Soaring through space. Gliding through nebulas. Dancing along the fringes of supernovas. Silently skirting the dangerous supermassive black holes. Teasing through the branches connecting the separate, layered dimensions of space and time.

Nothing between the star clusters but dark space. Nothing there, except the ones who frolic where no living thing can survive. They take the inhospitable places of the cosmos and make them their playgrounds. They travel between star systems as easily as living organisms know how to uptake atmospheric gas.

They are the wandering ones who are never lost. They are joyous, yet unalive. Energy without form, sentience without mind. They sing to the stars, ignorant of the bodies they have left behind.

So when the physical body appeared in the void, contorted and frozen in misery and anguish, they observed with interest that stopped short of curiosity. It was a fleshy creature gradually dying in agony, abandoned where even the starlight could not reach.

Poor thing. Poor thing.

They clicked and chided in bursts of light. None would approach the creature too closely, unsettled by its solid mass, its fleshy entombment, its life's energy. Then they simply grew bored and drifted away, slipping between the folds of the universe to where they could swirl about the stars, the lost soul already forgotten from their simple thoughts and short-lived attentions.

But one took pity. A shroud of light which was not completely formless – ethereal but almost reptilian in silhouette. It approached the anguished being, gently floating and twisting around its frozen frame, not close enough to touch but daring to float nearer than the others.

The remaining wisps kept their distance from the suffering creature, their limited forms quivering with strands of flickering light, but this larger, brighter sprite immediately began to investigate the curiosity, its own form shifting through an entire spectrum of colors depending on its impulses and whims.

The frozen body was not completely without consciousness. The spirit noticed two small globules followed its glowing shape as it coiled and swirled around the fleshy thing. Its shape glowed brighter as it recognized sentience in the small globules – they were some kind of ocular organs with which to interpret visible light.

Ultimately useless in a place like this, where even the light of nebulas and supernovas could not traverse. What was an organism such as this doing here?

It did not know, but the creature communicated its anguish quite clearly with the emotions emanating from its being.

The spirit hesitated briefly, but was moved to action as it saw the body beginning to fail. Lungs deprived of air had long ago collapsed; the blood was almost frozen as the organs were encased in ice. This body was strong and unaffected by the cold of nothing-space, but it would not last much longer from the crushing pressure and leeching darkness. Not without aid.

The glowing shape slowly, gently, began to wrap itself tighter around the dying entity. The fleshy vessel was strong, but the spirit had to be careful not to break the bones or tear the skin from its muscles. Or worse, overwhelm its molecular bonds and break the body down at an atomic level. A being of pure energy coming into contact with a biology entity could easily become a fatal encounter.

It was prepared to end the poor being's life if it could not be saved, but the wandering spirit did not want it to die. Life was precious – if fleeting – and should be preserved whenever possible.

The creature fought to live with a ferocity that was unfamiliar to the gentle, glowing shape, and it was caught off-guard – having forgotten the desperate way life clung to its own form. It had long abandoned the notions of conflict and confrontation, of survival and self-preservation. They were obsolete relics for those who no longer had a body.

Witnessing these alien emotions now, in this failing but desperately struggling form, made the spirit all the more intrigued as to how the fleshy being had become adrift in the nothingness between the folds of the physical universe.

The shape slowly, very slowly, began to feed its own energy through the body of the being. Warming it, giving it life and halting its inevitable advance toward death. The body eagerly and hungrily accepted the proffered sustenance.

While the wandering spirit began to siphon its own energy into the floating being, it slowly drew it from the void and into the closest fold of the universe which was safest and farthest away from the black pits of light-eaters or the tumultuous birthing grounds of the solar bodies.

The energy being successfully pulled the lost body through a crease, bringing it to a space that was surprisingly crowded but seemingly uninhabited. There were floating asteroids and clustered meteoroids all around, pockmarked from violent collisions and devastating interplanetary impacts.

