Chapter 1: Forsaken
Loki was tired. Tired and weary.
After the failed attempt to conquer earth, he had been dragged back to Asgard by his brother, a very very angry Thor. Thor did not like it when things were out of his control, and is showed.
Loki knew that Odin would be furious; his mind restlessly playing with different scenarios of an angry Odin giving him his sentence – and the most plausible one he could come up with was death.
Loki did not fret though; he had escaped death many times before and felt that if his luck had finally run out, he would submit to his sentence freely.
He was led straight from the rainbow bridge to the almost empty throne room, where Odin stood next to his wife Frigga, glowering at his fallen son. Loki could see tears on Frigga’s face. He realized that they had thought him dead, and seeing him back must be a shock to everyone as much as it had been to Thor.
“Loki Lafeyson.” Odin thundered.
Well, that was not a good start.
“You have brought shame on the house of Odin.
You have betrayed our trust and that of the realms by stealing the Tesserack and putting it into the hands of the Chintauri, putting everyone in mortal danger, bringing war to Midgard!”
Loki bowed his head. He knew of his short comings, but then again – Odin had denied him before he was dropped into space, he had no loyalty to Asgard. He did what he had to.
“You are hereby stripped of your title of Odinson, prince of Asgard. “
Well, that was not really a big surprise.
“You shall be brought to the dungeon and stay there until I command it.”
Odin turns to Thor, looking old and weary.
“Thor, you shall bring him and sustain any other punishment you see fit. You have been wronged by your brother more so than any one of us. I will leave this in your hands.”
Loki’s eyes glance over to Thor, who stands stoic and gives a sharp nod.
Loki is surprised by what he thought a lenient sentence. Having expected death, centuries in the dungeon seemed merciful, especially as the trickster god valued his life and always enjoyed it as much as he could. Also, being at the mercy of his brother was almost laughable, as Thor had always been someone to judge quick and harsh, but Loki also knew that his brother had a foolish love for him that would probably spare him from the most horrific torture.
“Come Loki.” Thor turns around without meeting Loki’s eyes, grabbing the chain between his shackles tighter and pulling him along behind him.
The cell that Thor chooses is deep in the entrails of Asgard, far beneath the ground.
The smell of wet walls growing fungus and leeches is overpowering, the stones sweating liquid on the slippery ground, mixed with the smell of ash and fire from the torches burning along the wall.
Loki knows that without the shackles holding his magic he would be able to feel all the souls that had pained and lost their lives in these depths. He knows this because he had been in this part of Asgard before, torturing lost souls himself, adding them to the silent wall of never-ending screams.
After a long walk through a labyrinth of tunnels and alcoves, the small group stops in front of an unmarked dark door.
Thor turns around to face Loki, his face lacking any expression.
Loki looks at the door, and shrugs. It is not a big surprise that they would want to make him as uncomfortable as possible, and there is nothing he can do at this point anyway.
He stretches out his arms to show Thor his shackles, a questioning look on his face.
Thor shakes his head. “Your pants and anything else you can remove Loki. We shall not unshackle you and give you access to your magic.”
Loki shrugs once again, bends forward and starts with removing his shoes, pulling them off slowly and then moving on to his pants, unbinding them with the string, careful not to drop them to the dirty floor when climbing out of them, folding them into a neat stack and placing them on top of his boots.
He does not remove his drawers, hoping that he will be able to cover his modesty, but Thor gives a sharp nod, and again Loki complies. He is tired.
For his jacket and shirt, a guard pulls a knife and steps towards him, cutting through the hard leather, ripping and pulling his coat and undershirt off him, revealing a snow-white body beneath it.
Once they are done, Loki stands naked in front of the men, thanking his heritage and knowledge that the cold he will be facing from now on will be a minor challenge due his Jotun blood.
The cell they push Loki into seemed standard, rather small, foul-smelling straw in one corner, dark, oily puddles covering the floor. No bunk. No light. Nothing to make anyone comfortable in any way.
Again, no surprise.
Before Loki can further assess his situation, he is pushed with his back against a wall, and a hook is lowered from the ceiling and is attached to the magical chain holding his manacles. Once secured so he won’t be able to remove it, the chain is pulled up again, raising his arms above his head until he is stretched to his toes, the manacles cutting into his wrists.
His legs are spread and shackled to the wall beneath him.
Thor steps forward, cocking his head. He examines Loki, scanning his whole body to ensure that he is secured and cannot break free of his shackles. He gives a testing pull at his bonds, making Loki wince behind his gag when the rings around his wrist cut even deeper.
“Loki, we shall remove the gag as it will hinder any feeding in the future, but I do not wish anyone to be exposed to your silver tongue spinning lies and twisting the truth. Therefore I shall bind your tongue otherwise. “
Loki raises one of his eyebrows, wondering what his brother has in mind.
One of the guards steps forward, passing a small silver box to Thor.
Thor opens it, pulling out a needle and long golden threat.
Loki’s eyes narrow, as he knows what is in store for him. He has had his mouth sewn shut once before, after a quarrel with Brokk the dwarf, and he is not keen to have it done again.
Thor studies the thread, pulling its golden length through his fingers, nods, and puts it back in the box.
When Thor faces him, Loki tried to put all discontent and anger into his gaze, throwing it at Thor in the twilight of the cell. If he is bound in a small cell far beneath the earth, what difference will make to anyone to sew his lips shut? They could send a deaf person to feed him.
Well, obviously Thor has a darker side than he had thought, and struggling against his fate will not make this easier for any of them. Then again, he does not really want to make it easy on Thor….
“Now brother, none of your words will make any difference, so I would prefer if you stay quiet.”
Thor steps next to Loki, reaches around his head and starts to unfasten the metal gag that has been silencing him since Midgard. He pulls a small chain of keys from around his throat and Loki thinks he can hear two locks being opened, but he is not sure. He is somewhat relieved to be rid of the gag that cut into his cheeks, but when compared with a sewn mouth….well, neither of them is appealing, but the gag at least allowed him to move his lips if he wanted to.
Finally the gag releases and clatters to the floor. Loki uses his new freedom to stretch his face, massaging the inside of his mouth with his tongue. He follows Thor with his eyes as he reaches for the silver box once again and removes a small bottle.
Loki puts all of the pleading into his voice he can muster, as he knows he only has this one shot.
“Thor… you know that you don’t have to do this, my magic is bound and there is no harm of me being able to speak to myself! It will drive me mad to be left in silence for however long Odin believes is necessary. “
Loki wills his pleading eyes to water, silently proud of the tear slipping down his cheek, his silver tongue at its best. Forcing fear into his voice, he lets it shake ever so slightly.
“I swear to stay silent when someone comes in, please brother, have mercy…”
Thor spins around, his eyes blazing at his shackled brother. “Mercy? Mercy? The way you showed mercy to Midgard? The way you would have shown mercy to me or anyone else that was in your way? I think not Loki.”
Thor grabs Loki’s hair and pulls his head back, sending more, this time involuntary tears to Loki’s eyes.
He pours the bottle’s content over Loki’s mouth, and Loki knows from the sting that it is to sterilize his lips before pushing the needle through his flesh. At the same time the liquid does not numb him the way it did the last time, so he will feel everything when the sewing commences.
Thor returns the bottle to the guard, picking up the thread and needle.
He turns around again, taking Loki’s chin in his hand.
“Now brother, do not struggle, or I might miss my aim”.
Loki shakes his head as hard as he can as the needle comes closer, but Thor’s grip is hard as steel, and he now pushes him back against the wall, limiting his range.
Two guards step up to both sides of him and push Loki’s shoulders back to the wall, each grabbing his hair on each side of his face, holding him steady.
The first stitch goes into his left bottom lip, sending pain into his spine, but it is nothing that he cannot handle. After all, he has faced the Hulk; nothing really comes close after that kind of punishment.
The stitches come fast and clean, the only really painful part is when the thread is pulled in its path, pulling the lip forward and together. Thor does not cruelly delay or slow down the process, but he also does not seem to take special care not to hurt him.
By the 6th or so stitch Loki manages to move away, pushing his head to the side and Thor pierces his cheek instead. Instead of cursing Loki, he just steadies his grip on Loki’s chin, holding him painfully tight and continues with his work.
Loki can feel the magic binding his words and his tongue as coppery blood fills his mouth, binding every sound, groan, sigh inside him until the magic thread is removed once more. He swallows the blood and tries to heal his bleeding lips, but to no avail. No magic. Not anymore.
When Thor is finished, he pulls a knot at the end of the thread, cuts it with his knife and steps back to examine his work.
Loki counted 12 stitches connecting the top lip to the bottom, feeling all of them now blend together in white-hot throbbing pain. The thread is not too tight, giving just enough way for him to open his mouth slightly to suck air in.
He tries a small groan and confirms that no sound reaches past his lips.
Thor nods and turns away.
He gives a sign, and the chains holding Loki in a standing position is lowered so that now he can sit down, with his hands still fastened above him, but this way he may find some rest.
“We shall leave.” Thor turns and leaves, without as much as another look at his chained, bleeding brother now kneeling on the floor, the guards following his lead.
He closes the door behind him, leaving Loki in darkness with his throbbing mouth and his skin crawling with the cold, damp darkness.
The darkness is eternal, never-ending.
