He's torn between his honor and the love of his life, he prayed for both but was denied.
- Hand of Sorrow (by Within Temptation)
Frigga's boy had been such a sweet sunshine - polite, reserved, noble. Up until the age of thirteen he'd been a prince as if from a picture-book. Timid for sure, kept mostly to himself and his books, wondrous. He wouldn't get into fights or talk back, he would know things his peers didn't.
All the more painful was it for his mother to see this everlasting hint of torment in his eyes, day and night. He had been carrying something with him, something which had latched onto him, and the scorching depths of Hel were to freeze before it would let him go.
A demon unlike all one might imagine. Sometimes, the young prince would see it staring back it him in the ponds of the royal garden, in the swords they put into his hand. It was worst in mirrors.
Because why would a demon be hideous and terrifying, when it was our very own wishes and desires bound to crush us?
Frigga could soothe them away only for so long. The time came when the young prince's demon could no longer be comforted with kisses and white lies. It grew louder and persistent. It gathered strength in every inch of the Asgardian palace. Occasionally, it took the shape of Odin, Thor, the Warriors Three, the women who had used him. Fighting it became exhausting, the nights sleepless and never-ending, the days a misery.
Frigga had observed it with worry, the young prince would shut her out, letting no one close anymore. The demon found pleasure in whatever mischief he could come up with - the boy noticed the beautiful silence following, the momentary satisfaction, a brief moment where defeat was someone else's.
As one might expect, an innocent boy's mischief blended into a hateful adult's misdeeds. The demon smirked whenever Loki would inflict suffering upon others; and Loki would smile along sadly. He had always been so perceptive about everyone but himself.
It all changed when he met Caroline. He couldn't tell exactly what she did, but it made him pause and reflect. Was it really this path he wanted to go down? Desperately ruining the happiness of others, just to numb this emptiness of self-loathing, of never being good enough?
It no longer made him feel better. His conscious, silenced and chained for millennia, forbade it. Loki tried appeasing his conscious, and it worked for a while. He knew very well it was worth more than this heinous demon, it was worth the pain.
The demon, his innate drive of chaos and malice, starved in the mean time. Loki thought, the more he deprived it, the weaker it would grow. Its hunger only made it more obsessing, harder to withstand. The demon rattled its chains maddeningly, growling incessantly in the back of Loki's mind.
It seemed as if this curse was part of Loki's self, and he had to manage living with it - or die and end it all. He'd been there, dangling at the edge, with only the abyss underneath him. He had let go. It was no solution.
So here he was, his eyes glued to the fallen angel caring for his son. The demon's order was clear. Loki ripped his gaze away and fled outside. The mansion was suffocating him.
What little solace he'd hoped to find in the fresh air was disappointing. His memories held a different picture of this garden. It was a mess; the roses torn out and dead, fallen branches, traces of fight everywhere.
The anguished bronze statue was the most unsettling one.
Xenia hadn't yet left the inside since it all went down, and her caring for Araziel distracted her from questioning for the moment. The God of Mischief and Lies hoped for it to stay that way, as he wanted to postpone this as long as he could.
You already know what you are going to do.
If he could hit his temple any harder without breaking his own skull, Loki would've done it. This habit had latched onto him seemingly out of nowhere. Whatever, time had lost its meaning. He brought his spasmodically closed fist in front of his face, forced it open.
Green sparks danced around his fingers, flickering. He'd never felt so unsure about himself. In that dire situation, Loki was close to nothing without his powers. Or was he?
The God of Mischief approached the statue, with anger in every step. Even in death, he still tormented him so. Loki hated Tom then more than he had ever hated him while he was alive. The fact that this was, once again, a product of Loki's own doings intensified his loathing infinitely. He exhaled forcefully and put both his hands on the bronze statue, closing his eyes.
He managed to generate energy, it seized all of his focus and stamina he could muster in this state. It broke through his fingers, unable to break through the stone's resistance. The tiny hairs on Loki's body stood on end. Not many reversion spells came to his mind then, but he tried them all, obstinate and raving. The magic within this statue withstood all.
Full of unlimited fury and anguish, Loki fired a blind blast of magic at the statue with a roar that startled all animals within a mile's radius. The violent outburst sent him flying backwards, down to the ground. If he could spit venom, he would.
What is created by man's hand can be destroyed by man's hand.
His head turned to the left - to the facade of the mansion, which had been demolished by the unearthly combat. Iron rods stuck out of the concrete where walls had been broken through. It might just do, he thought to himself. Loki pushed himself off the ground. In an instant, he was there and closed his hand around the rod, tearing it out of its fixing.
