~DEEP SPACE, UNKNOWN~

Why?  

Why did it have to end this way?  And end so soon?  After everything he’d done for Asgard?  After everything he’d done for everyone?  After everything he had been through?  After everything Sig had been through?  

Her face haunted Loki.  Her screams as he’d fallen played like a broken record in his mind.  It was the last thing he’d heard.  The distorted twisted sound had rung in his damaged ears, the explosion having practically destroyed his eardrums.  Not even the tumultuous sea roaring beneath him, nor his panicked thoughts of being unable to climb two pathetic feet to save himself from the miserable death that surely awaited him in the deep unknown below had drowned out her devastating cry for him.  

How could that be his last memory?  What unspeakable injustice was this?  Gods, the hours he’d wasted trying to save this realm!  The sleep he’d lost!  Trying to do good by his parents.  By his halfwit of a brother.  

Thor.  

Loki had been so happy to see Thor come home, but now?  Now all he could think was that his big brother was just an insufferable fool who had taken everything from him.  So Thor had killed the Jotuns (brilliant!) but who cared when along with them, he’d flat out murdered Gylfi’s entire regiment with that idiotic stunt he’d pulled.  To think, that blond cretin would replace him as king of Asgard.  It was appalling.  Asgard’s future was quite bleak now.  And his beautiful Sigyn would be an unwilling part of itーnothing was more tragic.  

He’d struggled and fought endlessly to crawl out of the dark.  The self pity.  The rage.  The jealousy that had plagued him.  The loneliness of the unwanted son.  The lies.  The devastating lies.  He’d made such great strides out of that darkness with Sig’s help.  He was no longer unwanted.  No longer worthless.  Finally worthy.  Finally strong.  Finally loved.  Her love had been his saving grace, and he had loved her in return.  Gods, had he been in love with her.  With every cell in his body, he had adored her.  

Now here he was.  Falling.  Falling forever.  Just falling right back into that darkness, quite literally.  Oh the wretched irony.

Despite the lack of oxygen…no not the lack of, but the complete absence of it, he could still feel everything.  His senses hadn’t given up yet.  He wished they would.  His lungs burned, and his heart still thudded brutally within his chest.  

At what point would his vital organs finally throw in the towel?  What were they even running on?  He could go without oxygen for about two hours.  He’d tested it at Silver Lake with Thor and had beaten him.  That had been a most glorious day.  Besting Thor.  His murderer.  How he hated him.  With every fiber of his being he hated him.

But it had to have been more than two hours now, and he was still falling.  Not floating.  No, he most certainly was not floating because he wasn’t weightless.  He was heavier than he’d ever been.  When the tips of his fingers had grazed the end of the spear at that final dismal moment, when all he could focus on was Sig’s face, drained of all its color and drenched with tears, he’d thought that the fall would slow eventually and his body would pass into Helheim since Valhalla was an impossible dream.  

But his descent was as speedy as ever.  The abuse his body was suffering from was endless.  It wasn’t just the gash in his side or the broken ribs or the stab wounds in his thigh anymore.  Now he also had the pit of his stomach in his throat—it had been for what felt like ages.  If there had been anything in his gut, he would have expelled it hours ago.  Of course, it constantly felt like he was going to.  He had that horrible sensation, that moment when his mouth filled with saliva, ready to vomit, but without relief.  As though that wasn’t enough, his head also felt like it was in a vice.  

How great was the air pressure in this neverending darkness?  Was that the right word?  Could he call it air?  He’d been able to catch a breath, but he’d wished he hadn’t.  Whatever it was, it was the most toxic thing that had ever entered his lungs, and it was of such an unbearable heaviness and thickness that it was pressing in on him from every direction.  Positively bone crushing.  He’d been taught that space was a vacuum.  Absent of all chalcogens, halogens, and noble gases.

How am I possibly able to recall those terms RIGHT NOW?  

Why was his brain still functioning at all?  It was absurd.  His mind was tormenting him.  He didn’t want to see anymore.  Hear anymore.  Breathe anymore.  Think anymore.  He didn’t want to feel anymore.  He just wanted it to be over.  He needed this to be over.  But it wasn’t over.  Deep space was not a void.  The darkness had an atmosphere.  In actuality, it was an atmosphere.  A deadly one at that.  What noxious mix of elements surrounded him?  This was torture.  Was this death?  Shouldn’t death be an event.  One event?  Apparently not.  This was one long stretched out eternity of dying over and over.  

