Chapter Six: Two-Faced Terror
Hela smiled, her green-gray eyes bright and locked onto her father. Her little arms wiggled inside the blanket, pushing the cloth out in an attempt to break free. She did not have the strength to undo the tight swaddle the nurse had wrapped.
"It's a beautiful name," Death said. She stared at her daughter with a gaze so soft and warm it made Loki shiver. He had never seen her display such love and affection to someone before, and it unsettled him to discover she had a heart underneath her cold exterior.
Death could love.
Her love for him could only fit one description: horrifying obsession. The sharp glares, holier-than-thou attitude mixed, and sultry platitudes usually directed at Loki could not be found in Death's gentle smile. Her eyes, normally swinging like a pendulum between icy annoyance or fervent lust, were now sugary sweet, wide, and welcoming.
A mother's unconditional love.
Hela felt it, too. Her head had turned when Death spoke, her little face searching to find the source of her mother's voice. The height at which Loki held her prevented her from seeing her mother, but it didn't stop her from trying. Death pushed herself along the bed to sit at a higher angle; she shooed away a nurse who came over to fluff a pillow for more support.
They were alone now, just the three of them.
"She's adorable, isn't she," Death said more than asked. Her fingers twitched in a restrained urge to hold her baby. She adjusted the front of her blouse and smirked, though it held no heat, when she caught Loki recoil at the motion. "I already nursed her. She should be fine for a couple hours."
She patted the bed, wanting him to sit beside her. Loki remained standing.
"I'm not going to bite," Death said.
Sure, not right now she won't, but she'd bitten him before and left a bruise on his collarbone for a few days. The memory from the fateful wedding night gave Loki pause. He shuffled to the side to put himself out of Death's reach.
Death snorted at the futile attempt to distance himself from her.
"Are you—" Loki began only to have Hela squirm in his arms. He tightened his grip and leaned her further into his chest to prevent her from falling.
Hela's eyes scrunched and her lips quivered in an obvious warning foreshadowing a noisy tantrum. Loki braced himself when her head tipped back as far as it could go while supported in the crook of Loki's elbow and opened her mouth to let out an ear-splitting cry. Even Death winced from the high-pitched wail.
"Let me hold her," Death said, urgent and louder than normal to break through Hela's howling.
Loki almost accepted her offer because Hela wouldn't stop writhing in his arms and he didn't want to risk dropping her. However, right when he considered handing her off, Hela's face shifted into a parent's worst nightmare: a father, powerless to stop it, witnessing his daughter die in his arms after less than an hour of life.
In horror, Loki watched half of his daughter's plump, pale yet healthy face decompose in rapid succession. Her lips turned blue and shriveled. The skin went gray and shrunken like a decaying corpse until it tightened into a tar-like black taut against her skull. The skin flaked away to reveal a creamy white skull devoid of any teeth.
Panic seized Loki's heart and he tore at the blanket. Once free and wearing nothing other than a white linen diaper, Hela's arms and legs flailed as she continued to cry.
The back of Loki's knees hit the bed; his legs finally gave out to drop him onto the mattress.
In his arms, Hela twisted and screamed, and he could do nothing but watch.
Her entire left side split perfectly down the middle. From right to left, her body went from normal and healthy to transitioning into various stages of decomposition until it decayed down to the bone. Her skeletal arms and legs thrashed despite having no tendons to hold them together or muscles to move them.
Her rib cage—He could see through her body. By the Norns, he could see through her body!—oddly enough did not expose her heart. If anyone else had their chest flayed open, he would've been able to see the heart nestled behind the ribs. Instead, he could see the floor between the rounded ribs; no blood stained the bones. He could still feel her heartbeat hammering away unseen by some powerful force hiding both it and other organs from view.
Loki swore his heart stopped. His head swam and he would have fainted if not for the instinctual desire to prevent his daughter from slipping from his grasp. He clung to her like a lifeline, hoping the strings of fate would not snap and claim her life far too soon.
He wanted to look away but he feared if he took his eyes off her for even a second, she would slip into permanent slumber.
His daughter somehow clung to life despite having half of her body experience the five stages of decomposition in the manner of minutes.
From somewhere on his right, Death's voice cut through the panic to exclaim unfazed and excited, "She has it!"