As Loki is a god, he does not need continuous nourishment or liquid, he can survive without it for extended periods of time. Thor also knows this, and so he gave order to feed Loki every 4 days with beef broth and water to keep him alive, but no more.
The time between these sparse meals, fed to him by a straw through his sew lips, seem to last forever to Loki as they are the only welcome distraction in his days spend sitting against the rough wall in the darkness.
His lips start to heal. He tries to move them every now and then and the burning stops after a while, leaving him without pain or further bleeding.
He starts to stretch them and tries to expand the opening, but the magic thread won’t allow it. He gives up after a while.
After weeks and months of imprisonment Loki is starting to wonder whether there will be no further punishment for him.
He imagined Thor coming up with plans of torture, anything from the ancient rules of Asgard how to handle traitors or any other criminals. His mind has wandered endlessly through all the punishments he has witnessed as well as read about, and he had run through every scenario in his head.
Public punishment, flogging, burning, cutting, removal of limbs, breaking of bones, threading, whipping, drowing, piercing…the list is endless really.
He also wondered what his reaction would be to each of the different tortures, almost savoring the thoughts in the long lonely hours.
He can’t imagine that for his punishment all that will happen is to keep him kept chained and silenced in a dark cell for all time, but at this point that is what it seems.
Loki is woken by sounds that seem out of place. Nowadays every sound wakes him, novelties not to be missed in Loki’s quiet, dark world.
Loki strains to hear.
They come closer, talking loudly, laughing, singing even.
It sounds like drunken men, which by itself is not unusual for an Asgardian, drinking being one of the national pass times, but this deep down in the dungeons normally only guards on duty are allowed.
Drinking during duty is a grief offense, and it is not something that anyone would want to stand the punishment for.
The voices get louder and finally they seem to stop on front of his cell.
Loki can hear keys jingle as they are pushed in the door, taking a much longer time than usual to open the unwilling lock.
Loki is bewildered. He feels almost interested, even though his mind has been keeping him more or less entertained, whatever distraction is in store for him is almost…welcome?
But of course Loki has had a lot of time to think of all the punishment he would bestow on Thor or anyone else for that matter if they had him chained up here, and now all these scenarios flick by in his mind, fast as lightening, screaming through his brain and tense his muscles.
When the door finally opens, Loki closes his eyes to get them slowly used to any light he knows from experience will blind him for some time otherwise.
After so much time in utter darkness, his green eyes tear up and sting when slowly opened, and it takes him long minutes to adjust to the light of torches.
There are three men that stumble in as soon as the door opens their noise painful to Loki’s ears used to the silence.
“There he is, our silver tongue, our little princess, lost a little weight now, have you?”
Loki blinks, eyes tearing, trying to put faces to the voices, but can’t. From what he can see, the clothes they sport are from the Asgardian guards, but he does not seem to be able to place them in his mind.
Loki tried to push himself up on the wall, his knees trembling fatigued and weak.
He has used his bit of freedom by standing up and sitting down several times of what he thought a day was and walking the three steps his chains allow him to again and again.
He eyes the men warily, not sure if to finally expect the torture that he has been waiting for so long. Then again, would not Thor be present as well? And surely, they would not send three guards, drunk at that, of which two of them seem to be mere boys?
He can see the men clearer now. He does not know them, but his earlier suspicions are correct, they are part of the Asgardian guards wearing the uniform of the men watching the outer walls.
Three men, two of them rather young, blond, tall, sun burnt and lean, and one slightly older , darker man with a large stomach and fatty stains in front of his shirt. All of them seem to be intoxicated and reek of ale and mead. Loki crinkles his nose and turns away. He sits back eying the intruders.
The three stare at him as if unsure what to do next, then one pushes the torch he is carrying into a metal ring in the wall.
A young blond man steps forward, grinning widely, grabbing Loki’s hair, pulling him up to face him.
“Have you been lonely, oh god lies? Have you been crying yourself to sleep?”
His mouth comes close to Loki’s face, and Loki almost chokes on the stink of alcohol.
His eyes blaze fury and he jerks his head to the side, trying to rid himself of the hand tangled in his hair.
The young man tightens his grip for a moment before he pushes Loki back against the wall. Loki, not expecting this, falls forwards, his fall abruptly stopped by his shackled wrists, sending spears of pains in his arms and breaking the skin once more, metal digging into his flesh. Loki pulls in a hiss of pain.
“Our former prince stinks. I think we will need to clean this little whore before we can play.”
Loki is trying to process what is being said – a moment later a bucket of cold water is poured over his head, making him gasp involuntarily, ripping at the healed seams of his sewn lips, washing coppery blood into his mouth. Loki swears under his breath, shakes his head like a dog and looks up at his tormentors. Are they here to wash him?
Not that he is complaining, mind you, he has not been cleansed in a long time, and he can only imagine that he smells like a caged animal at this point. It just seems so – out of place – and not at all what he had expected.
He can feel the drops running along his naked body, dampening the already moldy straw around him, and he feels more awake, more alive, than he has for a long time.
The young man that has talked to him takes a long swig from the mead bottle he is holding, before he passes it to his companion.
“Our little princess has been alone long enough; we shall rid him of his loneliness, right comrades?”
He gets to his knees, grabs Loki’s ankles and pulls them towards him, Loki falling backwards his head cracking into the wall. Stars circle his eyes for short moments, then a wave of nausea hits his stomach and he fights to not throw up the little watery substance and bile that is within him.
The taste of blood that he had just swallowed washed back into his mouth and Loki closes his eyes and concentrates on keeping himself from retching, to safe himself from bloodying his lips any further or choking on his own vomit for that matter.
The god of lies stays as still as possible until his stomach calms and stills.
He is pulled forward by rough hands, as far as the chains around his wrists and ankles allows, and when he opens his eyes again, he can see the young man kneeling in front of him fumbling with his trousers. The young guard is swaying back and forth due to too much drink, but Loki can see the man’s arousal form a dent in pants, and his breath is going fast the way only men lusting sport.
It dawns on Loki then why these men are here, and he pushes himself back using his feet and hands, pressing himself to the wall.
It can’t be, it can’t be….
Obviously rape as punishment has crossed his mind, but never in his life would he have thought that Thor would allow this. Then again, Thor was not here.
But they had the key….
The men had noticed his wide eyes and scrambling against the wall.
“Oh, is our little princess scared? Don’t worry my lovely, you will enjoy this, I promise”
The man had finally freed his cock and a wide grin splits his face. Again, he pulls Loki forwards, gives him a punch in the stomach for good measure which freezes Loki in place and spit into his palm. He rubs the spittle on his fingers and uses one hand to push Loki’s knees back towards his chest, cursing as the chains around Loki’s ankles restrain the movement. The other hand glides past Loki’s flaccid penis to his small, puckered entrance.
When he reaches it, the young man grins and pushes two fingers in, not enough spit or other fluids easing the way, burning painfully.
Loki tenses up, his mind trying to cope with what is happening, the fingers in his ass burning hot, rubbing, forcing themselves in again and again, roughly preparing him to be taken by loosening his tight muscles.
He has had male lovers before, mostly toping them, or when bottoming himself being able to prepare himself using magic. Pain was never something the trickster was too fond of.
He inflicted, but did not receive.
Loki starts to struggle weakly as the fingers move faster, pushing into him, earning himself a slap in the face.
The other two men crowd around him, grinning, one of them, kicking him into his side to still him.
The pain explodes in his ribcage and he now focuses on pulling air in and out of his lungs, through his sewn lips and nose, concentrating on the bare essentials of staying alive.
“The bastard is tense” the man who is still working on widening him growls, and the other young guard steps forward and pours Ale over Loki’s ass, alcohol burning on the stretched and bleeding flesh.
The guard adds another finger and finally a fourth, pushing and pulling, too aroused to take his time to ease the way. By now Loki can feel the fingers slipping in and out easier, connecting the burning sensation to the possibilities of bleeds.
With the little nourishment Loki has been receiving, the short struggle has robbed him already of most of his energy, leaving him panting under the man’s fingers but not able to defend himself any more. The restriction of his raised hands and shackled ankles leaves him no room for escape, and no matter how much he squirms, there is no way for him to go.
After another slap that leaves his ears ringing he stops struggling.
All Loki can now do at this point is trying to memorize his tormentor’s faces in case he will ever be free and able to seek justice. That possibility seems very far away, but it is something for Loki to hold on to while being stretched and finger-fucked like the meanest spoil of war.
Finally the man pulls out his fingers and guides his erect cock towards Loki’s ass, settling it to his tight hole and slowly pushing into the warm cavern beneath it. He lets out a satisfied groan while he pushes himself in, Loki can feel his flesh tearing and blood easing the way, as the red hot burning sensation is filling him from the inside. The pain shoots into his spine, his flesh not prepared for being filled, his body tensing, creating more pain.
The young man grabs Loki’s narrow hips pushing them into the stinking straw below and starts rutting, his head thrown back, making small groaning sounds every time he sheaths.
All the god of mischief can do now is try to relax his whole body to allow his rapist easier access and to erase the pain of his ass clenching, making the intrusion harder on himself.
But it is hard to relax when hate burns so brightly.
