Time is of a different entity in Asgard, it is a wealth of the amount of existence that is within it. If nothing strives towards death, then nothing lives in a sense of mortal definition and time itself is an unneeded element. But while on Midgard, time is of an essence. Every second ticks life closer towards an end. The end of the day. The end of a harvest. The end of a life. Time is important to mortals who fall under its rule.
Loki recognizes this, and, finds an almost bitter jealousy towards these mortals. They had such simple existences, their lives were easy. Humans were built in honour of the gods, made to resemble and strive for greatness like the image they were painted from. But they are cheap imitations when compared to the real thing. To be of Aesir is to be of immortality.
He stands poised on the parapet to the city below him, arms folded loosely across his chest and a wary smile across his lips. From his vantage point he can see the entire battle as it progresses. Those emerald eyes of his burning with an intense gaze. He strategically maps out of the field below him, counting off the opposing forces and weighing the odds of who will win.
Somewhere below him the eye of hawk is filling the sky with his arrows. All of them hit their harm with a deadly accuracy. Beyond him the man of iron is weaving and dodging those of their foe that have taken to the sky. The monster of anger is smashing his way through a good portion of the advancing wave, with little heed to anything else.
There are more of them, but Loki hasn't bothered to identify them. He truly doesn't care either way. His eyes are focused on his brother, and even from this distance he feels as if he were beside him. A lifetime of fighting at the man's side has left a deep impression in his subconscious. His instincts were honed alongside of his brother, they learned the way of the warrior against one another's blade.
Loki isn't a warrior per say, he fancies himself the sorcerer. But it does not mean he is not skilled in hand to hand combat. The roll of Asgard's prince had required him to spend many hours meeting swords on the training field. The other portion of his time was spent trying to keep his brother out of trouble while developing his gift for magic and mischief.
Emerald eyes lull, watching the deafening blows his brother delivers to his foe. But it’s useless. Hopeless. Loki feels a burning sensation in the heart of stomach. This foe is different than anything even he has seen in his lengthy life span. It’s different than anything in the nine worlds connected to Yggdrasill. Its power is seemingly endless. Self-sustaining.
The creature reaches a height of ten to fifteen stories, with horns that rear towards the heavens. Its body is a mass of molten lava and rocks sew together by the very heart of chaos and destruction. Loki can hear it’s very being sung to him, for he is the god of mischief and chaos himself. Their very beings pulse together in one single longing. Destruction. He feels a sort of kinship towards this large devastating force. He understands it like no one else. It is a titan of destruction, an omen to the end of the world.
Loki shudders slightly, with the tribulation of such power being unleashed upon the world. They cannot see. Cannot hope to understand. Their fight is useless. Their battle pointless. They cannot win against something that is unstoppable. Not even fate itself can be derailed. This is meant to be.
The creature stumbles, rears back from a particularly heavy blow from Mjolnir. His brother looks satisfied, to be playing with such a monster. To be toying with death itself. Lightning streaks the sky, thunder roars to answer the command of its master. The explosion is as bright of the sun itself, but Loki cannot look away. He lets the image sear itself into his mind. The display of power is enticing.
Loki catches the movement before it happens, and he allows himself to grow still. The titan tears through the storm, unhindered by the lightning along its rock structure. The hole from Mjolnir is already filled with dripping lava and rocks that solidify. Thor is struck out of the ring. The force sends him burrowing into a large Thor sized crater, and the thunderer is stunned. There is a frown painting itself along the mischief maker’s face. He stares at the hole that houses his brother's body as if he could will the demigod back to his feet. Thor does not stir.
Green eyes dance back towards the titan, watching its lumbering form rear its head back and fill the heavens with a surreal cry of power. Its howl is like the chilling fingers of death, clawing into the heart and planting a seed of fear. Of doubt. It’s the call of the end. Loki glances back to his brother, and his brow furrows with uncertainty. Thor has not moved.
Loki presses his lips together into a thin line as he watches the destructive force lurch forward. There is fire burning on its lips, a searing fire warmer than the very heart of the sun. The inferno on its tongue is brighter than the depths of Muspell. Its time.
Loki is god of mischief and lies. He is the harbinger of chaos. He is the mother of evil itself. Destruction thrives with in his very being. It consumes him and he consumes it. Like a never ending circle of birth and death; a circle of creation and destruction. For there to be destruction however, there must be someone to create. There must be a sole entity to challenge that destruction. One does not exist without the other.