He wished he would just land.  On something.  On anything!  He didn’t care where because the fall was becoming even more unbearable, the agony intensifying.  He was no longer just falling fast.  It felt like he was being pulled (dragged, more accurately) through the black abyss, which was somehow becoming blacker.  Why wouldn’t his brain shut down?!  For mercy’s sake, just die already!  Whatever force it was that was drawing him down was impossibly stronger at his feet than it was at his head, and the rest of his body couldn’t keep up with the gravity at his feet.  It was as though he’d been bound to a rack, his body being stretched too thin.  

Please just fucking die!—Each cell was slowly being torn from the one next to it, and he could feel every single tortuous moment of it.  He would have screamed if he could.  Sigyn’s face continued to flash across his darkening vision.  This was the worst possible end to his existence.  Never could he have imagined something so atrocious being inflicted upon his body.  When would he finally break apart?!  

MERCY, PLEASE!!—His consciousness finally gave up just as he smashed into something solid.

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Something was tugging on him.  Dear gods, was he still alive?  How the fuck was that even possible? Had he finally made it to Hel?  

He didn’t care what horrors might await him.  He wasn’t falling anymore, and that was all that mattered.  He was still in an unbelievable amount of pain, which subdued the relief of no longer falling through the unending expanse of space.  He wanted to see himself.  He needed to see that his body hadn’t been stretched to the point of actually ripping apart.  That had been the sensation, but he felt as though he still had all his parts.  

Black eyelashes barely fluttering, he struggled to open his eyes.  Amazingly, rather than opening them to pure blackness, a faint blue light glowed behind a shadow that was kneeling before him.  He couldn’t make sense of anything that his brain was attempting to process.  The shadow was moving, and making….disturbing sounds.  He now knew for sure that he had all his parts for the shadow was rubbing itself all over him.  If he’d had the ability, he would have cringed.  

It ruffled his hair.  Its breath was on his cheek and moved down his neck.  Loki wanted to push it away, to shout at it to stop.  If only he were strong enough to send a burst of magic into its throat.  Its hands (was that what to call them?) slid down his chest and around his waist.  He felt paralyzed.  All he could do was lay there on his back, unable to speak, and feel everything this thing was doing to him.  

Oh shit, maybe this was worse than falling.  It was unclasping his armor.  Why was it undressing him?!  His mind went to the worst places, thinking of what this creature might be about to do to him.  His torso now exposed, he determined that the thing was reptilian.  Skin like snake scales ghosted over his stomach.  What was that sound?  Ah—It was the sound of his own retching. 

Brilliant.  Dry heaving would make this experience that much more pleasant.  Although, if he was capable of gagging, then maybe his other muscles would start to work, too.  Silver linings.

It tugged his cape forcefully from his shoulders, the movement jostling his ribs which were clearly still shattered.  He yelped at the sudden sharp pain.  There.  His voice was coming back.  At the sound of his weak cry, the thing jumped back.  It was probably too hopeful of Loki to think that maybe he’d scared it off.  Maybe it had only wanted him if he was dead.  He was clueless as to what exactly it did want from him.  Well, not clueless.  Stripping him of his garments was a pretty solid clue.  

Oh no—That was an awful thought.  Maybe it just wanted his garments because they were gold.  Maybe it was a little harmless thief.  In this place.  Wherever he was.  Whatever this thing was.  

He sniffed at the air.  He could breathe.  It didn’t smell like a bed of roses, but it wasn’t toxic or nauseous like the abyss had been.  Where had he landed?  The surface he was splayed on felt like rock, and that dim blue light, as his eyes were able to focus more, looked vaguely like a moon.  Maybe.  Ugh—He cringed.  It was making strange grunting sounds.  What the Hel was this thing and what was it doing?!  It was now yanking off his boots.  He tried to kick at it, but it was useless for he couldn’t move his legs.  Now barefoot, he shivered as it walked its fingers up his legs.  How could this be happening to him?!  The once king of Asgard was being assaulted by whatever this thing was without any hope of defending himself!  

