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He was the master of disguise. The king of misdirection. The cleverest magician. The lord of chaos.
The god of lies.
And he was not stupid.
So when he was cornered, at the very last, by the pure malevolence he'd spent the last several years running from, he took the dead-end, no-escape black inevitability presented and turned it into golden opportunity.
An opportunity for freedom. An opportunity to remake himself anew.
Certainly, after seeing Thanos toss the "Strongest Avenger" around the destroyed spaceship like a ragdoll, he had no presumptions that he or Thor would make it out alive. It was a pity, after all. Every point needed a counter point. Like Hamlet needed Claudius, Moriarty his Sherlock. But there was no saving Thor and only one way to fool Thanos. Die.
He had to die. And he had to make it look believable. The gasping, the flailing, the pleading, even the broken capillaries in his eyes and nose were no joke. But the broken neck? Child's play to time it right, waft the finality of the sound into the mad titan's ears. Then to simply play dead and let the most minor essence of his true nature slow the pounding of his pulse, bring a chill to his skin, glaze his eyes and still his motions like an autumn nap on Jotunheim.
He collected Thor's anguish down deep where it could nourish him over the course of his undoubtedly long life. And then, cradling the Casket of Ancient Winters he'd pilfered from Odin's vaults, let the blast wave from the destroyed ship carry his cold body far out into the Void.
***
At the end, it was always the Void. It was the Void that harbored him. Kept him safe. Why hadn't he seen it earlier?
It allowed his plots to weave, unfettered. Allowed him to drift without purpose or direction. Allowed no lack of time for introspection on all that had come to pass.
Thor might live. He might. Actually, he hoped he would, if for no other reason than to stop Thanos from achieving his aims. But Banner had certainly gotten away, thanks to Heimdahl. They had never been anything approaching allies, but he was glad the Gatekeeper had been there in the end.
As he pondered on all that had brought him to this point, cradled in the Void, cradling Jotun treasure in return, he allowed himself to smile. He wasn't happy, but he was content. And his whole life stretched before him as a naked canvas waiting to be filled.
Unfortunately, the canvas was of very small dimension.
Loki was not stupid. As he watched his appendages spontaneously dissolve into powder, he realized Thor and Banner had failed. He was part of the 50% that would die to appease Thanos' mad dance with Lady Death. He could lie, and deceive, but he couldn't cheat cold probability. There was no shame it in, no game lost, no ego bruised. He remained master of his domain.
And Loki did truly die then, with a bemused smile on his lips to the end.
*****