For we once so loved the world by HowlingDarkness95

Chapter 31

Loki jolted out of bed, his heart racing as his body reacted to whatever terrors his mind had concocted. He pressed a hand against his chest and closed his eyes, calming himself. He didn't remember what the dream was about, and he had no desire to rummage through his mind for it. He figured that it was a remnant of the power of Helheim, the magic infused in the land driving away those who are alive and keeping the dead within its borders, that and he didn't need to deal with night terrors in addition to trekking across the dead realm. He got out of bed quietly, quickly dressing himself, holding his staff by his side.

He emerged from his room carefully, the hallways deserted and every step he took echoing in the silence. It seemed as though the whole palace had been abandoned, devoid of life – pun not intended. Loki figured that it meant that he had outstayed his welcome, and hurriedly crossed the grounds towards the gate. He fingered the charm that Hela had given him the night before, a protective object that would prevent him from falling prey to the illusory powers yet again. She had told him that that was the only help she was willing to give him, anything else was 'fair game' and depended on his own powers.

He reached the gate, and with a last look at his daughter's home, stepped past the protective boundaries of Helheim and back into Niflheim, gathering his magic around him.

Time to find a missing hero.

Loki stood outside the gate, rifling through his mind for a particular spell he hadn't used in centuries. He opened an inter-dimensional pocket, storing his trusty staff in it, his fingers brushing against a cold, rectangular object. He paused, he had forgotten that when he was king, he had taken the Casket in hand and stored it in his pocket. A powerful weapon in its own right, and his birthright, and it was sitting unused in a separate dimension. Loki shook his head and sighed, he couldn't afford to think of the Casket and of his true form now, not when he had an important task at hand that he had to complete. He closed his eyes and called forth his magic, the spell requiring no words to form. Almost immediately as he pushed his will into his seidr, he felt his bones shift and change, his entire body structure altering.

When the spell was done, he stood up on all fours and shook his body, knowing that if anyone were to see him now, they would probably run in terror or sneer disgustedly at him. Back on Asgard, shape-shifters were looked down upon, not only because it was a branch of magic, but because it involved changing your body structure into something else entirely, something that unsettled the warriors of Asgard, the brutes knowing that their own friends might be their enemies, never mind that their own king could apply that same form of magic. It was especially disgraceful if said shifter changed into a beastly form, to shift into another being was one thing, to degrade yourself to an animal was another, but Loki had never cared about what others thought, pursuing the arts even with all the disgrace heaped upon him. It had come in handy many times, saving his life even more. He chose a form that he hadn't worn in a long time, favoring speed and agility while still retaining his intelligent mind. His new body was four-footed, with a sleek form that was built for speed. It resembled the Midgardian predator in its slight form, but it was far more ferocious. Black fur lined his body, while sharp, retractable claws adorned his paws. Sharp spines emerged along his back, as a mane covered his head like that of a lion. He had come across this particular creature on one of his hidden jaunts to Alfheim, and found the beauty in it as it hunted down its prey. He was careful not to get noticed by said creature though, those claws and teeth were awfully sharp.

He shook himself out of his thoughts, his hind legs tensing as he launched into a full sprint, tearing across the plain in search of his friend. He didn't know exactly how he was supposed to find Percy in this huge realm, but he supposed that he would have to rely on his instincts, which were telling him to head west towards a clump of trees that could barely pass for a forest. He heard the howls of the Niflheim wolves, but paid no attention to them. In this form, he could outrun them by far, and if not, his ability far surpassed that of the beasts.