Loki barely had enough sense in him to sift through the noise in his head and the ache in his heart to pick out Death's cry of joy.
"Wha—"
"She has it!" Death repeated. She shifted on the bed to rest her chin on Loki's shoulder and peer down at Hela.
Has what?
Death extended a hand over Loki's shoulder toward their daughter and brushed a fingertip along the bony side of her face. "Shhh, it's okay, darling. Mama's got you."
Then it clicked.
Hela inherited Death's powers; she's the heir Death always wanted.
Goddess of Death.
Half living and half dead.
A two-faced terror.
Ironically, Death's touch had a calming effect on Hela. The baby's cries slowed into tear-stained whimpers until only her bottom lip trembled. Her skeleton half began reforming into the normal, less grisly plump body of a healthy newborn; the skin fused the two halves into a seamless union.
"See, it's alright, mi amor," Death said. She tucked a strand of hair behind Loki's ear.
Loki flinched at the touch and bolted to his feet, putting distance between them. From the bed, Death frowned.
"It's fine, Loki."
"Does it hurt her?" Loki questioned. Hela had calmed down now and stuck a thumb in her mouth. Her tears had dried, leaving her pale cheeks slightly shiny from salty stains. For someone who had essentially died, she looked rather content and unbothered by her differing halves.
The image of her decaying, skeletal body would forever haunt him.
"The first time is a shock," Death said, not answering his question. "She will learn to control it."
"Does it hurt her?" Loki growled through clenched teeth. The after-shocks of her wailing rang in his ears like the fiery ache of burns seared into his soul.
"It doesn't hurt me."
"Does it hurt her?" Loki repeated for the third time. His legs felt like jelly and only sheer parental instinct kept him upright.
"It shouldn't. It probably just startled her," Death admitted. Her eyes landed on Hela's little form tucked in the safety of Loki's arms. The blanket had fallen to the floor; without it, Hela could curl her legs to her chest like a little ball of dough.
"Let me hold her." She spread her arms to beckon him over.
Loki shook his head.
"She needs skin-to-skin contact," Death said. She started undoing her blouse. "She's probably hungry from exerting so much energy."
The desire to protect forced his feet to take an unconscious step closer to the bed. Inches away from Death's bedside, he looked down at his daughter. Hela's eyes had slipped closed, her little chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Her cheek smushed her face from where it dug into his bicep and her thumb had fallen from her parted mouth. Both her fists pushed into her cheeks to cup her face and her legs curled up to touch her knees to her elbows.
Loki knew right then he would never, never, leave her behind.
He refused to stay here but he would not abandon his daughter.
"Let me hold her," Death repeated, her arms still spread but her eyes narrowed as she sensed his hesitation.
Death couldn't have her, not if Loki had any say in it. Death had caused all of this. His imprisonment and marriage. His daughter's conception. Hela's half-death.
All of this because the queen of the Afterlife couldn't think of anyone other than herself when she selfishly forced the creation of an heir onto an unwilling participant.
"Loki," Death hissed, keeping her voice low to not disturb the sleeping infant.
"No."
Death pressed her hands into the mattress and pushed herself further along the bed. "Do not argue with me—"
A knock whipped both their heads towards the door. The door creaked when it opened to let a tall figure peek in.
"Vincent," Death growled. "What do you want?"
Vincent stepped fully into the room, unimpeded by the guards who remained ever watchful outside the room. "I—"
His gaze fell on Loki and baby Hela; the reaper's gray eyes softened. He nodded in greeting, his hands clasped behind his back and posture ramrod straight.
Loki returned the nod, having sensed something else in the reaper's gaze.
"We're busy," Death snapped. "Hurry it up!"
"I have come to give my congratulations," Vincent said. He stopped at the foot of the bed.
Loki moved to stand at Vincent's side. Vincent tilted his head to give Loki a brief grim frown. Death glared from the bed.
"Do you want to hold her?" Loki asked. He extended Hela toward the reaper.
Death's lip curled into a disapproving sneer as she watched Loki hand off their baby. When Hela settled into Vincent's arms, Loki bent down to grab the dropped blanket and give it to Vincent.
"She needs her mother," Death snarled, her eyes laser-focused on where Hela snoozed in Vincent's neatly dressed hold.