Its hands now at the waistband of his breeches, attempting to tug them over his narrow hips, something in Loki snapped.  This shadowy, snakish, beast was not going anywhere near the parts of him that gave evidence that he was, without a doubt, male.  Absolutely not.  He may never see Sigyn again, but she was the only person who would ever have access to that region of his body.  His brain shifted into the final gear, his palm colliding with what he hoped was its nose.  It was, and it spurted disgusting black sludge all over him when it broke.  Now he definitely could cringe.

A voice came from behind his head. “Ah, so you can move.”   

Loki looked out the corner of his eye to see the person who was speaking to him.  It was standing upright.  Two arms.  Two legs.  One head.  Grey flesh, very ugly, but manlike in its build.  

“You are trespassing,” it said, sounding unbelievably bored.

Loki wanted to spit a sarcastic slight at the speaking creature, but his energy was spent, and he needed to conserve it.  He didn’t know when that grotesque shadow creature would try to put its hands back on him, and he needed to be able to deliver another blow if it did.  

The gravelly voice continued, “Can you speak, Asgardian?”  

His eyes blew wide, and Loki hoped the thing hadn’t seen it.  It knew who he was?  How?  What was this place?  He decided it best not to question its calling him Asgardian, and clearing his throat, he managed a raspy reply.  

“What is this place?”

“Welcome to the desert,” it snorted and swept its arms out.  

Loki glared sideways at it.  Did it think he was in the mood for jests?  He aimed his gaze back at the shadowy thing that had touched him.  It was keeping its distance—Good.  It had better stay that way.  Brow in a deep furrow, Loki winced, hissing as he rolled over, now prone.  His hair was soaked with sweat and hung in clumps around his face as he raised his raven head to get a better look at the voice that was mocking him.  

“Does this desert have a proper name?” 

He stopped himself before calling the grey thing ‘monster.’  After all, this creature made the frost giants look like beauty queens.  The thing was positively repulsive.  

“It does,” it replied with a nod. 

Rolling his eyes (was it just stupid or toying with him?) Loki sighed. “And?”

It tilted its head sideways and clucked its tongue. “You did not ask what the name was.  Only if it had one.”

Loki prayed to no one in particular for his muscles to function properly.  He was quite sure that he could snap its gruesome neck with no effort at all if his body was firing on all cylinders.  He pushed up, his arms no longer feeling like rubber, and managed to get to his knees.  How much more energy would it take to stand?  

“Very well,” he said, speaking through his teeth. “What do you call this desert?”

The thing shook its head and showed its teeth.  It might have been a smile.  It was too dark for Loki to tell.  What he could tell was that they were pointed and yellow.  

“You must earn the right to that information,” it said, inclining its head.

Loki tried to push to his feet, but the weight on his arms was too much.  The gravity was greater here than in Asgard.  His five hundred pounds felt like seven hundred.  Even his hair seemed to weigh too heavily on his shoulders.  It was hard to hold his head up.  Jaw set, nostrils flared, he swallowed thickly.  If he’d been able, he would have launched himself at this savage being and torn its heart (did it have one?) right out of its chest.  Infernal thing was clawing at his nerves.  It was lucky that he wasn’t at full strength.  Out of the corner of his eye, the shadow creature came back into view.  

Face still down, Loki turned his head, snarling, “Do not touch me again, or I will end you.”  

It backed off slightly.  His voice, deep and smooth, though laced with a throaty edge to it, was returning to him.  His voice was his most useful weapon at the moment.  Mesmerizing.  Terrorizing.  Alluring.  Menacing.  His voice combined with his intense emerald stare made it easy to get exactly what he wanted, or what he most certainly did not want in this case.  It was reminiscent of his standoff with the rock trolls.  When he’d saved Sigyn.  

Oh gods, Sig—He shook his head, fighting back tears.  Eternity without her would be a greater punishment than any tortures they could concoct.

“It has orders, Asgardian,” the grey thing said, nodding in the shadow’s direction, and Loki felt a twinge of panic.  

Orders?  Orders to do what?  It had been stripping him of his clothes because it had been ordered to do so?  Ordered by who?  Or what?  And why?  To intimidate?  To disgrace?  To torture?  He shuddered at the other possible ‘whys’ roaming through his thoughts.  Maybe he could turn Jotun and give the thing a solid taste of frostbite if it attempted to remove his breeches again.  How had he done it when he’d dived into the falls to save Sig?  Had he been able to because he’d been supremely motivated?  Well, he was plenty motivated now, but it wasn’t working!  This was madness!  He’d never been so vulnerable in his life.  He wiggled his fingers, hoping to see a little green spark at the tips, but his magic was still too tired.  He trained his eyes on the shadow.  Every little move it made, Loki’s eyes followed.  

