Chapter Text
He gasped as the thick earthy scent of soil clogged his nose. His face and left shoulder were pressed into the cold earth in a rather uncomfortable position. As he sat up, he wiped a bit of damp earth from his cheek, a streak of blood coming away on his palm. A scratch ran from his left temple to his cheekbone, and blood trickled down his jaw.
“Great, just genius” he rumbled to himself. It was night, and he was hard to see, even as he sat, plainly in the middle of a cornfield in the middle of Northeastern Indiana. Just how he got there he couldn’t quite remember. The last thing he remembered was… a swirl of color and a vague thought in his head of wanting to die. Then everything went black. However, he was clearly not dead, that was clear (mostly due to the fact that his shoulder was absolutely screeching at him.) He stood, and was strangely thankful that his clothes had managed to stick around. Then it all hit him as he looked at his clothes. The God of Mischief stumbled backward just as he began to stand up, gasping. Odin, Thor, the Bifrost, it was all rushing back in a horrific wave of hurt. The Bifrost, his way home, his way to any place within the nine realms, almost like a free bus, had been destroyed. The worst part was knowing he’d done it, destroyed it, though not directly. Thor had managed to take care of that with that stupid hammer of his. What an idiot. His cloak, the armor, it was all still there, a bit scraped, but there. The last vestiges of who he had thought he was. Odin’s son. A lie. With a snarl, Loki ripped off the cape, the emerald stitching snapping like twigs. Tears sprang to Loki’s eyes as he thought of home when a thought occurred to him “where am I?” he asked himself aloud, looking around. He tore his chest armor off as well, and began stalking through the corn stalks. “Must be Midgard” he thought to himself, rather disappointed, though it could be worse. He could be floating in space, alone, lost in billions of stars, just waiting to get swallowed by a black hole. Right? Midgard wasn’t that bad, it was only… filled with humans… and humans, and oh dear god more humans. He nearly laughed aloud at the thought, a God of Mischief sent to a place where one of the most naïve, silly beings resided and pretended they ruled all. Hilarious really, their concepts of who was on the top of the food chain. Loki sighed, and clambered over a fence with a little bit of a wince, the fall from Asgard had been a bit rough he supposed, looking around at the flattened broken corn around him. He ran a hand through his inky black hair, which he found was in quite a disarray. Loki glanced at himself, and sighed, armor less and lost, he figured he had nothing else to do rather than keep going here until he found a way back to Asgard. Or maybe… he could get Asgard to come to him, cause a little ruckus, make a little mayhem, have a little fun. That would for sure attract Thor’s attention now wouldn’t it? Especially now that his woman, that woman that had turned his arrogant brother so soft, was down here, maybe… maybe a bit of fun could be had. Pull a few strings; get her in a bit of trouble… perfect bait. As long as he was here, he figured, it would probably do him some good to make use of his time. Never one to be overly lazy, the god of mischief had taken a fondness for not just mischief, but pure undiluted mayhem. Once, as he recalled, he turned a whole street of cars into ice cream. Now THAT was funny, or at least he thought so as he took the Bifrost back to Asgard.
The Bifrost.
It all came back to him again as he stepped from the cornfield onto a dirt road. His shoes made soft crunching sounds as he began walking; he found it to be probably quite futile if he tried to fly anywhere, for he knew not even where he was. Headlights sprang over the hill from time to time, more often as dawn approached. No one stopped. Of course, he did look rather strange; with knee high boots, a simple shirt and pants that people of this era no longer wore. His hair was long, and straight, dangling just below his earlobes. Fierce green eyes gleamed from under narrow black brows. Each time someone honked, Loki snapped his fingers, and the horn ceased to work, no matter what. The disgraced God of Mischief was in no mood for human shenanigans. If not for some very small ounce of self-preservation he probably would have shoved a fist into the front of one of the vans, just to see their reactions. His shoes hit dully on the road as he walked, dawn coming in silence. Of course they were nothing compared to the wondrous Asgardian sunrises, but for now he figured they would have to do.
He shook his head, clearing his mind of Asgard, it only brought back painful memories of home, of Odin’s betrayal, Thor, and his adoptive mother, Frigga, the only one in the entire family who had really come to get to know him, tricksterish as he was. He thought of Thor once more, his brother. No. They weren’t brothers, they never had been. Not by blood, but somehow that had been by heart. It made his own black heart hurt just a little thinking about it.