Loki tries to focus on the flames of one of the torches, distracting himself from what is going on in and on his body, trying to ignore the tearing pain, his hot innards that are being punished with every push. Every now and then the man strikes into his pleasure centre as he can go deep in this position, but Loki is thankful that at least in his current state of hunger and weakness keeps his own body from reacting in any treacherous way he would be ashamed of.
The young man has the vigor of youth, and he keeps slamming into him without pause, pressing Loki further and further into the wall, his shoulders rubbing against the cold stone floor. His comrades cheer him on, his faces looming close behind him, one already rubbing himself while a small string of spit gleams on his lip.
Harder and harder Loki is being fucked, taking to new heights of pain, the pounding increasing and seemingly never-ending. Finally his tormentor lets out a long groan, pushes in once more hot seed filling the trickster, shuddering and collapses on Loki. He stays there, eyes closed; Loki can feel his heart pumping against his chest. The weight on the god of lies is heavy like a stone, but his sewn lips swallow his sounds of discomfort.
Loki can hear another one of the men stir before the man on top of him is pulled back by his comrade who has been rubbing himself and now stands above them without his pants, his cock red and erect in the torch light.
“My turn, get off.”
Loki closes his eyes.
They take him several times that night, by the time one of them is finished another one starts again.
Also, they tell their friends. And Loki has more visitors from then on.
Men visit him regularly now. In small groups. In large groups. They seem to be there all the time.
At one point he stops caring. He stops fighting and struggling. He lets them turn him on his stomach, prop him against the wall, take him any way they can think of. For once he is happy that his mouth is sewn shut, at least he is spared the humility of being orally fucked as well, raped by more than one man at a time. He is slick with cum of many, many men, he stops counting at one point. No one washes him, but they start to bring along a cloth to clean him before they use him, as he turns sticky with unwashed juices.
One day he sees Thor.
A man is rutting on top of him, his hands as always above him bound by shackles, the rhythmical slapping of flesh against flesh filling his ears. There are 5 or 6 other men, drinking, laughing, playing dice and patiently waiting their turn.
When he sees Thor, he tenses, causing himself pain, and his dull green eyes lock the blue ones of his brother. He raises his head and balls his hands into fists.
He pleads with his eyes. He sends all his pain and frustration and anger into his gaze, willing Thor to understand him, to realize what is going on here and to stop it. To stop them from raping his brother day and night.
Thor stares at him for a moment, stares at the men who went silent, looking at their prince. Even the man on top of Loki has stopped moving, staring at his king. They all wait for the reaction, no one sure what will happen.
Thor lowers his eyes, turns and leaves.
He leaves Loki.
Loki lies back down, tries to relax his ass as much as possible, a tear rolling down his cheek, the one and only real one he has shed so far and will from now on.
Forsaken. Forsaken and forgotten. The kingdom’s whore.
So be it.
They feed him more frequently now, every 2nd day instead of every 4th, maybe because the man feeding him reported back to Thor how his brother had lost the light in his eyes and stopped moving even when he came into the room.
He takes no more care to swallow what is being fed to him, more than half of the broth and water running out between the stitches. His energy is gone.
And then the nausea started.
Loki thought it was from the constant stench of sex and seed surrounding him. The constant abuse had finally hit his stomach. He was not surprised really that now his body would turn against him.
The nausea did not leave him anymore, a constant companion that made him gag whenever he was fed his broth or water. The guard feeding him would watch as Loki retched behind sewn lips, a slightly interested look on his face as if wondering what would happen if Loki ever did throw up and if he would choke on the liquid.
In the end Loki won each battle, but it left him feeling weaker and emptier than he did before. He was a shell. He felt sick when he was not fed as well, waves hitting him and once or twice he had to bend over to gag, blooding his lips once more, but his body fighting to keep what was necessary inside of him.
Not that Loki cared anymore.
The smell of the men that visited him seemed stronger than before, and the stench of his own body and the smell of spilled seed and sex in the room did not let him go. It bothered him now, and he felt he could distinguish the men by smell alone, their sweat, what they had eaten, the ale, their unwashed clothes.
He got tender. His skin felt translucent, each rough touch went straight to his bone, each twist of his nipple made him hiss in pain.
Then his belly started to stretch.
When he finally started noticing it, he wondered if he was sick, his mind not allowing the truth to reach him.
While the rest of his body had slowly turned gaunt, sharp bones showing through his skin, his stomach rounded as if he had eaten too much, in stark contrast to the rest of his body.
He could see the puzzled look on the faces of the men that visited him, and as the months passed and his stomach ballooned further, they started to stay away.
At one point he knew that even though he was malnourished and broken, that he was with child.
Two men remained, they visited him frequently, maybe finding his swelling body exotic, but when the bump started to descend they too stayed away. Loki was alone once more.
When he realized that this would spare him from rape for a while, he started to calm and croon to his stomach, finding new hope in this new life that was forming within him.
Loki stopped jumping at small noises, hungry again for his broth, life shining again in his eyes.
A child. The idea was so abstract that it took him a long time to understand what this would mean.
He concentrates on his womb, not able to touch but following the movements of the new life inside him, he finds his peace again.
Loki is sure that now someone will have to take him to the healing room when it is time to deliver the child, wash him, remove the stitches from his mouth to properly feed him and nurse him back to health, before continuing his sentence.
Loki waits for them. From experience he knows that his pregnancy lasts about 15 months, and he is sure that he is close to delivery. But they do not come.
They continue to feed him every second day, Loki’s eyes searching the man’s face that brings the soup, finding nothing but disgust in his eyes. Loki looks away and does not try again to silently plead for mercy or help with the man.
He knows that his state is monitored though.
And he waits for them to come.
Finally he goes into labor.
From giving birth to Svaðilfari he recognizes the tightening around his stomach, the mounting pain in his back, the heat flashes that run down his spine.
Still hoping for help Loki rattles his chains between contractions, waiting for someone to notice and take him away, to give him the chance to change into a woman or to use magic to open his stomach and remove the baby.
There is no one.
The waves gnawing into his intestine flash all the way back to his spine, doubling him over.
Once he realizes that no one is going to aid him, he tries to remember everything he can from birthing his last son, but that had been in the form of a female mare, and he was not even sure how a man would give birth. He knows that Jotun give birth, but he believes that they use the aid of magicians to help them open their bellies to help the children into the world.
He is in labor for hours, and when the contractions are getting close to each other, maybe a minute apart, he pulls himself up by his chains and squats on the floor. He keeps breathing over the pain that washes over him, trying not to drown in the ocean of blood-red hurt that tries to pull him down.
And that is when he hears something.
He looks up, his mind filled with hope.
Thank Thor, Odin, anyone that they have heard his silent pleads and are here to help him.
They did not forget about him after all.
The door opens, and Loki closes his eyes against the uncomfortable brightness.
Someone fastens a torch above his head. The brightness of the flickering light makes his eyes water, and he waits. He waits for words, a helping hand, anything.
But there is nothing.
When his eyes stop tearing, he looks around and sees a shadow in the corner.
Just sitting, not moving, not helping.
Loki blinks away the water in his eyes that makes his sight fuzzy, concentrating on the large shadow standing in the corner, towering above him.
He blinks. He cannot imagine what his brother would do here, now, watching him writhe in pain, his hands chained above him, his feet shackled to the ground.
Just then another contraction hits him, stronger than the ones before, and he groans into the magic threat swallowing his sounds, doubling him over.
When this one eases, he raises his head once more, staring into the dark corner, willing the shadow, Thor, to move, to say something, to do…. Anything.
But there is nothing. Not a sound. Nothing at all.
Another contraction. The distance between them is now mere seconds; they start to chase each leaving the god hardly any time to catch his breath in-between.
Loki cringes in the pain that is so much worse than anything he has ever felt before.
How will this child without his magic or proper care make it into this world?
He leans forward as far as his shackles around his hands allow, cutting deep into his wrists, partially distracting of the pain that destroys his insides. When he feels light headed he realizes that the pain has made him hold his breath and he pulls air shakily through his tortured lips, demanding it to go into his bowels, to loosen them and supply them with the oxygen that is needed.
And then there are no more breaks, and all he can do is start to push, to get rid of this being that moves inside him, to keep it from killing him.
The pain breaks him in half, and he starts to scream, tearing his lips newly, not caring, screaming, screaming, his screams swallowed by magic that binds him.
He keeps pushing with the pain, against it, feeling blood gush from his anus, slowly stretching.
So this is how it works… he manages to think.
He can feel the small being slide down into his cavern, stretching it, and he keeps pushing and pushing until he can hear his insides rip, blood gushing from him. His anus splits with a loud sound, and he can feel the little being leaving his body. He stops pushing, feeling it still halfway inside him, burning on his open, split flesh, and presses one more time.
He is empty. His knees give way, and careful not to lie on his new-born babe, he sinks down next to it and glides into unconsciousness, the last thing he hears are the mewling sounds of his new-born child.
When he wakes Thor is gone. So is his child. He slowly fights himself out of the web of his deep healing sleep, and pushes himself up. He is still covered in blood and other substances, now dried and sticking to his skin, itching.
He twists and turns, looking for his child, his babe, panicking for a moment that he may have lain on it while sleeping, but it is not there. It is gone.
And this is when Loki can feel his heart break, he throws his head back and howls his silent pain into the seams closing his mouth, the tears he has held back for so long flowing freely down his cheeks, crying for himself, crying for his lost child, crying for all that has gone wrong in his life.