The grey thing continued, “It is to remove your garments.”

“Clearly,” Loki replied tightly, and still watching the shadow, he managed to plant one foot on the ground. “For what purpose?” Just a bit more and he could use the strength of his legs to stand upright.  From his estimate, the grey thing was a good foot shorter than he was.  Nothing like a little height to intimidate.

“You shall see,” it said and nodded at the shadow.

Loki couldn’t react fast enough as the thing barreled into him, pinning him supine beneath it.  No, his ribs!—They’d started to set only to be rebroken at the blow.  He gasped, unable to breathe, at the agony.  The muscles in his legs roared to life then, adrenaline doing its job finally, and he kicked at it wildly.  It had its disgusting clawlike fingers on the waistband of his pants again.  He spit in its face as he twisted his hips out of its grasp, and like some sort of miracle, his magic surged in the pit of his stomach.  Headbutting the thing, it staggered back, and he scrambled to his feet sending a burst of bright green light at its chest.  It flew back twenty feet into a rock, the gratifying snap of its spine echoing joyfully in his ears, before slumping forward and falling to the ground.  From behind him, the grey creature laughed and clapped its hands slowly.

“Yes.  There it is.  He said you were a sorcerer.  Apparently you just needed a bit of motivation.”  

Its laugh was an awful sound, somewhere between a newborn’s cry and a hacking cough.  Loki winced and pressed a hand to his side, blood seeping from the open wound again.  

“Who?” He wanted to be more eloquent.  One word responses were far below him.  Pathetic.  

It punctuated each word of the cryptic reply slowly, showing its hideous teeth. “You shall see.”

Pissed beyond belief, Loki leered at the monster. “Fuck-” he took a raspy breath before finishing his less than clever retort “-you.”

It made that horrible sound again before approaching him, and Loki fought to stay standing.  Yes, it was far shorter than he was, but something about its demeanor was more threatening than he’d expected.  It reached for him, and he reeled back violently.  He most certainly did not want its leathery grey hands anywhere near him.  Every one of his senses was overwhelmed with disgust.

It shook its head and said, “It did not serve you well to kill a bestia.”

Loki sucked in his cheeks, rolling his eyes. “Is that what you call that thing that was intent on removing my breeches?”

The grey man, or thing, whatever it was gestured for him to follow. “Come.”

Still gripping his side protectively, Loki huffed, “And if I refuse?”

It shrugged, its mouth turning into something resembling a smirk. “I wouldn’t suggest it.”

Loki nodded to the dead bestia.  What a dull name.  That was the best they could come up with?  Midgardian latin for beast?  He rolled his eyes—Simpletons.

“I won’t ask what it had intended to do with me.”

“Nothing sexual if that’s what you are insinuating.  Bestia are created in a lab and do not have the parts to mate.  They are genderless.” 

It laughed again causing Loki to cringe, though relief flooded his veins. “Considering its actions and your vague responses to my questions, I think that line of thinking was not unwarranted.”

Chuckling, it nodded, pointing its finger at him. “Still, it did not serve you well to kill it.”

His strength was failing him as the adrenaline rush came to an end. “I care not,” he said and hung his head, feeling terribly heavy again.

It shook its head and wagged its finger at him. “I will have to punish you for it.  You trespass and then kill a member of our army.  Not wise choices.”

Loki would not defend himself.  As though they cared if he had fallen through space and just happened to land on their lovely little desert island.  Or that he was the king of Asgard.  Or, at least, that he had been.  They knew all they needed to know.  That he was Asgardian.  That he was a sorcerer.  He wouldn’t give them anything further.

Instead, he merely smirked at its back. “Who said I was wise?”

It grabbed his hand before he could dodge from its grasp and pushed him in front. “Come, and do not even think of using that handy magic of yours against me.”  

Loki couldn’t stand the thought of it being behind him, out of his sight. “How can I lead the way if I know not where you want me to go?”

