Fandral was deeply embarrassed. As the most prideful of the Warriors Three, his most humbling moment had occurred in Old Bridge Town, where a dignified Asgardian warrior had been knocked out at close range by a wizard. What could be more humiliating?
Volstagg, however, was more good-natured; his memory was primarily occupied by Thor and his next meal.
John's gaze swept past the two warriors and settled on the shimmering Rainbow Bridge. "Asgard is quite busy."
Volstagg, missing the subtlety in John's tone, puffed out his chest with pride. "Asgard protects the Nine Realms, so naturally, we are busy."
John offered a round of insincere applause. It reminded him of America's self-proclaimed role as world protector, though Asgard, with its absolute imperial power, was different. At least they didn't start wars over oil.
John watched with interest as the bizarrely shaped prisoners were led away. The Nine Realms were nine great kingdoms, yet the diversity of races was staggering. Midgard, it seemed, was relatively homogenous; though skin colors varied, the fundamental differences were minimal. John even suspected that one creature with ram's horns, looking suspiciously demonic, might have been captured from Hell itself.
Fandral, clearly uncomfortable in John's presence, cut Volstagg off before he could say more. "We must escort these prisoners to the dungeons, so we won't keep you company."
John waved a dismissive hand; he had no intention of keeping their company anyway. As the escort team departed, his gaze lingered for a moment on the masked prisoner passing by. He frowned, his pupils contracting into vertical slits.
He saw it then. "Chaos particles." Inside a mortal body. But this being didn't seem to be a wizard. John watched the team disappear into the palace, then turned his attention back to the sword in Heimdall's hand. Heimdall subtly shifted, using his back to block John's prying gaze.
"Speaking of which, I also know a Heimdall," John said, his face breaking into a bright smile. "He was a dragon." He was going to try to get closer. Let me see the sword, he thought. I promise I'll only look and not take it apart.
The escort team entered the dungeon. In a cell furnished with a bed, a small table, and a bottle of wine, Loki stood with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the new prisoners being herded in.
"Odin continues to provide me with new friends," he mused, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He looked less like a prisoner and more like a nobleman on a leisurely holiday. "Truly considerate." Odin was once again displaying his majesty as the All-Father, and he, Odin's son, was treated no differently from the captured criminals. His gaze fell on the Asgardian warriors, and his eyes narrowed in deep thought.
That person has come to Asgard? The earlier tremor from the Casket of Ancient Winters had alerted Loki to John's presence. Recalling the indelible mark branded on his soul, his handsome face twisted into a pained grimace. These days, every time he closed his eyes, the figure who had judged him appeared in his mind.
"A witch's child?" he laughed self-deprecatingly. Was he? After he had torn open all his scars, revealing his ugliest, most humble self, he had been spared. But that scar, so deep it reached his soul, oozed with phantom pain every time the name surfaced in his mind. The high and mighty God of Mischief, stripped of everything by a despised mortal. The real tragedy was the ugliness that now festered in his heart. Loki didn't want to leave his cell; he didn't want to face that man. A proud god, fearing a mortal. Was there anything uglier?
"Are you not interested in the book I brought you?"
Frigga's voice broke through his thoughts. Loki tilted his head, looking at his mother. How wonderful it would be if this were real.
Loki smiled. "You want me to be a bookworm for the rest of my life?"
The illusion of his mother spoke in the tone he longed to hear. "I have tried my best to make you more comfortable, Loki."
"Is that so?" Loki couldn't control the sneer in his voice. "Does Odin think so too? And Thor... Making them worry about me day and night, I really feel a bit bad."
His mother's illusion said, "You have reached this point entirely because you brought it upon yourself."
"Brought it upon myself?" Loki scoffed. "I merely exposed the lie that deceived me my whole life. Saying I was born to be king..." Born to be king. What a beautiful phrase. Under Odin's years of indoctrination, he had once believed it. It was Odin who had woven that beautiful dream for him, and it was Odin who had personally shattered it. Why, if I was born to be king, did you choose Thor? I am merely a hostage captured in war, a monster who should have died in the ice and snow.
"A king?" his mother's illusion chided. "A true king is brave enough to admit his mistakes. How many lives did you harm on Earth?"
Loki struggled to remain calm. These words of admonishment, spoken through his mother's mouth—were they not his own way of yielding, of admitting fault? "Compared to the people the great Odin has killed, those few are insignificant."
"Your father..."
"He is not my father!" Loki roared, his composure finally breaking.
His mother looked at him, her face a mask of complex emotions. "Then am I not your mother either?"
"You are not," Loki said, then raised a hand to stop her. He reached out and brushed his hand through the illusion, ending the self-directed, self-harming act. The green light flickered, and his mother disappeared. It was an illusion, after all, a manifestation of Loki's inner turmoil, the frightened child speaking without thinking, lacking the courage to face the truth. He hadn't dared to look into those tear-filled eyes.
"Sometimes I wish you would blame me more, instead of neglecting me." He paced the empty cell, his heart a tempest. Finally, he threw himself onto the bed.
Just as he settled, a commotion began to stir among the new prisoners. Algrim, wearing the horned helmet, had successfully infiltrated their ranks, a tactic they had used several times before. An inside job was always more effective than a frontal assault.
Under the personal curse of Malekith, King of the Dark Elves, Algrim endured the excruciating pain of having his own abdomen cut open to retrieve a stone that would transform him into a Cursed Warrior. Holding the object, his body began to change, scorched red marks crisscrossing his skin. A plume of black smoke erupted from within him, dramatically altering his entire appearance. The barrier that once confined criminals was now like glass before him, shattering with a single blow.
He released many prisoners and, upon reaching Loki's cell, stared at the god before him. The two looked at each other, and the Cursed Warrior slowly turned away.
Loki watched him go, a calm, dangerous smile playing on his lips. He suddenly had a wicked idea.
"I think you should take the stairs on the left."
The Cursed Warrior paused, glanced back at Loki, and silently changed direction.
The commotion quickly attracted the Asgardian warriors, who rushed to suppress the riot, but the prisoners were no pushovers. All of Asgard was on alert. Even Thor, far outside the palace, noticed the disturbance. He handed Jane over to Frigga's care, swung his hammer, and launched himself into the sky.
On the Rainbow Bridge, John's eyes narrowed as he looked toward the palace. Heimdall also sensed the danger, turning and sprinting toward Asgard like a gust of wind. John watched him go, then drew his twin blades and leaped high into the air.
His blades tore through an invisible, infiltrating Dark Elf spacecraft. The act of ripping apart a fighter jet didn't give him much time for satisfaction; at the edge of Asgard, a massive Dark Elf warship materialized. One after another, smaller fighters flew toward the undefended city.
"It's getting lively," John murmured.
[Chapter Complete]
***
Want more? Check out my Patreon for:
✓ Advanced chapters of all my stories
✓ Exclusive novels & fanfics
✓ Early access content www.p@treon.com/meowthtl
💪 Community Goal: 500 Power Stones unlocks a bonus chapter!
Thanks for reading and supporting the story!