"And she needs her father," Loki said. He stepped around the bed, his hands curling into fists.
"You dare threaten me? Me?!" Death swung her legs over the edge. She staggered so she spread her palm flat against the wall for support. Her disheveled hair fell across her face and she jerked her head to brush it over her shoulder as she growled.
Vincent took a few hurried steps back, but Loki planted himself into a fighting stance and clenched his fists by his side. His magic stirred, waiting impatiently for release.
"You may have held me captive as your unwilling husband for this long, but not anymore. We're leaving," Loki said, venom lacing his voice as he pointed an accusing finger at his deranged wife.
Death roared and swiped at Loki, but the after-effects of childbirth slowed her uncoordinated attack. Loki raised his hands, brought them to his chest, and flung them out, fingers spread, to counter.
A full wave of energy struck her square in the chest. The force of it sent her flying straight through the wall, plowing a hole beside the bed. The moment she disappeared in the cavity blasted into the obsidian wall, Loki lowered his arms and grinned.
Damn, it felt good to be back.
Not sticking around to see if she landed unharmed, Loki turned tail and ran harder than he ever had in his entire life.
The guards heard the fight and blocked their exit. Loki grabbed the closest spear, twisted it, and yanked it from the guard's grasp. He twirled it in the air, sliced the hand of another guard, and thrust it into the chest of a third.
He dodged a swing of the fourth and rammed the blunt end into the stomach of the first. The second one whose sliced hand had dropped his spear, bent down to pick it up, but Loki kicked it further down the hall.
None of the guards attacked Vincent, or more importantly, Hela. They converged on Loki, who grabbed the helmet of one and jabbed the sharp tip of his purloined spear into the man's chin. Being dead, the guard neither cried in pain nor died from impalement.
Bummer.
It did, however, buy Loki enough time to hoist the guard into the air by his hold on the spear skewered into the skull and toss the struggling guard into the other three. They collapsed into a heap, and Loki took off running.
Behind him, Vincent sidestepped the pile of irate guards and followed Loki. Hela slept through it all, the blanket once again wrapped around her chubby body.
"You need to get to Valhalla," Vincent said. "The connection to Asgard is stronger there."
Having never left the capital city of the Afterlife before, Loki took Hela from Vincent and let the reaper lead. Vincent hurried through the twisting hallways, snuck past more guards, and finally brought them out into the open air of the palace grounds.
They raced across the courtyard and ran into Jiwoo, the damn Korean reaper who brought Loki into this whole mess long ago on that mountaintop.
"Mademoiselle Ji-woo," Vincent said, bowing slightly in acknowledgment.
She returned the bow; her dark eyes slid to Loki when she straightened.
"Vincent-nim, you are a troublemaker," Jiwoo said. Her black hanbok swished as she closed the distance between them. The light from the lamposts around the courtyard glittered off the gold jewelry adorning her outfit.
Through her veiled hat, Loki noticed she had twisted her dark hair into an intricate ponytail with neat bangs covering her forehead. Her dark mauve lips frowned when she glared at Loki.
"You ruined my hanbok," Jiwoo said. Her veil fluttered slightly in the breeze.
"You helped hold me captive against my will," Loki snapped.
Jiwoo's eyebrows raised. "My apologies, I only followed orders. I see now I was wrong to do so."
Her eyes fell on the baby nestled in the warm blanket. "This must be…" Her hand reached out to hover a few inches above Hela's round cheek. Her nails, painted a pale golden-yellow, matched her jewelry.
"Will you let us pass?" Vincent asked.
Jiwoo pulled her hand away and tucked it into her sleeve. Her eyes moved between the other reaper, to the baby, and then to Loki.
She hesitated, then stepped to the side with another bow. "I did not see you here."
Vincent matched the bow; Loki gave her a nod in thanks. She stood silent as they hurried across the palace grounds.
Almost free, they arrived at the gate, only to find themselves facing a dozen armed guards standing ready, their wickedly tipped spears pointed at them.
"Halt! Not another step!" one guard bellowed.
Vincent reacted quicker than Loki. Technically obeying the guard's orders to not move their feet, Vincent grabbed Loki by the forearm and enveloped them in a flash of brilliant white light.
