Loki's Anger

The darkness was swallowing everything

There was no beam of light reaching in – only noises, muffled by the thick darkness.

Until a scream broke through. A scream of such power that the earth itself shook. A scream

that carried pain and suffering.

There were eyes, scarred and red, unseen in the darkness but pinched together, as their body

writhed in pain.

It was a punishment. One only the worst of criminals could deserve – and only the cruellest of

judges could give.

And yet – the pain was no worse than what followed. No more maddening than the steady

dripping. Not comparable to the sobs it had drowned.

Sobs that couldn’t be forgotten once heard.

They were quiet, and yet so full of despair and agony that even a heart of ice would break at

the sound.

And broken was the heart of ice indeed.

My real punishment – the pain of the sharp cold pieces of my heart. Digging in my body,

pinning down what used to be so swift and ever changing, like the fire that burns the woods

and warms the hearts.

Drip.

Drip.

What remains except that shell, the pile of flesh and bone?

What stays when the tongue of silver turns to lead from screaming?

Sadness and self-hatred. Regret

And that one devastating question: What if?

What if he had decided differently?

What if he had tried harder to belong?

What if he had changed, like his body had so many times?

But can a flame change its nature? Isn’t even a candle chaotic and untameable in its own way?

Fire burns and fire hurts everything it touches.

Unless it is killed. Killed by water. Killed by the salty tears of the burned hand that is

desperately trying to keep the flame safe. Drowned by its saviour.

Drip.

Drip

After all the time she is still there. Trying to hold back the tears, desperately trying to protect

her own demise.

Because fire doesn’t hold back, even from the ones dear to it.

It all was my fault. Because I was who I am – outsider, troublemaker. Unable to fit and unable

to change. And it was her suffering the most from that. Punished more than even the criminal,

trapped in a cave, in an endless cycle of pain and more pain. It was my fault – my stupidity

and selfishness led her to that fate.

Movement. And then the screaming again. The noise of chains and a writhing body. Acid,

hissing on bare skin. Or was a snake making that noise?

It was a just a moment – one heartbeat of horror – until the real pain was back.

Drip.

Can fire cry? It did in that moment. One tear – and another. A dozen of them on the cool skin

of a dying ember. A dreadful miracle – unseen and unheard, except for a quiet

Drip.

As they rolled down my cheek and fell onto the floor. I had seen my offspring being thrown

out like trash, being bound in chains and slaughtered like livestock, had heard them scream in

their last moments.

I had to suffer for decades, centuries even – and yet it was nice and silent actions that made

me cry – the softest hand that broke my heart.

And the acid was dripping.

And my wife was sobbing.

And it all grew together into one deafening sound of despair, rising up like a storm. A storm of

anger, which didn’t distinguish the dying ember, but ignited it once again.

Hot and burning – and dangerous.

Drip.

How dare the old bastard allow this happen to her? Her suffering, this whole situation, it was

that one eyed lunatics fault. Because he had made me what I am – he had turned me into an

outsider. He had never wanted me to feel included, for he had never given me the chance to

belong.

He had kept me close, so that I could be controlled and used, like a candle in a library – used

for the light, watched closely to not make a wrong move, extinguished when it does.

It was his actions, not my mischief, which led to this. Not me being at fault, even less her –

but him.

Drip.

What remains except that ember, the raging flame?

What stays when everything is ripped apart and turned to dust?

Anger and hatred. Revenge.

And that one overwhelming desire: To burn the realms.

To burn the realms for what they’ve done.

To burn the realms for pushing him out.

To burn the realms for not being able to change.

Because a flame cannot change its nature. Because even a candle is chaotic and untameable.

Fire burns and fire kills everything it touches.

It kills the sobs that broke its heart, burning the heart of ice. Melting away the pieces that so

hurt in my chest. Building up a stream, a river, a ripping tide. Washing away all that was.

How dare the judge give a punishment so cruel it has you forget yourself?

There were those eyes again – scarred and red, open wide and burning, as their body fought

against its restraints.

Another scream. Its power made the earth shake – in fear. For there were no pain and

suffering – just mad rage.

Then it got quiet again. No beam of light was reaching in.

The darkness was swallowing everything.