Oh, I should mention: ***spoilers for Agatha All Along***
Chapter Two: A Date with Death
"I have had my sights on you for a while now, Loki," Death's voice sang, chilling yet sultry.
The hooded figure stepped back and let Loki drop onto his feet. He coughed as air rushed down his bruised throat and into his burning lungs. He watched on shaking, oxygen-starved legs as slim fingers reached up toward the figure's hood and slipped it off. A full head of dark hair fell loose like a waterfall along her back. The bony features smoothed into the plump skin of a young woman.
Dark green eyeshadow shimmered around deep, brown eyes as the woman gave Loki a once-over. Sharp, painted fingernails glittered in the pale light of the torch when her hand came up to trace along Loki's jawline.
"What do you want?" Loki snapped, trying everything to hold himself still and not flinch from her touch.
Her blood-red lips tugged into a smirk, seemingly able to see into his head and perceive the wariness bubbling under the surface.
"You," she said. Her fingers spread to fully grasp his chin. Tilting his head sideways, she walked around him, forcing him to look at her from over his shoulder when she stopped behind him. "You're exactly what I've been looking for."
Loki tried not to move as her breath brushed against the back of his neck and rustled the hair curling around his ears. Her fingers tightened underneath his involuntary shiver. "What does Death want with me?"
"Your power." Death let go of him and sauntered to stand in front of him again. Pulling out a curved dagger, she plucked the tip of it and studied her fingernails. Brown eyes flicked up to stare at him, pinning him in place with a single glare.
"I'm not—" Loki muttered, nerves overtaking all sense of control. He felt oddly aware of his body and how he compared to the woman standing before him. Like a spider to a panther, she could crush him underfoot and not chip her beautifully manicured fingernails.
"Strong enough? Able to control it?" Death interrupted, her eyes flashing. "Those are all petty excuses for someone who has yet to reach your limit. You have a well of untapped power; you just need to seek it. And I think you know full well what you are capable of if provoked."
Loki resisted the urge to scoff. "If you're trying to provoke me, it won't work. I'm not stupid."
Death titled her head to the side, her dagger glinting in the pale light. "You're scared of me."
"Any reasonable person would."
"And yet you're not questioning my existence or why you're standing face-to-face with someone never thought to be a physical being." Death wagged her dagger at him like one would a finger if wishing to scold someone while also seeing the amusement in the other's mistake. "See, this is why I like you. You know how to pick your battles. This will make everything much easier."
The questions were only unspoken in his head, left to simmer beneath the surface of his carefully constructed facade. Of course, there were stories of death told in every culture, in every realm. Death was a natural part of life and the expected end of everything. Never once did he think he would meet the living personification of a construct only theorized to have a corporeal form by the most obscure existentialism scholars.
"I apologize for the theatrics but your magic is rather difficult to manipulate, even for me. There is a reason why I brought you here, Loki," Death continued, circling him again. "I want an heir."
"What?" Loki's wavered. Confusion and concern rose in strength to form the beginnings of a storm of questions. Why would Death need an heir? Didn't Death live forever, or whatever constituted as living for someone associated with the end of all living creatures?
And he hadn't failed to open the Mirror Dimension. Well, he wouldn't have failed if not for her somehow influencing his spell and tossing him off-course. She'd been there all along, watching him until the time came to pull him from Asgard and send him into the Afterlife whilst alive.
Death stopped her pacing and stared directly at Loki. Stuck between her and the large brimstone column behind him, Loki could only hold her gaze. Death's dark, floor-length robes swished as she tapped her dagger toward the center of his chest.
"I'm sure you're wondering why," Death said. She shrugged, nonchalant. "Truth is, it's a lot of work running the Afterlife alone. Sure, there are death gods around to help but all they ever do is focus on their particular region. And the reapers are all..." she waved a hand in the air to search for a certain word, "too simple to run this place by themselves.
"I want more help, someone to replace me in case I wish to take a vacation...or retire. Death needs to exist to keep the sacred balance, and I can't take a break without risking the collapse of everything I have worked hard for. So, I need an heir. And you," her dagger flashed wickedly, the sharp tip inches away from his lips, "are going to be the father."
Words failed to come to mind. Minutes passed as Death studied him, waiting for a response, but Loki couldn't move, couldn't think. The weight from earlier pressed in on him harder than before, rooting him to the spot, drowning him in shadows.
Why him? What had he done to garner Death's attention? He didn't want this. Very few would want to stand in his shoes, forced into having relations with a deity powerful enough to wipe out entire civilizations. Some would succumb to the power luring them in. Most would break apart at the thought of creating life through Death.
Loki fell in between. On the one hand, he knew he could not refuse because the pure energy radiating from her warned him to tread carefully or face dire consequences. The idea of fathering someone powerful enough to have total reign over the entire Afterlife and all the souls living in the eternal realms has its appeal. It would put him in a tactically advantageous position no one else could ever achieve, opening a gateway to an endless slew of possibilities to have Death herself as an ally.