Loki went weightless as if falling through space, and he panicked at the memory of doing the same with Jiwoo months ago at the beginning of this nightmare. He hugged Hela to his chest and hoped for a soft landing somewhere far from the palace.
The ground met his feet before he could think, but instead of a hard jolt of an awkward landing onto the floor of Death's throne room, he staggered on the packed earth. Beside him, Vincent tugged Loki forward; he let his hand slip from Loki's arm when the prince found his balance.
"This way," Vincent said, nodding to the left. His hat remained perched on his head, not a hair out of place nor a wrinkle in his expensive suit.
Loki gathered his bearings and followed Vincent at a brisk pace. He tried to disregard his surroundings as he matched the reaper's stride, but the landscape caught his attention.
The sky had brightened to a cheery light blue expanse full of fluffy white clouds. Instead of a dark forest, a huge mountain range of green encircled their whereabouts. Buildings of similar architectural design to the ones on Asgard stood out against the rocky landscape.
"Is this…"
"Valhalla."
Loki's mouth dropped open and if not for the panic surging through his veins, he would have stopped to gape in stupor at the realm all warriors hoped to achieve after an honorable death in battle. Buildings of gold, silver, and white jutted out along the mountainside. A crystal clear lake lapped against the white, sandy shore. A bridge cut the lake in two, similar to the one on Asgard except the bridge had no color aside from silver and gold highlights in the shiny marble.
Clouds hung low, obscuring several areas in a heavy mist. The sun bounced off the water and illuminated the clouds from the inside. Further down the hill Loki currently stood upon, people milled around in the city. The sound of laughter drifted from several open taverns and the large courtyard near what Loki assumed was the palace or grand hall of the realm.
Tucked between a valley in the mountain range, it stood the tallest of all the buildings. A long set of stairs led to the white and gold palace. A spire stuck out atop the arches and rounded roof like a several-storied longship turned upside down. Blooming flowers of various colors and sturdy oak trees outlined the courtyard at the base of the palace.
"We cannot stay here, Prince Loki," Vincent said when he caught Loki staring.
Loki shook off the dazzling brilliance of Valhalla and increased his pace.
The capital city of the Afterlife had a mysterious beauty akin to an enchanted forest caught between an aura of sinister yet tranquil. Valhalla, on the other hand, had the grandiose splendor of valiant heroes and gallant warriors feasting for eternity in the majestic banquet hall. This realm had no menacing undertones of constant eerieness lurking in the Afterlife's capital. Nevertheless, Loki could sense Death's presence seeping into Valhalla's core, warning him of impending doom. The gentle breeze cooling the warm atmosphere had a hint of ice as it quickened to a little past pleasant.
Nobody stopped them as they rushed to the bridge.
One group tried but did not succeed.
Vincent shoved a small group aside, who parted in confusion and threw a few drunken curses at their audacity to disturb their celebration. One of them even handed off his tankard to a friend and rolled his sleeves to bare his arms in preparation to fight for the apparent dishonor of the reaper accidentally jostling him and causing the man to spill a few drops of his mead.
Vincent ignored them, so Loki did too. The man's friends intervened, letting the reaper, prince, and baby through unimpeded.
"I cannot take you to Asgard by myself," Vincent said when they were out of earshot of the drunken group.
"What? I thought you could teleport?" Loki asked. They jogged up a flight of stone steps and finally hurried onto the bridge expanding low above the water. Mist curled off the lake's surface; the droplets cool against his skin. If not for the water being a few feet or so below the bridge and the water still visible amongst the vapor, Loki would have found the fog's cover unnerving.
"I can but I can only transport you into or within the Afterlife. You will have to find a connection, someone on the other side of the veil, to bring you home," Vincent explained.
Loki stamped down the panic threatening to overwhelm his thoughts. He glanced at Hela as if looking at her gave him strength. Her eyes were still closed in undisturbed sleep, oblivious to everything.
"Heimdall could help," Loki suggested. The gatekeeper always got him out of trouble whenever Thor dragged him along on yet another foolhardy adventure. "Is he able to connect the Bifrost to Valhalla or…"
"No," Vincent said. "He cannot see you here; you will need someone who shares a stronger bond. Blood relation, preferably, and it must be someone who has experience using magic."