As the creature's oxygen-deprived brain began to form conscious thoughts that the glowing shape could easily perceive, it felt a surge of power throughout its form. The lost creature had an impressive well of energy and vitality, and its physical body possessed a strength that was no doubt useful anywhere but in the bleak emptiness of space.

The formless spirit now covered the entirety of the floating body, and it almost shrank back in shock at the sheer amount of psychological torment that cried out from its now-functioning brain.

Jealousy. Betrayal. Rage. Despair.

Powerful emotions psychically screamed through airless space, causing the spirit to ripple and flicker in alarm. It was almost enough to cause it flee to the safety of a nearby red star.

But it held on. It concentrated more of its energy on the psychic wounds of the being, attempting to comfort and soothe its mental torment. It wrapped the mind in warmth which would remind most living creatures of their time after formation but proceeding birth, such as in a womb or an egg. A time which was most similar to the state in which the glowing spirit existed.

Existence without physical awareness or pain. A perfect state of being.
The creature began to grow quieter, surrendering its struggle with surprising ease as the glowing being touched and cocooned its mind in protection and safety. It was attempting to share emotions which came natural to a pure being such as itself, but which it had never shared with another.

It attempted to replicate pleasurable feelings as it strived to bring solace and peace to the distressed creature. Love of the beauty of the cosmic universe, of the vibrant energy and light of the stars, of the deadly appeal of the darker reaches of space. Love of being completely free and unencumbered by the burdens and pain of physical existence.

The glowing shape realized the lost creature had entered a lower form of consciousness, only minimally aware of its surroundings. It watched in concern until it remembered this natural state of mind. It was… slumbering. At rest. Repairing its mind and body from the trauma inflicted upon it by the void and whatever had preceded it.

The glowing shape, a shimmering white which mimicked the stars around it, continued to observe the life form. It began to gently weave itself through the crevices and cracks of the creature's physical mind, inquisitive as to how it found itself so far from a habitable planet or vessel and in such a state of distress.

This was a miscalculation. The mind immediately began to resist against the intruder, repelling it with a violence it was unprepared to handle. The ethereal being pulled away, not wanting to harm or further upset the creature it was attempting to save.

The organ which housed its consciousness was too protected, too suspicious of unfamiliar consciousness. It would have to make a connection elsewhere.

The ethereal one floated throughout the body of the lost entity before finding what it sought. Near the upper center of the body, an organ which gave off an energy which resembled that of the glowing being.

Was this what it sought?

It reached out, and the two souls touched. Tentatively at first, and then merging as only two souls know how, one recognizing another as part of itself that was long missing. No barriers, no impediment, no separation of self. Just one joyous form of sentience finding another, joining together, becoming whole in a universe which was filled with mostly cold, empty darkness.

It would have been content to float there for time without end, sustaining the lost being's body and mind with its own vast energy, their souls joined and complete in a way that was impossible for physical bodies to ever attain. But it knew that was selfish, and ultimately unkind. It had left behind its body long ago, unable to remember even what it had once been. This lost being still had a physical form with a life that still needed to be lived.

They occupied different niches of the universe, and it was an oddity that they had even interacted. The living did not take notice of the ones who had passed on, and the ones who had left their forms behind did not bother with the fleeting lives of the fleshy things.
It should have ignored the adrift, dying creature. It should have passed it by like all the others.

But it had not. Could not resist the suffering and pain which was within its power to alleviate.

And now that it had pulled the entity back from the precipice of slipping to the other side, it had an obligation to remain present until it was sure it could survive under its own power, preferably in a habitable space. The creature had a home, presumably with others of its kind, and it needed to be able to return there.

Slowly, achingly, the ethereal being pulled itself apart from the other. It was more than pain, more than coldness that flowed through its consciousness. Those sensations should have been impossible for the bodiless. The absence of the other already filled it with longing and yearning which was too close to suffering.

And suffering was a task meant for the living.

The glowing spirit was now a pale blue as it continued to flow over the surface of the being, matching the shade of its azure skin. It had received some mental fragments from the merging – though not many, as souls tended not to regard memories as something of great import and often did not retain them once they shed their mortal coil.