After a couple of weeks of healing, the men start coming back to visit him.
And Loki wonders how many children he will need to bear to make up for his crimes against Midgard,,,,,
Chapter 2: Hope
Still confined to his prison and after birthing a second child, Loki sees a way to maybe free himself.....
Please note that this chapter is still very explicit before Loki can start to take his revenge in the upcoming chapters.....
Thor did not return to visit his brother after the birthing.
Neither did Loki see or hear about his child again.
But the men returned. Oh yes.
It takes a couple of months, before he knows that he is pregnant once more.
The second baby is easier to deliver, as Loki’s body and mind is already prepared for what was going to happen to him, not hoping for any more help during his pregnancy or labor.
This time Loki managed to stay awake after the very long and painful delivery, and bent over as much as his chains allowed examining his child in the darkness.
As the door to his cells has not been closed for months, maybe even years (he has lost track of time), a little light now falls into his cell, allowing for some vision in the faint dusk of the room, even if not too much.
This one was a small boy, making loud mewling sounds on the dirty floor, and it hurt Loki almost physically that he could not bend down and pick up the small being that was his son and hold him, cradle him.
He watched the child settled down, wishing he could make the crooning sounds that lay on his lips, and in the end exhaustion overwhelms him and he curls up around the small warm body, trying to keep it from getting too cold on the stone floor of the cell.
When he wakes, the boy is gone.
Also, this was expected.
Loki mourns for a while, hot tears running down his face, but he knows that wherever his baby is now, it could only be better than here.
Unless of course they killed the bastard of the changeling traitor.
Loki was too tired to worry about it.
After the second birth, it seemed that the malnourishment of Loki’s body keeps him from growing with child again, and he is glad.
Also, more and more of the men start to stay away.
It was probably the fact that the pregnancies are now showing on his body, his abused flesh not tight anymore, the continuous rape and giving birth to two children leaving him loose and open, his stomach stretched, his body haggard and thinner than ever before.
Maybe it also lost its novelty to be raping the former prince of Asgard.
Loki did not know and did not care, he was just happy that things seemed to calm down around him as he was tired.
Oh so tired.
There were still 3 men that seemed to come around on a regular basis, and the trickster god knew their smell, their habits, and their needs. He lived by the predictable rhythm of their coming and going, like waves or tides, it was something for Loki to measure the passing of time.
One of the men, a fat disgusting mountain of a warrior liked to torture. He would bring a knife along and pierce and cut, watching as Loki wreathed in pain, his eyes gleaming like a mad man. Sometimes he switched it up and brought fire or needles or other little devices that did not cause permanent harm but were painful nonetheless.
He never really injured Loki bad enough to threaten his life, but his imagination was extensive, and he loved to fuck the trickster while running his fingers through open flesh or burning circles into the otherwise pale skin, feeling the man under him rear in pain.
Loki felt a cold fire of hate and vengeance start to burn whenever this man came and went and he knew that the hate would keep him sane.
The second one was an old and ugly, foul smelling troll of a man, and Loki was sure that he had to pay for sex otherwise, so he took what he could for free.
And then there was the third one.
It was a young man, blond like most Asgardian’s, dashing good looks, painfully reminding him of Thor. He had been part of his rapes since the beginning, but over time he would start to hold back, and then Loki noticed him being much more careful than the others, preparing him with oil, being almost gentle when taking him, sometimes caressing his skin. The others started to make fun of him, calling him “Loki’s lover”, but the young man did not seem to mind, his hands careful when touching Loki, his eyes locking on Loki’s green ones, holding him like a lover would.
It disgusted Loki as much as the man that came to inflict pain.
As most men came around less and less over time, distaste on their faces at the state of his broken body, the young blond man would visit more, visible enjoying to spend time alone with Loki.
One day the youngster must have made a conscious decision, because something changed when he gently fucked the trickster, trying to lock his eyes, but not receiving any response either from Loki’s body or his gaze.
When he visited the next time, he carried a bucket in his hand, sloshing water on the floor as he walked.
He stands, uncertain, for a while, just staring at Loki who his sitting up, leaning against the cold stone behind him, watching the young man, his eyes narrow and wary.
Almost careful the blond man approaches him, as someone would a startled animal. Loki’s eyes narrow.
The young man gets to his knees in front of Loki, putting down the bucket, some soapy water spilling to the ground.
Still Loki is weary, but hope starts to bubble up in him, wishing that after all this time maybe, maybe….something good may happen.
“Lord Loki, I….” the young man stutters, then blushes a deep crimson red in the torch light, shaking his head.
“I have never introduced myself. My name is Bjork. I am here to wash you.” he says simply.
Bjork. It meant “to rescue or save”.
How fitting. Loki sneers into his stitches.
The water is warm. Loki lets out a groan when it touches his abused body, as it starts to dissolve the layers of grime clinging to him accumulated over the years.
Bjork starts with Loki’s face, carefully working around his closed eyes and stitched mouth, the sponge soft on the grimy flesh, removing layer after layer of dirt, working carefully and thoroughly.
The young man is especially careful around Loki’s mouth, soaking the magic strands, careful not to inflict pain, pulling off old crusted blood and grime with his fingertips, gently touching Loki’s lips and lingering a little too long.
He pushes Loki’s hair back moistening his forehead, binding Loki’s tangled, greasy locks that now reaches down to his hip in a small bun on the back of his neck. When he is finished with his face, he continues to his neck and ears, thoroughly washing even behind them, making sure that no area is left that has not been touched by the warm sponge.
After a tense beginning Loki allows himself to lean back and follow the warm, caressing movements of the warm, silky water. He is almost…grateful.
Bjork rises and now starts to wash Loki’s fingers that the trickster slowly unclenches, moving along his palms down to the burning sensation of raw flesh that is always open where the manacles cut into him.
He follows down along his arms; the warm water running down the bound mans back and chest, leaving white trails in the otherwise grubby body.
Nothing has felt this good in a very long time.
When Bjork reaches Loki’s chest, he stops.
The trickster slowly opens his eyes, and sees that the water in the bucket has turned black.
Bjork had been silently washing him, but now he speaks, almost apologetic.
“Lord, I shall get fresh water, I shall not be long”.
He gets up, taking the bucket of black water and leaves.
Feeling at least partially clean and very refreshed, Loki relaxes even more, smelling the fine scent of sandalwood over normal stink in his cell.
That was the only explanation.
Something like hope flickers in the depth of Loki’s mind, not defined yet, but it has been a long time that he has felt that way. And the faint sensation of a plan is starting to form.
When the young man returns, he now carries two buckets of clean, slightly steaming water and Loki follows him with his eyes as he once again gets to his knees, applying the warm soapy water to his chest and moving down in slow, careful circles. Loki can feel the sponge gliding over his protruding rips, the many small cuts and bruises that cover his body, presents of torture and humiliation and cleaning them, taking special care not to inflict any more pain.
When he reaches Loki’s penis, the demigod gives a quick involuntary jerk, but settles in when the young man gives him a quick glance and starts crooning the way one would to a jumpy horse, not stopping with the soft strokes of the sponge, meant to clean and sooth instead of arouse.
Loki tries to relax as he can feel the many layers of seed, blood and grime come off, almost like washing away the humiliation itself.
By the time the washing is over, Loki has sunk into a calm and relaxed state and the warmth of the water and the softness of the towel that now glides over Loki’s body coaxes him into a deep, dreamless sleep, more at peace than he has been since he was locked into this cell.
After this, things change.
The young man comes by regularly now, washing the demigod, rubbing salve on his wounds, combing his hair, kneading lotion into his tired muscles.
He tells Loki stories about his life, about Asgard, the mighty and just king Thor, rumors, he babbles non-stop, his hands stroking Loki’s face the way one would a pet.
Loki wishes he could ask about his children, what has happened to them, but as he is mute all he can do is listen, savoring every word like a treat, hoping that the endless rambles will eventually tell him what he wants, nay needs to hear.
But Bjork does not seem to know or care about the demigods bastards, and so Loki learns more about an Asgardian’s guard’s life than he ever wanted to know. Still, after years of silence, each piece of information is like a precious gem.
Loki wonders if Thor will step in, discipline Bjork and him for changing the trickster’s punishment, but for the time being it seems that no one bothers the two, and Loki will take the spoiling as long as he can.
Thor may just have forgotten about his brother.
Also, there is food.
The first time the young man brings him a warm, rich soup that is thicker than his usual thin broth he is feed reluctantly by guards ever second day, Bjork holding the straw and calmly coaxing Loki to finish it, stroking his hair.
Different types of broth.
Sweet soup, flavored with honey.
In the beginning Loki’s stomach revolts, and once or twice Loki has to retch and throws up the contents of his unwilling stomach trough the small openings of his sewn mouth, vomit dripping down his chin onto his chest, his whole body shaking in spasms. His stomach bloats, iron claws ripping into his intestine, but his body needs and starts to crave the nourishment, the fats and vitamins, the sugars and minerals.
With time Loki starts to feel hungry again, the sustenance very slowly returning some strength to Loki’s burned out body. His eyes start to shine, the food painting color into his cheeks, bringing a certain joy along with them.
Bjork still fucks him of course.