Stumbling over rocks, he wished that he had his boots still.  His feet were going to be thoroughly bloodied by the time he reached his destination.  It said nothing but just pushed him in its desired direction every so often.  Eventually, he came to blue lit stairs.  It was a good thing they were lit, albeit dimly, because he could barely see anything.  He couldn’t hear anything either, and the air was growing thin.  He paused and doubled over, trying to catch his breath.  Gasping, he winced, his side screaming at him with each breath.  His lung was probably fine, but the damn ribs just couldn’t get a break.  He almost laughed at the pun.  

Sig would’ve liked that one.

Pushing off his knees, holding back tears at the thought of her, he stood and continued the descent down the blue stairs.  They seemed to go on forever.  How far down did the they go?  He reached the final step and walked reluctantly down a frigid rock corridor, the walls on either side of him ascending so high that he couldn’t see where they stopped.  What he could see was the distant stars.  No ceiling in this place.  Open air.  Just walls, albeit ridiculously tall walls, of stone.  He shivered, painfully aware that he was clad only in his leather breeches and nothing more.

The grey man’s voice startled Loki. “Stop.  We have arrived,” it ordered, gesturing to an opening in the rock to his left.  

Stepping reluctantly past the threshold, Loki sniffed at the cold air, his shivering turning to downright shaking.  His breath white against the blackness of the room, he looked up and was met with blackness.  He’d hoped that this place also had no ceiling, but hoping for anything at the moment was pointless.  The wall opposite the opening to the hallway had an array of tiny holes in the rock letting in the dimmest of starlight.  Just enough so he could see his hand in front of his face.  Without warning, bright white light flooded the room, his arm coming up over his eyes protectively.  Shuffling of feet broke the silence, and then three pairs of scaly grey hands were on him.

“Take your hands off me!”

He shoved at them wildly, but it was to no avail for he had no energy left.  One of them, he knew now that it was another bestia, had its arms around his waist from behind, his arms pinned inside the hold.  Another was putting a gag on him.  And, very unfortunately, the other was pulling the breeches down his legs.  Twisting his torso, fighting against the one behind him, he kicked the one who had successfully removed his final garment.  

What was happening?!  What did these savages want with him?!  Why couldn’t he at least keep his pants?!  He had already been freezing!  Angry tears were in his eyes when they dropped him to the ground without a word, ripping the gag back out and taking his last shred of dignity with them.  Bringing his knees to his chest, he wrapped his arms tightly around them, and dropping his head to his knees, he fought back sobs.

The grey thing (man?) spoke, the sound grating on Loki’s ears. “Asgardian rags have no place here.”  

Loki looked up at the voice.  Still standing near the opening, the grey man had an unreadable expression.  Loki’s response was laced heavily with sarcasm.

“Will I be clad in something more native to this charming desert?” He scowled at the word ‘desert,’ remembering that Thor had been dropped in a very different kind of desert and had made friends and received kindness during his short exile to Midgard.  

I hate him.

The grey man (yes, man, sort of) produced that odd might-be-smile and shook his head. “You must earn that right,” he said, and with that, he disappeared down the corridor and a glass barrier slid across the opening.  

Loki dropped his head again.  No blankets.  No clothes.  No windows.  He looked around.  No toilet.  No washbasin.  Not even a hole in the rock or a bucket.  Nothing.  He was the only thing taking up space in the room.  Naked and alone and freezing.  Just like he had been when Odin had found him as a baby.  He’d fallen right back into darkness.  The sobs he had been fighting since he’d landed on this wretched rock broke through the barrier of tightly sealed lips, and he slumped forward, rolling to his side, curling into a ball.  A sobbing, naked, pathetic ball of weakness.

FALLEN CONTINUES IN CHAPTER NINE: REMEMBER REMEMBER (IT HURTS LIKE HEL)

Visit the Trilogy main page HERE.

Fallen Chapters: ¹ Come Back to Me, Sig. ² I’ll Protect You From Everything ³ Let’s Just See How This Plays Out ⁴ When Did I Get So Soft? ⁵ Bring Me Home (But Not to This) ⁶ Death is Everywhere ⁷ The Bridge ⁸ The Desert ⁹ Remember Remember (It Hurts Like Hel) ¹⁰ Green is for Life ¹¹ I Don’t Make Deals With Monsters ¹² Rain Rain, Go Away ¹³ Are You Ready? ¹⁴ I Will Find You

CHAPTER EIGHT THEME SONG:

“Let Me Out” by Mario M

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