Post by Loki Laufeyson on May 11, 2012 0:27:26 GMT -4
[Continued from This thread ]
It had only been maybe a few moments before the three suns over Asgard had decided to rise did Loki return to the palace that was now his. Blood soaked, the infamous horned helm no longer on his head but he held it in his other hand, by the horn. The other the blood stained spear. The blood had began to thaw upon him and the blade. His skin still the same tone of blue. In his high emotional state he lost control of his Glamor and had yet to notice it was missing. He avoided his reflection in the golden silent halls. There was no on present when he returned, no doubt asleep, blissfully unaware of the slaughter that had been committed by their king.
The red finally began to drip from him as he moved throughout the halls. Leaving a trail behind him. He did not care nor was he truly aware of its existence. It all felt so numb, his body his mind. It was in a foggy haze. Upon reaching the large room that was his once again Loki merely dropped the helm and the spear to the floor, letting them fall loudly. The noise it caused fell upon his dead ears. The deplorable acts of violence had only eaten further into him. It had not helped like he thought. The pain had grew from a hole to a fracture. Splitting him.
He bothered not with his precious magic as he began to unlatch the tarnished gold bracers from his forearms. Letting them fall as well upon on another on the floor. He did not notice the blue of his hands yet. Though he had finished removing the complex armor from his person, Loki still felt a weight upon him. Unsure of what it was as he pulled the blood soaked fabric over his head. dropping it in a pile or armor. He smelled of metallic tangy Iron and copper. It was a dank raw smell, a smell of bloodshed and violence. He was soaked in it.
It was not until he reached the mirror in the wash room, did he notice that something was missing. That he had walked through the castle like this?! How LONG! How long had he been this hideous thing. He stared at his reflection for sometime. The ornate lines that ran from his forehead down his torso. The blue skin soaked in spots of red, but had dried purple. His expression grew dark, violent and intense hatred for himself boil in his chest. Had he not just done away with these horrendous monsters. No, there was always going to be one left in the realms. He could not kill himself. He knew that, His end would come with the worlds. It was not until Ragnarok that he would have his peace.
It was an instant moment of rage and hate that boiled again. In a rare physical act of rage, Loki reared his arm back. Slamming his fist into the silver mirrored glass. What was another several years of bad luck compared to the already life time of it but nothing of a moment. It shattered, splintered under the sheer force of a fifty ton powered blow. He was no where as near as powerful physically as he should have been, as everyone else had been. As the race he was. No he was abut a runt in both breeds.
It was not but moments after the glass had fallen did he join it on the floor. His hands gripping his head tightly, how could he go on like this. He'd curled his back up against the wall, the metal of it was not cold to his already icy skin, it was warm. Tears mixed with the blood as they rolled down his face. There was no comfort in it. He was a wreak, his bare blue feet stretched upon the tile floor. He did not know when he had kicked his boots off, but he had. This monster was not who he used to be. He could not bear the thought of his reflection. He was not of Asgard and had just slaughtered his race. For what? Revenge, a fleeting moment of peace that left an ever gaping hole to grow continuously.
It had only been maybe a few moments before the three suns over Asgard had decided to rise did Loki return to the palace that was now his. Blood soaked, the infamous horned helm no longer on his head but he held it in his other hand, by the horn. The other the blood stained spear. The blood had began to thaw upon him and the blade. His skin still the same tone of blue. In his high emotional state he lost control of his Glamor and had yet to notice it was missing. He avoided his reflection in the golden silent halls. There was no on present when he returned, no doubt asleep, blissfully unaware of the slaughter that had been committed by their king.
The red finally began to drip from him as he moved throughout the halls. Leaving a trail behind him. He did not care nor was he truly aware of its existence. It all felt so numb, his body his mind. It was in a foggy haze. Upon reaching the large room that was his once again Loki merely dropped the helm and the spear to the floor, letting them fall loudly. The noise it caused fell upon his dead ears. The deplorable acts of violence had only eaten further into him. It had not helped like he thought. The pain had grew from a hole to a fracture. Splitting him.
He bothered not with his precious magic as he began to unlatch the tarnished gold bracers from his forearms. Letting them fall as well upon on another on the floor. He did not notice the blue of his hands yet. Though he had finished removing the complex armor from his person, Loki still felt a weight upon him. Unsure of what it was as he pulled the blood soaked fabric over his head. dropping it in a pile or armor. He smelled of metallic tangy Iron and copper. It was a dank raw smell, a smell of bloodshed and violence. He was soaked in it.
It was not until he reached the mirror in the wash room, did he notice that something was missing. That he had walked through the castle like this?! How LONG! How long had he been this hideous thing. He stared at his reflection for sometime. The ornate lines that ran from his forehead down his torso. The blue skin soaked in spots of red, but had dried purple. His expression grew dark, violent and intense hatred for himself boil in his chest. Had he not just done away with these horrendous monsters. No, there was always going to be one left in the realms. He could not kill himself. He knew that, His end would come with the worlds. It was not until Ragnarok that he would have his peace.
It was an instant moment of rage and hate that boiled again. In a rare physical act of rage, Loki reared his arm back. Slamming his fist into the silver mirrored glass. What was another several years of bad luck compared to the already life time of it but nothing of a moment. It shattered, splintered under the sheer force of a fifty ton powered blow. He was no where as near as powerful physically as he should have been, as everyone else had been. As the race he was. No he was abut a runt in both breeds.
It was not but moments after the glass had fallen did he join it on the floor. His hands gripping his head tightly, how could he go on like this. He'd curled his back up against the wall, the metal of it was not cold to his already icy skin, it was warm. Tears mixed with the blood as they rolled down his face. There was no comfort in it. He was a wreak, his bare blue feet stretched upon the tile floor. He did not know when he had kicked his boots off, but he had. This monster was not who he used to be. He could not bear the thought of his reflection. He was not of Asgard and had just slaughtered his race. For what? Revenge, a fleeting moment of peace that left an ever gaping hole to grow continuously.