They were halfway across the bridge. The wind had increased in speed, the air becoming frosty and stinging. Loki shielded Hela's exposed face from the wind and wracked his thoughts.
Father and Thor were out of the question. Loki didn't trust Odin to hear his cries for help and Thor didn't have much magical prowess.
Mother could do it.
So could Sleipnir.
Sleipnir had a more specific skillset; Loki had helped his eldest son sharpen it over the years. Though still a child, Sleipnir proved more than capable of manipulating pre-existing portals or creating ones of his own. He had both the power and determination to become a highly respected sorcerer, if one looked past the fact that Sleipnir was a horse with eight legs.
"Sleipnir can do it," Loki announced. If not, then he would ask Frigga for help.
"Good," Vincent said. "Get his attention. It will not be easy."
Loki closed his eyes and allowed Vincent to guide him with a hand on his bicep. He focused on the image of his firstborn's face: the gray coat, hazel eyes, and dark mane. Those long lashes making it appear as if he wore eyeliner. The eyes bearing witness to an intelligence hidden behind his physical appearance. The power housed inside the slender yet strong body.
Sleipnir, darling, I need your help, Loki thought. He concentrated on strengthening the mental connection to reach his son's mind. They usually communicated telepathically because a horse could not form regular words. One hard push and the link connected sooner than expected.
I'm here, Sleipnir's voice answered. Where have you been? It's been months! Fenris keeps crying and Jormy won't stop sulking.
I'm sorry, Sleipnir, Loki replied. Tears pricked his eyes at the thought of his sons suffering in his absence. He couldn't afford further distractions so he shoved the emotions down. I will explain later, I promise. Right now, I need your help.
Of course, Sleipnir said. Anything.
Loki heaved a sigh of relief.
Where are you? It's hard to hear, Sleipnir said.
You need to pull me out of the Afterlife.
What?!
Don't panic, son, Loki said. He could not stop trembling from both the anxiety tangled in his chest and from the strain of holding the connection together. I am alive and unharmed. It's complicated, but you need to listen—
A strong gust of wind blew Loki off balance and if not for Vincent's hold, he would have tumbled straight off the bridge. He struggled to open his eyes against the onslaught whipping stinging mist into his face.
Above, the sky had turned a stormy green; the clouds swirled in the makings of a savage tempest. Green lightning flashed across the sky, snaking among the clouds in vivid arcs of energy.
"LOKI!" Death's voice hollered somewhere off in the growing darkness.
What do I do? Sleipnir asked.
Loki turned to Vincent for assurance. The reaper stood frozen in horror staring at the end of the bridge. They were almost at the platform on the far side of the bridge where it dropped into a cloud-covered waterfall toward the lake. He could feel the edges of the realm's border urging him to step away from the platform: a one-way road.
The other direction led straight to a billowing mass of shadow. The fog parted to reveal a silhouette of a bare-footed woman standing feet shoulder-length apart and hands balled into fists at her side. Her dress whipped around her knees and her tangled hair flew frantically behind her head, further tangling her already disheveled hair.
Death strode along the bridge, slow yet steady. Her smeared eyeshadow and smudged lipstick turned her furious expression wild. As she approached, her livid scowl became more noticeable. Blood dripped from under her dress, painting dark red rivers down her legs and staining the bridge in bloody footprints.
"Give me back my daughter!" Death yelled, the wind amplifying her snarl.
Now, Sleipnir! Loki mentally shouted. There are two of us, Loki did not count Vincent because the reaper could teleport on his own, Bring us home!
I'm trying! Sleipninr replied, his voice wavering in and out from exertion. You're far away.
"Leave us!" Vincent shouted at Death.
Trapped on the platform, nothing other than the drop into the lake and the realm's border at their back, Vincent and Loki stood their ground. Loki held Hela against his chest and hoped she couldn't feel his racing heart.
You need to help me! Sleipnir begged, the tone a dagger in Loki's already bruised heart. It hurt to hear his son in so much pain and he longed to pull his eldest into a hug.
He couldn't, not while Death hunted him down.
Out of options, Loki handed Hela off to Vincent to free his hands. He let his magic spark to life; it illuminated the darkness in an emerald green strikingly similar to the spooky fern shade mixed in the clouds. He blocked out all senses; the storm faded into a distant hum and the stinging wind receded to a dull ache.