The feeding and bathing ritual did not change his need or lust for Loki’s body; on the contrary, it seemed to increase it, as if he now has the right to claim the bound body for all he is giving him.
Still, the young man is gentle and careful; whispering sweet nothings into his ears, as if he does not realize that even a gentle fuck is still rape.
But Loki’s mind keeps turning and he knows that this …whatever this is will be for his advantage.
One day as the young man blabbers on while feeding Loki warm milk with honey, Bjork changes his tone of voice, to almost serious.
He looks around as if to make sure that no one else is in the room with them, and then runs his fingers through Loki’s hair caressing his cheeks and whispers to the trickster:
“My lord, we should run away together….”
Loki’s whole body tenses. His eyes fly open. The young man does not notice and continues to ramble, spinning ideas of the two of them leaving to another realm, living together as lovers, Bjork working and Loki could take care of the house, blablabla.
Loki slowly turns his head, facing the blond man, purposely rattling his chains, forcing him to acknowledge him and nods.
Once. Strongly. Hungrily. Green eyes burning into blue ones. catching them, holding them.
The man is visibly taken back, for Loki never reacts to any of his stories. It usually was like talking to a wall or an animal that does not understand, does not respond.
Bjork stutters, stands up, stammering about some of his duties and leaves the cell as if he was chased by demons.
Loki leans back.
He knows that a seed he has planted will slowly grow.
All he needs is patience and time.
And time is the only thing he has plenty of.
As Loki is growing healthier and stronger, filling out over the months with nourishing food and proper care, the word is getting around and some of the men that have stayed away return.
Bjork stays away for a while after Loki’s reaction to his thoughtless suggestion of fleeing together, but when he shows up again after what seemed like weeks, his demeanor has changed. He still cleans and feeds Loki, but he seems to have a new purpose and his eyes are troubled, avoiding Loki’s burning green stares.
But he keeps coming back.
When he fucks Loki, the trickster now makes himself react to the caressing hands, he lifts his hips as if to welcome the invading cock, closes his eyes, pretends to enjoy the young man’s rutting.
Loki slowly transforms back into the god of lies, even with his silver tongue bound, his body and eyes betraying his real thoughts and mind.
Loki is scheming.
And he continues to be patient.
Bjork is like a moth attracted to a burning flame. He will do what is needed in time.
Then, one day, the time has come.
Just as Loki has predicted.
Bjork arrives as two men take their turns rutting on Loki, waiting patiently in the back of the room, and burning eyes on his bound Lord and Master.
Loki watches the young man over the shoulder of his current rapist, noting the changed aura of impatience and fear surrounding Bjork, putting what may be interpreted as love and hope into his green sparkling eyes.
The boy has no chance. None at all.
When they were finally alone, he comes to Loki, takes his face into his hands and pressed a long, lingering kiss on the sewn lips of the demigod.
Bjork has the keys.
He draws them from his trouser pockets, fumbling nervously, sweat beading on his forehead, his face a sickly green color.
The steps of the men that have left faded a while back, and the surrounding is quiet apart from the jingling of the keys in the young man’s hands.
Bjork hesitates for a moment, searching Loki’s eyes for approval and when Loki nods, he pushes a key into the left shackle that binds the god’s hands over his head. Loki just stares at him and forces himself to stay calm and wait for Bjork to twist the key until the lock opens with a quiet click.
Loki’s arm falls into his lap. Pain shoots from his shoulder into his body, as his muscles that have been forced into the same position for so long, and he feels like his flesh is ripped apart.
But it is nothing compared with the burning triumph Loki can feel in the put of his stomach.
Free. Finally free.
Bjork opens the second shackle, sending more shooting pain into the tricksters tortured body, drinking it up like sweet nectar, knowing that the pain means freedom.
Loki collapses, his body used to being held by the manacles and chains, and the degenerated muscles quiver and scream, burning under his skin.
“My lord, …”he is caught before he falls over, Bjork softly cradling him in his arms as the trickster lay useless in his lap, tears of joy and pain running down his checks.
Bjork pulls a small knife from his belt
“I am so sorry my lord, I should have done this first…please Lord, relax…”
Holding the demigod up with one hand, Bjork carefully pushes the blade of the small knife between his lips, sawing at the magic string, cutting strand by strand carefully. When he is done, he backs off, watching Loki take a trembling breath, opening his mouth, a small groan escaping. It sounds hoarse and detached from him, his vocal cords cramping from the lack of use, but they work.
His voice is back.
When the manacles around his feet are removed Bjork brushes a finger over Loki’s cheek, pushes a lingering kiss on his mouth and stands.
“You are free my lord”.
Loki can feel the magic returning to his body, liberated from the magic-binding manacles and mouth-restraining thread that kept it imprisoned, awakened again like an animal after a long slumber.
Loki groans at the sensation of power washes though his body, returning to its master, startled as the sound leaves his lip, loud and strange in his own ears.
He is tingling and murmurs a spell, feeling the healing power slowly crawling over him, knitting ripped muscle fibers, pushing out the threat and healing the holes in his lips, attending to his cuts and burns, knitting his ripped and torn insides from years of abuse and child birth, tightening him back to his old self.
The magic takes a lot of his accumulated energy while healing him, and Loki slumps over, losing consciousness for a couple of seconds.
Slow down – he thinks to himself when he regains consciousness….
“Lord…Lord, are you well? Is there anything I can do?”
Loki just stares at him and then takes hold of Bjorks hands.
Yes. Actually there is.
And pulls with his mind.
Bjorks’s vitality starts to stream into his body, hesitant first, then faster and faster, Loki drawing the energy of youth from the man, first slowly then greedily taking anything that comes his way.
The young man is strong and his life pulsates bright red inside him, slowing down with Loki’s hunger.
Loki takes it all.
Every last drop.
Only when Bjork collapses on him does he let go of the life-giving hands.
He is alive. He is full of energy. He is well. He has triumphed.
Loki stands. His energy is renewed, his wounds are mostly healed. Hate that he has suppressed for so long starts to bubble in the bottom of his soul and takes him over. He stands for a while, his head cocked, just thinking. And then he starts to grin.
Chapter 3: Burn, Asgard, Burn
Just to let you know, I am taking a lot of liberty in the rest of the piece. I tried to read up as much about Loki’s powers, background and children, a as I could, but then I just threw most of it out the window and ran with the story you see below.
So don’t expect any accuracy with Norse mythology or Marvel Loki. It is pretty much AU.
WARNING: blood, gore, more blood, torture, major character death, lots of death, Loki is losing his shit, non-con
When the regular rapists, the fat torturer warrior, the ugly troll and another man step into the open cell, there is a short moment of confusion when in the place where Loki normally lies, an unmoving blond figure has taken his place. They stand and stare for several seconds, dumbfounded by this unexpected event.
The door slams shut behind them.
“Gentlemen, shall we?”
And Loki descends upon them.
About two days later, when the regular guard comes by to feed Loki, the door is still closed.
“Visitor hours are over guys…” he calls as he pushes the heavy wooden door open, sometimes walking in on groups of men fucking , treating it as the nuisance that it is, keeping him from fulfilling his job.
Not that he minds really, even though it is not his cup of tea, but he is not interested in staying longer in this cell than absolutely necessary, and he wishes to feed the god as fast as he can so he can get on with his day.
The first thing that hits him when the door creaks open is the stench.
It is thick, coppery blood stink mixed with the stench of fear, death and excrements.
“They finally killed him” it flashes through his mind.
Then his brain shuts off when he sees the cell.
The walls are painted in different shades of red with blood and gore, a slow dripping sound coming from the right where a skinned man dangles from the ceiling, hanging by his own intestines that spill out of his stomach. He is still alive and gurgles when he sees the incoming guard, twitching slightly.
On the left, in the shackles that held Loki is an undistinguishable red mass, a big red hole where the genitals used to be, the face peeled off and hanging from his chin in a big shiny red flab. He also is slowly moving, almost lazily, winding on the floor.
A dead blond man lies next to him, this one untouched, a deathly white parlor on the body.
And in the middle of the room stands Loki, now the god of evil, of vengeance, of pure mayhem.
He stares at the guard frozen at the door, grinning widely with blood-stained teeth, his hand elbow-deep in the stomach cavity of a third man that is slowly struggling, making wet, slurping sounds that bubble along with blood out of his mouth.
Loki pulls out his hand almost casually, the man going to his knees, held up by a hook that protrudes from his shoulder blade.
“You are just in time to join the celebration” Loki croons, and with lightening speed he is upon the guard that has just walked in, sinking his teeth into the man’s screaming throat, ripping it out, leaving him mutely convulsing on the floor.
Loki walks towards the door and closes it almost carefully.
“Now, where were we?”
He looks down at his new guest, his eyes lighting up in pure enjoyment.
“Ah yes, the man that feeds. That has treated me so carefully over the years. What shall we do with you? Your tongue and stomach are mine, you see, as I am practicing justice today, and I guess you are next in line. ”
And like an angel of death he descends on the guard scrambling on the floor, wide eyes full of fear.
Loki is sated.
He is brimming full of energy, having soaked up the life of 4 men in the last 3 days, replacing partially what he has lost but leaving enough life in his victims to torture them for days.