As he saw it now, though, all that had changed. He was no longer a trickster, looking for meaning, for purpose. He was Loki Laufeyson, a god, a Jotun, also known as a Frost Giant, and most importantly, himself. He knew what he was, a sense of identity flooded over him for the first time since he had noticed Odin’s clear preference for Thor all those years ago. A devilish smirk rolled across his rather pale face.
First though, he’d have to get himself to a city, or at least some place that offered food. He was in luck, within a couple miles, Loki ran into an old diner alongside the road, dirty and desolate, but satisfactory. Now, since Loki had been here many times before, he still had a few Midgardian dollars jammed in his pocket. Unlike Thor, he knew the customs of these people, and soon had in front of him a rather large bowl of what looked to be oatmeal but what tasted to be wallpaper paste. He swirled his spoon in it for a moment before sighing, disappointed. Several aging men, both with beards, sat in the diner as well, casting wary glances at the stranger, who ,dressed in such strange clothes, and behaving in such a withdrawn, reticent manner, seemed very odd to them. Not only that, but an air seemed to surround him, one of danger and regality, with a touch of icy despair all at the same time. No one spoke in the diner. It seemed that as soon as Loki had walked in, a hush had fallen over the previously quite friendly attitude of many of the patrons. Loki noticed he seemed to have that effect on humans, especially men. Women on the other hand, seemed rather drawn to him, whether it be due to his chivalrous nature or his thick black hair and emerald eyes he could not tell. He lingered in the diner until almost all the patrons had left, and only then did he speak. “Where is the next town?” he asked “and how far is it?” he added, his voice quiet, polite in the empty diner. The waitress, who had not been expecting to hear this stranger speak, turned toward him, her cheeks reddening slightly. “I’d say about half a mile north, it’s a small place, but it’s something at least.” She shrugged. “There’s a bigger city to the east, that one’s about two miles out, give or take a bit.” She said, clearing his now empty bowl from in front of him. Loki smirked, and left a ten on the counter, “keep the change” he nodded. After all, he wouldn’t need it before long now would he? He would have everything he needed within a few days, an army, probably of frost giants (whom he rightfully ruled, having killed their leader, his own father, the previous night) a new weapon, and a world of his own to rule.
This time, he easily hijacked a small rather junky car from the parking lot, hotwiring it with way too much ease. It was cramped, and smelled of cheese, but it was awfully better than walking. He sighed, and flicked the radio on with a tap of one of his rather long delicate fingers. He sighed once more, as the most detestable of human music played, country. With a growl, he flicked the radio off with a snap, rolling his emerald eyes alongside an exasperated sigh.
A few miles outside the city, he stopped the car. He twirled his fingers in front of him, the casket landing with a pleasantly solid thump. The casket Odin had stolen from the Frost Giants. It glowed in his hands, slowly turning his skin its natural shade of dark icy blue, his eyes beginning to take on a red hue. He snarled in disgust at his own heritage for a moment, and began an incantation, an old one that the old sorcerer Eldred had taught him all those years ago. If you had a piece of something from that world, you could trace it back to its origins. Jotunheim, land of the frost giants, that’s where Loki wanted to go. Loki landed with a thud, swirling his hands, the casket disappearing form view. Ragged as he was, the land of the frost giants looked far worse.
Jotunheim was a mess, as Loki had duly expected, and as soon as he stepped onto the icy land, he was immediately ambushed. Five Jotun giants, which he dispatched with a flick of his hand. Loki stood tall “I am your king now!” he declared, Staring around at the gathering beasts with a sneer. Snatching the casket shard in his hand, he held it high, letting his hand, then his arm and shoulder turn blue. Several frost giants looked baffled, but as his face began going azure in hue, their eyes seemed to widen in what seemed to be a look of shock. It was clear by the swirling marks on his angular face. He was, after all, the previous king’s son. Before long, he had a phalanx of around eighty frost giants in command of the rest of the warriors. He’d told them he’d call for them when needed, and if they dare not heed his call they would have no heads. It was clear he meant it, even as his emerald eyes flicked to their faces, a look of revulsion yanking across his face. This race, a race he had once tried to destroy, a race that was him, he was now employing as soldiers, soldiers in a war he was going to win.
Loki landed near the big city, appearing near a billboard, a deadly smirk on his pale face. His eyes glinted hungrily. By this time, he’d conjured up a suit, dark and dapper, with a dark simple tie. A pale scarf flecked with dark thin stripes hung around his neck. A single lock of dark hair flopped in his face, maybe he’d let his hair grow out a bit, get some new armor, change it up. He was well on his way to having a world of his own already; and he’d only been here for not even 24 hours.