"You son of a Jötun hóra!" Death roared, slicing through his meditation.
"What did you say?!" Loki yelled. Green light danced around his balled fists.
Death cackled. "For a god of lies, you sure fail to see the ones woven by your own family."
"You bikkja—" Loki shouted. Vincent stopped him from advancing by anchoring an arm across his chest.
Death spat on the ground and pointed a sharp-nailed finger at him. "I know more about you than you know about yourself. So don't assume you can beat me. You made a mistake."
"The only mistake I made was believing you had a heart!" Loki snapped.
Death laughed, the sound sending a tremor down Loki's spine. "I have a heart. It's black, but it's no longer yours."
"So you're finally considering a divorce?" Loki snarked.
He heard Sleipnir asking for help again. He let his magic flow freely across the cosmos to meet Sleipnir's powers halfway. Their energies combined, finally linking the two together. It wavered in a shaky hold; it wouldn't last long.
"I'm finally considering a lot of things," Death said. Despite the blood trailing behind her and staining the bottom half of her dress, she continued to stalk forward, a predator on a hunt. "Like maybe ripping out your heart and feeding it to Cerberus. Or Ammit. She would loooove the taste of your unworthy, tainted corpse."
She spat out the last word like a curse as her curved dagger appeared in her hand. She took one step and then pounced.
In a last-ditch effort, Loki waved his hands to perform a familiar spell and braced himself. A wave of energy surged forth to turn the air shimmery before it cracked like shards of glass. It suspended Death mid-lunge, her dagger inches away from Loki's face.
Her eyes widened as Loki pushed the spell forward. The light enveloped Death and she disappeared—trapped in the Mirror Dimension.
Shocked, Loki stared at the empty space before him. Already, the storm began to dissipate and the shadows parted to reveal a startled crowd standing on the far end of the bridge watching the whole showdown take place.
"Loki," Vincent said, bringing Loki back to the present. "We need to go."
Vincent returned Hela, who had awoken yet only had an expression of mild curiosity, to Loki. Having his daughter safe and in his arms once more, Loki let Vincent's hand slip into the crook of his elbow.
Closing his eyes, Loki let his magic wash over them and allowed Sleipnir to take control.
Now, son, Loki ordered gently. Bring us home.
The familiar sensation similar to the Bifrost's method of transportation engulfed them and hauled the trio away from Valhalla. It hurt like someone tried to yank his soul from his body while splitting his atoms apart.
He heard someone scream; it took a minute to realize it was himself. Hela shrieked to match his alarm. Vincent remained quiet.
Something hard struck Loki's spine, sending a staticky convulsion throughout his body. His nervous system went numb but his arms remained locked in place to hold a wailing, blanketed baby.
"Loki!" Frigga's voice called.
Loki had never been more relieved to hear his mother's voice than now, and for a moment, he could feel at ease in the warmness of safety.
Loki peeled his eyes open and blinked away the blurriness. A groan escaped his lips as his vision finally cleared to reveal Frigga kneeling beside him. The hushed trickling of a fountain hummed softly behind him; he must have hit the edge of the stone basin.
Frigga pulled her son into a warm embrace, but her scent of flowers and home did little to ease his nerves. "Where have you been?! We've been worried sick! We hadn't heard anything from you for months, and then Sleipnir told me you needed help. We—"
Her voice faded as his mind drifted into creeping terror.
Across from him, Sleipnir got to his feet on shaky legs; Fenris came around a bench to support his brother. Jormungandr slid down from where he wrapped himself around a light post behind the bench. Both the wolf pup and the serpent had grown so much; it made Loki's fluttering heart ache.
Vincent stood beside them, keeping his distance, a pinched expression on his normally stoic face. Their eyes met and Loki couldn't stop the frightened tears from rolling down his cheeks.
He had escaped Death, had trapped her in the Mirror Dimension.
It wouldn't hold, and he couldn't run forever.
Right now, he was safe, surrounded by his family, and he should rejoice at their reunion after spending so long apart.
Death would come for him. It was only a matter of time.
In the myths, Sleipnir was occasionally used by Odin to bring the dead into the afterlife. "Two-Faced Terror" is a nickname for Hel(a) in the myths.