On the other hand, Loki had no idea how the All-Father would react to his son bringing home another child produced through abominable means. Odin already hated Loki's other kids, and this would only shatter the ever-thinning ice Loki had been treading on from the day he presented Sleipnir to the king.
Loki also didn't want to choose between obeying Death out of nothing more than fear or possibly dying a long and painful demise if he refused. He had no way out; Death already had her eyes set on him and no matter how hard he fought it, he could not escape. Nobody could escape Death. Death came for everyone, even the gods; agreeing to her plan could put him in a better position to bargain for whatever he wished.
By agreeing, he could only lose his dignity. If he refused, he could lose everything. He had no idea if this could actually work and if it did, by doing so, he could unleash a powerful being strong enough to wipe out all of life in a single thought. Death, while frightening and necessary, had rules and balance to maintain. If their unholy union brought forth a less compassionate and disciplined being, then Loki would have to face the consequences of his actions and live forever knowing he had a hand in creating a true monster.
"What if I refuse?" Loki asked, finally choking something out in a less-than-confident tone. He hated how scared he sounded, but given the circumstances and the woman standing a few feet away, he figured he could react as such without anyone judging him for being too cowardly.
Death's head reared back and she let out a loud laugh. Her dark eyes narrowed, and a sudden wind whipped around them, pushing Loki forward enough to feel her breath on his face. "I wouldn't anger me. You are in no position to disagree."
"I'm already courting someone," Loki said. The excuse sounded pathetic even to his ears, but he had no other rational arguments to sway her against this idea. He angled his face away when her lips brushed like a kiss of fallen leaf against his cheek.
"Ah, yes, your beloved Sigyn." Death pulled back and turned to face the throne room. "All I have to do is send a few reapers," she curled her fingers excitedly, "and Sigyn will cease to live. And when it's your time to go…"
Death whirled around, suddenly appearing inches in front of him. Her dagger pressed against the bottom of his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. "You won't get to see her in the Afterlife. She'll be mine, forever, and I will still get what I want, one way or the other."
The dagger sliced a thin line in his skin from his Adam's apple to the bottom of his chin. Before the blood could drip down onto his shirt, Death dragged her finger in the crimson trickle. Bringing the bloodied finger to her lips, she licked it off, her lips making a quick 'pop' as she smirked.
"It's up to you, Loki. Do what I want, or your precious Sigyn will die."
Something inside of Loki snapped, all reason evaporating at the thought of Sigyn getting hurt. Swift like the lightning summoned from Thor's hammer, he dropped low and pulled another dagger from its sheath in his left boot. Stabbing downward, he pierced Death in the chest.
She grunted, more out of annoyance than anything else, and curled her fingers around his wrist.
"Stupid mistake, prince of mischief," Death hissed.
"Touch Sigyn, and I'll—"
Death burst into a cackle, her grip on his wrist tightening. "And you'll what? Kill me?" Her expression hardened. "You know you cannot do such a thing. You're forgetting one important piece of information. Everywhere is my domain. All roads lead to me. All it takes is one unfortunate accident, and your sweet, sweet Sigyn will meet her premature demise.
Death's frown turned into a facsimile of a pout. "Don't be selfish, Loki, I know you love her. Fighting me will only hurt her. I wouldn't risk it if I were you."
Cutting off any response, Death waved her free hand. The vines from the columns snaked down toward the floor and then upward around his legs. Thin yet strong, the branches curled up his torso and finally stopped when they latched onto his wrists. Covered in vines looping around his body like a rope, Loki struggled. Another wave from Death's hand sent the vines pulling Loki back into the column and binding him immobile.
"I didn't want to do this," Death said, her eyes batting softly as if sad.
Death touched Loki's cheek and the vines fell loose. Moments before he hit the ground, the room shifted and he found himself landing on a plush carpet. Rolling to his feet, he growled and lunged at her. She dodged and he hit a bedpost connected to a large bed.
Shaking it off, Loki turned around to see Death standing casually at the door, her dagger back in her hand.
She tsked and shook her head. "I thought you were better than this."
"Wait until I get my magic back and we'll see how well I fare in a fight," Loki hissed.
Death giggled, the sound jarring to his ears. She rolled her eyes and tossed her hair over her shoulder, her long sleeves fluttering like a flower in a breeze. A flick of her wrist sent her dagger vanishing into thin air.
"I will give you until the morning to decide how you want to proceed," Death said, her calm demeanor contrasting the rage boiling inside Loki. "Either way, no matter what you choose, the wedding will be tomorrow evening. Do not disappoint me."
Then she disappeared into a shadow, leaving Loki alone in the room. Finding his second wind fueled by fury, Loki dashed toward the door hoping to knock it down. Banging his fists on the door did nothing to break the lock; it didn't even budge or shake in its frame from his constant assault. No doorhandle meant no exit. No magic meant he couldn't blast his way through or teleport out of here.
Dammit.
No matter what he did, he was at the complete and utter mercy of Death.
In case it's unclear, this Lady Death is the Rio Vidal version from Agatha All Along with a few details from the comics.