The men were unlucky to be the first ones to feel his wrath. He knew that if the plan he made up in his head was successful, many more would feel his anger, and he would bring the well-deserved mayhem upon them. The blood feast swirled comfortably in his stomach, and he would bring blood and fire to Asgard.
His need for revenge is boiling inside of him, just being wakened by the days in the torture chamber were a nice start to what he knew would follow.
When men in the chamber proof too broken to be amusing, Loki uses his magic to clean himself of the layers of blood, gore, vomit and excrements that cover him, tightening and lengthening the clothes he took from the guards to fit properly. His body was much frailer than it used to be, and he would have to rely on his magic for a while to keep him running until he could settle down and attend to his physical needs.
Loki is no more the god of mischief, lies and harmless pranks.
He is the now the lord of Mayhem, of destruction, bringing death and war and vengeance on the realm that has treated him with less respect than any animal.
Loki knows exactly what he needs to do next.
Find his children.
In that order if possible.
If his children are alive or still in Asgard, of course.
But he knows where to find this information, and he is ready to do anything necessary to get it.
And more of course.
Much much more.
When he steps out of his cell, Loki uses his magical senses to feel the way of the entrance.
After years of confinement the movement of his feet on the ground and the sheer length of the empty corridor in front of him overwhelm him, but the thought of the destruction he will bring on this realm pushes him to walk faster. He straightens his body from the crouch that it has taken on.
He is a god. He used to be king. And he shall crawl no more.
Flames spark from his fingertips, but he is not going to light the dungeon on fire.
At least not yet.
Whenever a guard crosses his way, he either kills them with a quick burst of flames or tortures them more slowly, depending whether he recognizes him as one of his visitors. So deep in the dungeon, there are not many, and Loki does not have to worry about being caught yet.
Most of the men he walks into have graced the god of mayhem with their present in the last couple of years, their faces and deeds flashing behind Loki’s eyes as he grabs them.
First, he silences all noise with magic that he covers them with.
He rips of their genitals first, watches them as they are forced to eat their own cock, then binding their limps and voices by magic before he peels of their skins either with a small knife or by a quick spell and a flick of the wrist when he gets more impatient. The he lights them on fire.
When Loki walks away, he can see their flopping bodies on the floor, screaming silently, the fire lazily eating at their flesh magically constraint to not burn too fast to give the men a slow - slow - sloooooow death.
It feels good to make them suffer. It slowly burns away at the humiliation of his time spent as the whore of Asgard.
When he comes to a more populated area towards the entrance of the dungeon, Loki decides it is time to start the inferno.
He spreads fire to both sides, first mentally opening doors and chains in his mental reach, knowing that the escaping inmates will add to the confusion and then he whispers his charms, spraying deadly fire from his fingertips.
Anyone coming towards him is greeted with a ball of flames, and the screams soon start to echo down the hallway, like nectar to Loki’s ears.
There is no more need to be silent.
Loki has risen from the ashes, and Asgard shall burn for what it has done to him.
When he finally reaches the entrance and steps out into the sun, passed by rushing guards, protected by his magic from being recognized, he feels like he is finally free. The bright sun in his eyes and the wind on his face are proof of it.
Loki sends more flames into the straw-covered roofs of the surrounding houses.
He can feel the panic of the Asgardians around him, relishes it as he can feel the emotions of confusion, then fear and dread sweep over him, enjoying his returned magic one more time.
He watches as the street fills with men and women evacuating the burning houses or running towards the flames growing towards the sky.
Loki melts into the shadows of a nearby building waiting for his dear brother to arrive.
He knows that Thor is always first in line when something is going on, and Loki knows he just has to be patient.
Unless, of course, Thor is in Midgard or on a hunting trip.
Or things have changed since he has become king.
Loki hopes not though, as he wishes to twist his hands around Thor’s neck and press them close, and watch life drain out of the god of thunders body as he stares into his eyes.
Thor arrives in a crowd of warriors, his hammer in hand, screaming orders and directing his men to different tasks that range from arranging water supply to rescuing people from the burning buildings to getting the wounded to the healing rooms.
Loki watches his brother, who has not changed, his blond long hair fluttering in the heat of the fire, his eyes blazing, his hammer pointing to whatever areas he wants monitored.
Now Loki moves to the second part of the plan.
He contacts the new king of Jotunheim, the realm of the frost giants, and asked them to prepare 5 warriors to open the Bifrost.
He will give them time, while attending to other matters.
He throws another quick glance on Thor, fingers itching but knowing that he has to wait for his revenge on the king for the whole plant to work out.
And it was such a beautiful plan indeed.
Now Loki uses his powers to teleport these 5 warriors of the realm of never-ending ice to the rainbow bridge, giving them a chance to oppose Heimdall to open the Bifrost and bring in an army. The frost giants have been without their power source, the casket of ancient winters, for a long time and since the death of their king Layfey, they are even more interested in taking revenge on Asgard.
Loki feels the pull from the other realm, reaches for the 5 warriors he finds in the place as discussed, and transports them to Asgard. Now that should also cause some distraction while he is looking for his children.
Loki keeps watching Thor from a distance, hoping to catch him unaware or separated from the others, out of sight, but after a while realizes that he will not have the chance. He makes a conscious decision, and when Thor is close enough to one of the burning buildings Loki sends a wave of destructive magic his way, collapsing the burning building above him, watching as the god is buried under the rubble.
The god of Evil waits a short while to make sure that the building does not move, knowing it will likely not have killed his brother, but at the same time knowing that he would not be able to either.
He knows whom to visit next.
His spell teleports him to the front of Odin’s room in the heart of Asgard.
The two guards stationed outside the room are taken by surprise by the sudden appearance of the god of mischief, and Loki uses the surprise in his favor, killing the first with a quick stab of magic into the brain while he pins down the other and greedily sucks his energy to replenish himself, making sure he is up for what will be coming up next.
Outside the door Loki straightens himself, breathing deeply.
Finally. It has been so very very long for this to happen.
Loki pushes the double doors open to Odin’s sleeping quarters.
The Allfather lies on his golden bed, deep in Odinsleep, while Frigga is sitting with a woman to his left, both of them deep in conversation.
They both lift their heads when Loki enters, and while the woman frowns when she sees Loki, Frigga lets out a small startled cry, quickly rising from her chair.
“Loki! Is that you? What…..what are you doing here?”
Frigga takes a hesitant step towards him; her arms slightly raised as if to welcome her second son, but is stopped by the look in Loki’s eyes, full of hate, contempt and malice.
Loki holds a small ball of fire in his hand, playing with it while walking towards his adopted mother.
He ignores the question that hangs heavy in the air, focusing on the woman that was talking to the wife of Odin, apparently now part of the royal family.
Frigga notices Loki’s glance towards the lady dressed in the red of king, and puts her arm protectively around the shoulder of the slender woman.
She was a Mortal.
A Mortal. In Asgard.
A big grin splits Loki’s face as he realizes what treasure he has stumbled upon.
Thor really did it. He brought Jane Foster to Asgard.
He starts to laugh.
It shall indeed be a glorious day!
“Loki” Frigga addresses him once more, pushing the mortal behind her, standing tall, challenging him with her glance. “What are you doing in these chambers? Has Thor released you?”
They both know the answer to this question.
Again Loki ignored her, his eyes fixed Jane.
“So Thor brought his mortal wench to Asgard” he sneered, crossing the room with large steps, towards the two women who are backing up against the golden wall behind them.
Frigga still shields Jane’s body, her head now high and proud, her fingers clenched into small fists.
“Loki, you have no business here. I am sorry what happened to you, but you should leave us before Thor returns. “
Loki’s head snaps around, his green eyes boaring into the older woman’s deep blue ones, sneering at whom he once called mother.
“I was left to rot in the dungeons, abused day and night, my children… my children taken from me! How dare you say I have no business here! All of you knew of this. I used to be your SON! You and the Allfather as well as Thor have allowed this to happen, to go on instead of having the decency to end my life. I was treated worse than a spoil of war. And I shall have my revenge, mother.” He spits out on the floor.
Frigga steps forward, shaking her head: “No, Loki, I did not know…”
Loki slaps Frigga with all his might, sending her to her knees on the floor, softly sobbing now.
He stands above her, his whole body shaking of suppressed rage, reminding himself why he is here, what he needs to do before he can continue his revenge.
He grabs his mother by her frail arm, pulling her up from the floor, shaking her with the rage that has built within him.
Loki comes close enough for Frigga to see how incredibly frail her youngest son has grown, his skull shining through his seemingly paper-thin white skin. She can feel his hot breath on her face and sees the insanity behind his green pupils.
Frigga’s eyes widen at the question, shooting a quick glance at Jane behind her, a gesture that the god of mischief does not miss.
“They…they are in your old quarters. They are watched by their nanny. Please Loki, I am so sorry about what happened to you, I tried to talk to Odin and Thor…”
Loki grabs Frigga tighter, a small groan escaping her lips.
“Why can I not feel them?” he sneers. He had been searching, of course, a special bond between a mother and child should have called out to him, but there is nothing.
“HULÐ – the girl – she has very strong magic and she is still too young to control it, so Thor had the room magick-proofed for their protection as well as ours.
But she is a clever girl, and learning fast.”
Frigga’s eyes cloud over with what seems to be grandmotherly love, Loki can feel her sincerity through her frail flesh. He squeezes harder, feels bones break underneath his fingers, a loud whimper escaping the old woman’s lips.