His primitive weapon dragged across the ground, the only sound beside his unrhythmical breathing. No, something, a voice, pounded inside his head. Loki knew it all too well, and he was afraid. There was no going back if he failed now, if he gave in.
Tom's statue stared back at him. Loki felt tears gathering in his eyes as he raised the rod. It wanted this, wanted him - its grueling cry fading into silence suddenly. He forced his eyes open, sighed with a feeling of almost relief; but Loki knew his demon too well.
The wind breezed gently through his hair, warmer, numbing the chill dancing up and down his spine. Fog floated lightly at the sides of his vision, concealing all that could take his focus off the figure. Loki blinked repeatedly, his hands still clasping the rod, holding it up in a striking position.
Caroline needed Tom, Loki needed him. If he died, taking the last drop of silver blood away, there was nothing Loki could do anymore. His conscious screamed at him, still too low under the enticing melody which originated seemingly all around him. Out of the woods, from behind, even from his own mind. A beguiling symphony, sharp and yet anodyne to the core.
He couldn't feel himself anymore. Too strong, too compelling, this serenity. The demon had changed the game, for there was nothing Loki desired more than peace of mind. No more clattering chains, no more screaming, only the numbing of all his agonizing senses. Gifting him a solace only he'd almost forgotten.
The iron rod collided with the stone. You always wanted this. The sound was deafening, but drowned by this infernally mesmerizing melody in his ears.
Whatever animals had not yet fled now took flight at the thundering clash. Loki inhaled sharply, almost smiled - what was this ecstasy? He struck again, and then again. Small crumbs gathered to their feet. The stronger he struck, the louder his demon sang. It was perverse.
He wouldn't have ever noticed the fallen angel, alarmed by the thunderous collision of metal and stone, approaching him. A scream got stuck in her throat, burning. She stood stiff with horror, the blood draining from her face. Xenia recognized who the statue was immediately. She put one and one together - if Tom was like this, then Edward was no more; and if Loki had turned him to stone, it meant he failed to kill him. At least, not how he normally would.
No resistance could protect Tom from physical harm.
She watched as the mad god broke more and more little pieces out of their place. He wore the face of a mad man - all inhibition, restraint, control, it had all yielded. The demon had finally eaten its way through.
Another blow. A beat to the deadly rhythm. Two fingers came crashing to the ground.
The next blow was meant to break the entire left hand out. Only an inch before metal placed a deadly kiss on stone, the rod wouldn't move anymore. It was seemingly stuck in the air, held by another force - Xenia's hand had shot out at the sight of Tom's mutilation.
Loki pushed against the energy holding his weapon in a firm grasp. It wouldn't move.
Tears streamed over her face. She raised her gaze to meet the raving mad man. "You're a monster."
He hesitated for a split second, forcibly releasing a breath he had forgotten he'd held, then released the rod. Its irregular pattern had seemingly immortalized itself in the skin of his hands. Loki had appeared so pristine, thoroughly relaxed and back in life when he'd met his newborn infant. A short episode of peace and love - now over. It had been the quiet before the storm.
"But a heartbroken man." He contradicted, glancing at the fingers on the ground, then back at her. "You despise me, I am aware."
"Despise you!" She scoffed softly. The lump in her throat made it difficult to utter anything. "You murder as you please - "
"I was forced to."
"You cut her open and called it love - "
Loki shook his head gently with a look of sad bitterness. He turned away. Her words, he'd already heard them countless times; but her face - he couldn't bear seeing it. This expression of disgust and horror. He hated it even more as the demon felt rewarded.
"It needed to be done. You wouldn't ever understand. It cannot be expected of you, I do not blame."
"Oh, you keep telling yourself that, huh? The God of Lies." Xenia raised her chin defiantly, the contempt overpowering the tragedy. She stepped towards him, towards the giant almost twice her size.
It hit too close to home. Almost unnoticeable, the wince. She didn't need her powers to strike, this did the job well enough.
"Does this help you sleep at night? Take the pain away?"
Every word was a knife rammed into his tense back. Green sparks danced around his fingers, which he closed to an iron-like fist. You want her to stop? You know what you have to do.
"It gets under your ice cold skin. If you truly didn't care, you wouldn't have that shit-eating look of torment on your face. You know you're insane, you're suffering under your own despicable self, and you deserve it. You know very well what you are, and I know it now, too."
A painfully long moment of silence. Not a breath could be heard.
"If that is truly what you believe - " Loki turned to face her, almost lethargically. " - then you have just made a grave mistake."