Much like destruction cannot exist without creation, Loki cannot exist without Thor. Thor is the god of thunder, he is the god of storms, and the summoner of weather. Storms answer to his harsh nature like the fang of a wolf to the fingers of mother nature itself. Thor wields a hammer to build peace, to build unity. Thor creates. Loki destroys. This is their balance.
It is effortless for Loki to throw himself off of the parapet. He drops with the entirety of his weight and lands on the railing blow. His blurred form has caught the eye of hawks by surprize. Loki merely leaps free of the railing and into the dark clouds of destruction below. He lands casually on the roof of a police car; the metal dinting under the weight of his drop. With the swagger of a feline advancing on its prey the man pushes forward. He strolls down the cracked wind shield, across the hood, and casually steps off the front bumper. As his feet hit the pavement a golden light shimmers over his body. The light leaves his clothing altered, summoning the man's battle armour along his body in one sweeping gesture. Golden armour, leather, and chain mail start at the neck and down the front and back of him. A lengthy cape of an emerald hue to rival his eyes erupts from his shoulders, and fans out behind him. Said cape fills with the thick clouds of smoke that are littered the battle field. From the god's head forms his helmet, the distinct lengthy golden horns reaching for the sky he has left behind him.
Loki's gaze has not left the titan, has not ignored the fire growing between its rotting teeth. He is blocks away. The god pushes himself forward in one fluid motion, nimble feet navigating the rivers of lava and fallen debris. He hops from one area to the next, fire glinting along the armour that has been molded to fit his body. How ironic that he would still wear the armour of an Asgard Prince, a show of the lies from his past. How those lies have shaped his future.
Loki clears the edge of the crater that houses his brother's fallen body with only seconds to spare. He throws himself into the line of fire as it blasts through the air, hearing the shouts of his brother's comrades off into the distance. Few have realised seconds too late. Thor had been taken down. The fire is unlike anything Loki has ever felt in his life, it tears into him; it sears into the very heart of his being and still searches for more. He won’t let it.
The breath of fire seems to last for eternity. Or at least Loki feels that it has lasted that long. When the titan ends the display of power-- the ground is scorched in a twenty foot radius around them. What could not be turned to ash has been scotched and cindered to black. When the fire and smoke peals away in the wind, all that can be seen is that green cape bellowing in the blowing embers. A green energy has surrounded the brothers, shielding them from the force of nature that would see them destroyed.
Loki's gaze is lost into the wide eyes of his brother's expression. There is pride for the heroics, gratefulness, but beyond all of that is a searing look of love. Despite the moisture that has dampened Loki's gaze, the man finds himself unable to look away from that unconditional trust. Thor is grinning like he had expected Loki to save him all along. Perhaps he had placed himself in line of danger simply to see if Loki would. Thor is lucky that his gamble has rolled out in his favour. Loki is uncertain what is showing on his features, but as his brother reaches up to claps him on the shoulder he can only imagine that Thor has spotted the tears moistening the corners of his eyes. 'Damn your insufferable confidence and trust.' Loki hisses out mentally, but the words do not break his tongue.
"Brother," The word is spoken reverently, whispered out into the harsh wind bellowing out around them. Only then does Loki notice the blood on his brother's lips. He reaches for it with instinct, wiping away the trickle that slides down that strong jaw and smears into his beard. "I seem to need a hand getting up." Thor mocks himself, even so close to death. The thunderer's smile is earnest, inviting. 'Fight with me brother. One more time. For Glory.'
Loki knows that smile. He had seen it on the dawning morning of every battle for over a thousand years. He had seen it in the heart of the battle field while he fought with his back firmly to his brother's own. A sea of bodies fallen around them and more to come. Loki has known that smile for as long as he has been alive, and there has only been one instance in his life he had ignored it. There had only been one instance where he had thrown the offer back into his brother's face. The look of torn emotion in in the thunderer's eyes atop the Stark tower had not been worth the chaos he had reined that day. It is with lulling eyes that Loki returns that grin, and grasps his brother's hand firmly with in his own.
When Loki stands, it is to pull his brother into place beside him. A green cape bellows into the wind and brushes along the crimson cape beside it. As they gaze upwards at their foe, Loki cannot help but muse softly to himself. He cannot help loving his brother. Like Thor cannot help but love him. They are opposite sides of the same coin. They are destruction. They are creation. They are brothers.