Jane steps up behind her, a sound of anger coming from her, and Loki sends her flying against the wall with a flick of his finger.
“What about the boy?” He presses his fingers harder together, knees buckling under Frigga.
“He is there as well. With his sister. In…in your old rooms.”
Her breath is labored and comes in short painful hisses, trembling on her knees in front of her youngest son.
Loki takes in a sharp breath. His children, they are alive and well, raised by Frigga, in his old chambers.
The mother can see the features of her son soften, his shoulders slumping slightly forward, as if relieved. She raises her free hand to touch her youngest son’s cheek, stroking as a mother should, trying to ease the pain.
He grabs her arm that is raised towards his face, thin cruel fingers digging into soft flesh, pulling her fingers away from him. His face is pure malice.
“What is his name?”
“Keir. Please Loki, we took good care of them, please, you must believe us…. “
His son. Keir - Little dark one. His daughter – Huld – which means hidden or secret.
His children carry names that sound shameful to his ears, but must have seemed appropriate to Odin, Thor and Frigga. The names of the shamed bastards of a traitor.
They had stolen his children, never sending him a sign or any other confirmation that they were still alive.
Loki hits Frigga once more, breaking her nose.
She falls to her hands and knees, blood spurting from her mouth and nostrils, her breath shallow and labored. She is sobbing quietly.
Then Loki multiplies. 5 of his clones spread out around him.
Loki nods to them, and three walk towards the edges to the room, setting fire to the curtains and rugs, moving swiftly.
Frigga on the floor is sobbing, pleading softly under her breath “Please Loki, please….”, but he just ignores her.
The other two clones have taken hold of Jane Foster, waiting for a command from Loki. He glances at them – “Do to her as was done to me. If Thor has survived he shall find what is left of his Midgardian lover.”
Jane lets out a small scream, silenced by the hand of the Loki who has now stepped behind her and is pulling her to the floor.
Frigga tries to scramble to her knees, clawing at Loki’s coat, begging now, and with a swift movement Loki breaks her neck. She falls dead to the floor.
Then he steps toward the golden bed that Odin Allfather rests on, deep in Odinsleep.
He crawls on the bed like a lover would, as the room fills with smoke from the flames that take over the room around him, underlined by the screams from Jane on the floor.
Loki straddles the old man, bringing his head close to Odin’s ear.
“Odin, I am here to take revenge on you. Frigga is dead. Thor soon shall be. Asgard shall burn. The Jotun shall win this war with my help. And you…..” he sits up….” You shall burn, Odin Allfather.”
He looks at the old man one more time before getting up, walking towards the door, pushing it open.
He throws one last glance into the gold room, now painted red with flames that have spread quickly, Jane on the left screaming with his 5 clones around her.
Loki gives another wave, and one of his clones breaks away and hurries to light the bed on fire, the magical fire that burns but not smokes, making sure that the victims feel the pain instead of choking to death.
Loki turns, locks the door behind him with his magic, never to be opened again.
He walks away as the continuous screams of the mortal haunt the hallways.
Chapter 4: Family
This is the end for "The Whore of Asgard" where Loki is re-united with his children and takes revenge on Thor and Asgard.
Before Loki can hurry on to see his children – gods, they are alive, they are well, they are here, it is true, they are ALIVE– he needs to stick to his plan.
By now he is sure that Jotunheim has taken the time to prepare the warriors as he requested, ready to join him in his attack.
Loki uses his powers to feel for the 5, and they are where he requested, waiting for him.
His plan is to teleport the Jotun warriors of the realm of never-ending ice to the rainbow bridge, giving them a chance to oppose Heimdall to open the Bifrost and bring in an army.
Loki concentrates his mental power, reaches it over the realms and gives the sharp pull, can feel the giants appearing on the newly rebuild Bifrost.
When he is sure that their bodies have crossed the distance and are fully planted in this world, he lets them go.
Now it is up to them, and Loki will join them later if they succeeded.
Now. His children.
Loki hurries down the hallway, almost running towards his old room, knowing how undignified he must look, but he is a mother ripped apart from his offspring, and there is an almost physical pain bubbling inside of him.
Please, he silently begs, let Frigga not have lied to him, gods let them be in his room, here in the palace, raised by the people that at least pretended to love them, please gods, please PLEASE….
When he arrives at his old room, he can only stand impotent in front of the well-known door, memories flooding his mind, along with pain he does not want to admit to.
Days of Thor and Loki playing hide and seek.
Days of Thor knocking at Loki’s door, drunk, complaining about a girl that had turned him - the mighty god of thunder - down.
Days spent idly reading, practicing magick spells.
Days spent fighting and making up with his elder, much beloved brother.
Those days are over and gone.
The memories however still manage to hurt.
He takes a deep breath and slowly pushes down the handle.
He can feel his magic already being suppressed when the doors swing open, a gilded cage build for his daughter, his child.
His eyes scan the room quickly and….and there they are.
Loki freezes in the doorway as he sees two small creatures sitting on the floor on soft furs and pelts in midst a large pile of toys, obviously fighting.
They stop when they hear the creak of the door and the strange man with sunken features steps into their nursery. Two pairs of large eyes are looking up at him, one bright green, teeming with intelligence and the other one grey with tinges of blue, clouded over by tears.
The little boy sniffles, holding on tightly to a little wooden horse that his sister was trying to wrestle from him.
Both children stare at the dark, gaunt stranger with the burning eyes, and Loki can see the bodies of the children shifting, oozing weariness.
The little girl stands cautiously, blocking her little brother from Loki’s view.
She is partially Jotun, the thin marking running over her light blue body, eyes bright green, studying Loki. He can see that she clutches a small, wooden toy in her hand, not a weapon per se, but it would be hard enough to hurt anyone if used correctly.
Loki feels a wave of pride wash over him, and he slowly goes down on his knees.
The little boy is smaller, partially Asgardian looking but with two soft, fluffy ears now laid back on his head, and a small tail swishing between his legs. His lower body seems mostly covered in silky black fur that blends into his darker skin tone of his chest, a deep black-blue color that seemed to swallow all light, his blue eyes sparkling.
He hisses softly at Loki showing sharp little teeth, backing off slightly, the hair on his back trailing down to his tail, puffing it up like a brush.
Keir, the dark one.
The name is a good fit after all.
Loki rests his weight on his knees, crooning softly, hands outstretched with open palms, showing that he is not to be feared.
“Bairn” Loki whispers. Child.
The little girl cocks her head, considering the gesture.
She is a smart one Loki realizes, not taking any decision lightly, weighing the heavy wood in her small hand. She shakes her head carefully, stepping back, her hand blindly reaching for her little brother.
Loki makes himself smaller, wondering what he can do to earn the little ones trust.
He can feel the strong bond between them and himself, but they may not recognize it as what it is – blood relation.
Then he knows.
Even though the room suppresses most of his magic, he is a powerful mage, and with a small flick of his right index finger he shows them what he really is. Jotun. Family.
His eyes slowly fill with blood, skin flushing a darker blue than his daughter and the sharp markings rising all along his skin, starting from his left hand.
The girl recognizes her strange self in the stranger, even the raised marking on his flesh have a similar shape to her own and her body relaxes ever so slightly.
With his sister visibly calming down, and the stranger now featuring the same look he knows from his sibling, the small boy stops hissing, cowering to her feet. His tail still wearily swishes from side to side, but his fluffed up hair is settling back down. Loki emits a calm that both children pick up on, and they feel the bond of being different, strange outsider in this world of tall blond Asgardians. He is like them. A stranger in a perfect land. Different. They both know what that means.
Loki extends his hand once more, and now the little girl – HULÐ – slowly walks towards him, eyes never leaving his face and touches the raised lines on the back of his hands. As she traces them with her finger, a spark that is within all blood lines jumps between them, giving them both a short shock, binding them together, hands and hearts, forming a bond that shall never be severed again..
“Bairn” Loki whispers once more.
Loki nods silently.
It will do for now.
Loki does not dare to hug the little girl, that stands frowning in front of him, as he can feel that she is not ready to be touched by him, hugged, caressed, loved. She is still weary.
She will need her time. Just like he used to need time himself as a young boy.
By now the Keir, the dark one has crawled forward, his ears laid back, stomach on the floor, carefully watching Loki as he sniffs the other outstretched hand.
Loki holds still, allowing his small son to take in his smell, which he will recognize as family.
Slowly the small tail leaves the floor and is raised; a sign of relaxation, and carefully the god of mischief put his hand on his sons head and stroke the silky soft hair behind his ears.
A low rumble comes from Keir’s chest, and it takes a moment for Loki to realize that his son is purring.
Love floods through him and Loki has to take all his strength not to pull them towards him, never to let them go. The tears he held back for years over the loss of his bairns now release, leaving hot salty trails on his cheeks, dripping on the floor.
He remains on his knees, taking the hands of both of his children.
“Bairns, we must leave.” Loki speaks in a low, urgent voice; He lost himself for a moment, but necessity pulled him back to reality.
They have to leave.
No…..Burn Asgard first.
Two large eyes bore into his. “Where are we going Faidr?”