Loki eyed her intensely for a split second. Xenia felt a jab of regret and fear in her chest; it dawned on her that maybe, this had not been the wisest thing to do. She had meant every word. Then again, with Edward gone and Tom close to definitive death, it was only a matter of time when she was next. Hatred glowed in her wet eyes as her hands generated energy.
Fast as a snake, the mad god lunged at her. She had anticipated it and managed to step aside, nearly quick enough. The blast grazed her shoulder and threw her off balance. Xenia fired the energy at both her hands, missing one shot - the other flew towards Loki's chest.
He generated a shield effortlessly, took a ninety degree step to the side, and fired back at her. Loki was experienced in magic combat, his accuracy was much higher than Xenia's. It was over as fast as it had started. He had his powers back, and she could not match him. Her fate was sealed.
The fallen angel cried out. The hit knocked the air out of her lungs and sent her down. No, no, no, it can't be! She held her side, panting. The slightest breath hurt. She gasped for air, tried not to groan with the pain shooting up her spine. He had broken her ribs.
"It was foolish of you to challenge me. Even if you thought I was abandoned by my powers."
Hot tears flowed out of her eyes. Xenia felt powerless, helpless, hopelessly inferior. Black boots approached her fallen figure. Fallen - what a deadly irony. He thought her dumb for all of this mess, but then again, it was only natural to fight for survival. She wasn't dumb; she knew very well.
She didn't have much time anymore.
Loki's hulking figure towered over her. Xenia may have been down, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of pleading for her life. She raised her gaze, her eyes piercing through his skull. Whatever was to come, she would take it with what dignity there was left.
"Don't hurt him - " She managed to choke out. "Please."
Loki furrowed his brow with both confusion and reluctance, glaring briefly back at the statue. Do it. He stared downed at her, attempted to read what went through her mind. He saw that she knew she was dead, and she was pleading for him?
"What could possibly make you say that?"
"He doesn't deserve this."
"He deserves all of it."
"He's just a baby."
This. The culmination of this last stand of hers, and it knocked the air out of his lungs now. He'd been called a monster before, the monster that parents told their children about at night. But this - there was nothing worse she could've said to him. One single tear escaped his iron grip of desperate emotional control. He dropped to his knees.
"Is that what you think I am?" It was no more than a whisper. "You think I- I would hurt my own child? An innocent... baby?"
Rain started pouring down on them. It's time.
There was no need for another reply of hers. He didn't look at her, he didn't need to. The splatter of rain against ground sounded like a confirmation, thunderous applause for his condemnation.
His conscious screamed at him, louder than ever, with all logic and sense behind it, reminding him what he needed to do. For the woman he loved, their newborn, to dare hope for a real life. No more pain, ugliness, death. It had never been worthwhile, not ever.
And yet, to bring Tom back to life, there was only one chance left to try for. The same force which should have immortalized Caroline, which had immortalized Loki himself as an infant, the very same forbidden blood magic held unknown possibilities. It was the only source of power which could match Loki's strongest spell ever. He himself couldn't go back there; it had been a reserve unleashed by affect. This reserve was exhausted.
He moved his eyes onto the panting angel, who had turned away from him. She lied there, in a lot of pain, waiting for him to prove how much of a monster he was. She wouldn't fight back, couldn't. She had accepted it.
"I told you over and over. I have no choice."
A pleading, sadder expression overcame his face. He waited for his deadly impulses to overcome him.
"You... always... have a choice."
Loki bit down hard, tasting blood in his mouth. I don't serve you, I'm not your slave! A soft sob escaped. Without warning, he pushed Xenia's hands away and pressed his own to her broken side, earning a shrill scream of hers. His eyes glowed blue, as did his hands. The stabbing pain became worse at first, then faded little by little. He was so full of desperation, it was only a matter of seconds and he was done. He withdrew his hands and fell back with a groan.
Xenia's hands shot back to her torso, feeling it up and down in search for any harm he could've done - there was none. She breathed in cautiously. Her wide-eyed gaze searched for his, but he had once again turned away. She dared feel relief.
"You always have a choice." She repeated, stronger, softer.
His reply came after what felt like an eternity, an eternity where all possible outcomes played in front of his eyes. All of them led to the same picture; only one told a different story.
"Not this time."
Before Xenia could say anything, before she could process what he could possibly mean, her body wasn't against the wet ground anymore. Fast and strong hands had seized her. She found herself on her knees, with Loki up on his knees behind her. His left cold hand on her front pushed her head against his chest, tilting it back, exposing her throat. He tried not to be rougher than he absolutely had to, he didn't want to hurt anyone anymore. His right hand conjured a dagger, which he purposely kept away from her vision.
"I am so sorry."
Golden blood splattered at the stone man.
"Only death can pay for life."