Loki keeps his voice low and calm - “We are going on a journey, on an adventure. Do you like adventures?” Loki strokes the hands in his, feels how HULÐ leans back slightly, as if not sure what to think about this stranger that stepped into their lives out of nowhere, but not able to resist the strong magick that flows between them.
“What about faidr Thor and mœðr Jane?” HULÐ stands her ground, cocking her head questioning.
Loki takes a deep breath.
The god of lies feels familiar black hate wash over him, but he pushes it back, talking softly to his child, his first-born daughter.
He decides to tell them the truth about his own brother to start of their relationship without lies. They may be necessary at a later point, but not yet.
“Thor has taken you from me when you were but babes, he has kept me imprisoned. He has no right to you. I am your true parent, and I shall treat you the way you deserve. I shall teach you magick. You will be one of the most powerful mages in the 9 realms. We shall travel the worlds together, the three of us.”
No more gilded cages for his children, suppressing who they are.
Loki stands, not letting go of the small hands in his own.
“I am your Fadir and your Mœðr. Thor and Jane were nair but a small part of your history, taking care of you until I was freed and now you shall live the life you were destined to.”
Loki can see his little girl’s mind struggling, as obviously Thor and Jane had loved his children and they loved their adoptive parents back. They had been well treated then.
There is time for hate later. They have to leave.
If HULÐ does not take his word, he will have to take her by force, but oh he hopes it will not come to this. He is sure that once he loses her trust it will be very hard to gain it back and start fresh
The little girl studies him, and he can see her thinking, evaluating..
Just when Loki decides that her time is up, she finally nods and steps closer to the god, cuddling to his leg. Relief washes over over the god of lies as the puts his arm around her. He takes both children and presses them to his chest, the little boy curling up immediately.
The Bifrost. This is where he needs to go.
Loki cloaks himself and his precious burden as he teleports them where the rainbow bridge starts, by now repaired and brought back to its former glory.
He can see from afar that the Frost giants indeed managed to open the bridge between the realms, opening the portal between Jotunheim and Asgard.
This time to allow the Frost Giants into their realm, instead of the other way around.
This also meant that Heimdall must have been bested in battle to take the sword from him, to open the gateway. The probability that the gate keeper was dead was great.
More and more Jotun stream from the gate onto the rainbow bridge, growing long sharp ice swords from their hands, eerie sounds coming from their throats.
Asgard already knows about the invasion, as Loki can see many warriors rushing towards the invading army, screaming at each other as some of them still fumble to close their armors around their chests. Lots of the warriors are covered in soot, having left a burning castle to protect their realm. Loki can hear horns spread the news of the invasion, calling for more warriors to join their battle, the sound carried over the burning roofs of Asgard, echoing in the distance.
Loki knows that if Thor is not dead, he will arrive soon.
HULÐ and Keir are cuddled up to him, and he can see large frightened eyes as they cling to his arm.
His daughter grows a small sharp ice dagger from her fingers, seemingly unconscious while her other hand searches for Keir, holding on to him, protecting him.
Loki is so proud, tears stinging his eyes again. A real Lokidottir. HIs own flesh and blood.
He knows that they will not be safe where he needs to go next. He carries them away from the bridge, towards a nearby tree that sits small and huddled by the wayside.
Going to his knees, he carefully places them on the floor and takes the hand of both of his children, but looking deep into HULÐ’s eyes.
“Bairns, as you can see there is a fight, and I need to meet Thor before we leave. Please stay right here, and I will be back very quickly.”
Loki squeezes his daughters hand while Keir is mewling, a small ball of puffed fur at his feet.
“Promise me dottir” he whispers.
HULÐ nods sharply, taking the hand of her brother, coaxing him with her behind the tree, the ice dagger clenched between her fingers.
Loki conceals his children and at the same time secures them, just in case HULÐ changes her mind and they try to flee after all. He feels a stab of regret at not relying on them, but they are still so young, so small and now that he has finally found them, the trickster is not willing to lose them once more.
Loki returns to the rainbow bridge, still hidden behind a veil of magick. He waits.
Waits for Thor.
None of the scenarios in his head allow for one that does not involve Thor showing up.
He can’t be dead after all this. It was not the first time a building had collapsed on the god of thunder, and the trickster grows more and more anxious at his brother no appearing to the battle of his lifetime.
Finally he sees him, cantering past on Sleipnir, Hammer raised high above his head, screaming at the top of his lungs. He is surrounded by the Warrior 3 and Sif, also high on horses, racing towards battle close behind their king.
They drive the horses deep into the raging battle, reaping havoc among them with their swords, Thor swinging Mjölnir, leaving a bloody trail of shattered bodies to both his sides.
Loki starts to run.
By the time he reaches them, there are a mere hundred or so Asgardian warriors fighting against thousand or more frost giants, with more and more of the blue soldiers streaming in through the Bifrost.
Loki knows that they will need to close the gate if they do not want to destroy Jotunheim, but he is more interrested in satisfying his own revenge.
The trickster whirls himself into the air, flying towards Thor, hitting him straight into the back while the golden god swings his hammer.
Loki holds on tightly to the armor of Thor and teleports.
They find themselves away from the battle, on the highest tower overlooking Asgard.
Thor is clearly confused, eyes searching for his enemy; it takes him a moment to realize where he is, and who is standing in front of him.
“Brother” the god of thunder whispers. Loki can see the blood draining from his features.
“Thor” Loki sneers. He uses the momentary surprise of Thor to bind his arms and legs with his magick, pulling his feet under him, crashing him to the floor.
“Brother” Thor repeats, and the trickster can see pain, confusion as well as guilt shining on the god of thunders face.
Loki ignores him and jumps onto Thor chest, who reacts quickly to call Mjölnir to himself. Thor realizes that his brother is not here to talk, and he opens his hand to catch his weapon that is flying towards him.
“Too late….brother” hisses Loki as he quickly slits Thor’s throat with an icedagger that grew within a second from his fingers, thinking of HULÐ as he pulls it through the gods unresisting flesh, cutting through the windpipe.
He watches bright red blood wash over golden skin as surprise lights up Thor’s blue eyes who clearly did not expect this to happen. A wet gurggle escapes his throar, red bubbles forming from the gaping slit, as Mjölnir crashes into Loki.
Loki can feel his rips breaking from the impact before he lands on his side, away from Thor, but as he lays on the floor he starts to laugh, an insane cackle that echoes over the roofs of Asgard. He did it. Loki managed to get his revenge.
The trickster tries to catch his breath as he watches a pool of blood spread under the king’s of Asgard massive body, as he is trying to rise but unable to do so.
Thor does not realize that he is mortally wounded, his brain not accepting the fate that his own brother would have killed him in such a manner.
The trickster crawls over to the dying god of thunder, leaning over him, watching him as shallow breaths blow bubbles from his slashing wound.
Thor’s eyes lock into Lokis, the trickster now cradling his brothers head, stroking the sweaty strands of blond hair from his eyes.
“Shhhhhhhh….” He croons, as one would to a babe when Thor tries to speak, blood pouring from his mouth running down his cheeks. The only sound he produces is a wet gurgle and Loki smiles softly.
“Can you see it?” Loki whispers. “Can you see it burning?”
He points over Asgard, propping Thor up with his hands to show Thor how the castle as well as a big part of the town is standing in flames.
“The frost giants are invading, your land is burning with magick flames, not to be extinguished by water ..” Loki continues stroking his brother’s hair, while the blue eyes dart around, taking in the destruction of his kingdom.
“Odin is dead”
Thor’s eyes roll over to Loki, staring.
“Frigga is dead”
Thor’s body tenses, and the big man starts to shiver violently, large tears forming at the side of his eyes.
Loki smiles another soft smile, leaning in closer “And Jane seemed to enjoy my cock much more than she ever did yours, before I freed her of her skin and burned her alive. She screamed my name when I fucked her, like a little whore would!” Nothing like a little lie to help a broken man on their way.
A jolt goes through Thor, the last struggle of a dying man, hate now gleaming in the blue eyes that are slowly breaking.
“You are dying Thor. Asgard shall be no more. You have lost, brother.”
Loki kisses Thor’s forehead, lowering him back down to the floor.
Thor’s body slowly stills, his eyes flicking unfocused, the blood flow from his throat slowing.
Loki stands, takes a last look at his brother, the man he used to love, share his time and secrets with, fought side by side with in many battles, was defeated and in the end forsaken by.
He gives a last nod to the god of thunder and disappears.
Thor lies on the top of his kingdom alone, taking shallow breaths as he tries to will the life to stay with him to defend his kingdom and his honor.
He can see the Bifrost closing in the twirling spiral it always performs, can make out the frost giants taking over the bridge and now streaming into his beloved Asgard.
As his life runs out of him, he mourns for his wife and children.
Jane, his sweet Jane, his queen, his lover and best friend. His. Jane. Lost.
HULÐ and Keir - their children after his and Jane’s marriage had been cursed by infertility, raising them as their own, loving them, teaching them everything he knew.
They had been sent by the gods, Loki falling pregnant when nothing had worked for them. They had saved them. They had loved them.
He had seen Loki in them every day, painfully reminded of what had been.
With his last breath Thor sees the Bifrost flame one last time and close again.
He knows that Loki has left them all behind. Taking his children with him.
Thor lets out a small sob, takes his last stuttering breath.
Then he joins his warriors in Valhalla.