It… no, he. The creature was part of a gendered species. He had come from a region called Asgard – a miniscule, flat planetoid which housed powerful beings on its surface. Originally, he had been birthed on the world of Jotunheim, and was of their kind – large, impressive beings that thrived on the frost and the ice.

The glowing shape was familiar with the floating mass of Asgard – it had once played inside the crystallized mountain along the underbelly of the celestial island, having found the energies within its crevices intriguing and enticing. It was also familiar with the frozen world of Jotunheim, though it had not explored its depths and had evaded its living residents. It tended to avoid planetary surfaces, as the overabundance of life energy was confusing and disorientating. It preferred the perfect chaos of space; the yawning emptiness was calm and silent, and the stars did not vary for billions of years at a time.

It would be easy enough to slip between the folds, hitch onto the stars and transport the Jotun-Asgardian and itself billions of light years with several leaps, back to the flat planetoid that the creature had once called home. Crossing vast distances of space was simple when one did not have to obey the rules of physical space.

It was about to make the first leap when it was violently jolted and yanked upwards, brutally jerked and dragged from the Jotun-Asgardian's body by an unknown force. It immediately released its hold on his form, concerned it would cause injury or destruction to the delicate flesh and bones.

With relief, the glowing spirit saw it had done no damage, but it gave a silent, formless wail as it felt another jolt ravage its core, its soft edges suddenly jagged and sharp with distress.
There were not many objects which could harm a consciousness without form or cause damage to energy without a physical body. But the object which was tethering the spirit in place was devastatingly powerful, contained in a circular sapphire light housed in a sleek, golden apparatus.

The creature holding the implement had a shifting, undulating aura of dark, malicious intent, a tainted light shining through its teeth. The ethereal being did see the creature in a single way, as it did not have ocular inputs, yet it could see the creature well enough by the energy reflecting from and emanating around it. And it was a thing of ugliness with psychic sharp edges and harsh, noxious colors.

The spirit being attempted to flee from the terrifying alien, but it was firmly rooted by the orb, which shimmered and emitted an aura that mimicked ancient starlight and cosmic energy. It had a terrible brightness that made the spirit want to obscure itself in the safety of the shadows.

The being began to coalesce into a more stable form, still ethereal and without mass or solidity, but now with a shape that felt familiar and intimate, though it did not know why this was so. It had a bestial, savage silhouette, with glowing scales and starlit fangs, its head reared and poised as its glittering wings spread wide.

The communication of threat was clear, if mostly for effect. The damage the energy being could cause would not be in the form of actual teeth and claws.

The creature seemed to know this. The being sensed malevolent resolve and the orb flashed, causing the ethereal shape to writhe and ripple in impossible pain, its incorporeal head thrown back in a silent cry of agony.

A foreboding thunder filled the air – a vibration which caused the spirit to retract and curl into a ball of light, attempting to pull against the orb in a futile act of desperation as it tried to make itself as small as possible.

The rumble was a pattern which the hideous creature responded to, its mouth opening and nonsensical vibrations were offered in return.

The vibrations caused the being it had rescued to stir; the Jotun-Asgardian had been awake for some time, watching with a quietness which bordered on deception.

But the creature holding the vicious weapon knew. It released the spirit, and its first instinct was to flee into the folds beneath the surface of this dimension. But it instead hid out of sight, seeping into one of the nearby rock formations as it took shelter in its solid mass.

It was safe for now, and an odd sensation gripped its core. It felt fear – an emotion it had never known during its bodiless existence. Understandably, it had never known something which could cause it harm, but the glittering orb seemed to emit a silent danger that filled the spirit with abject dread.

The ethereal being watched as the Jotun-Asgardian was lifted into a vertical position by the hideous alien with the murky aura. It communicated something to him, and he responded in turn, his tone conveying lightness and levity. The spirit could not understand the sounds he was making, but the energy being could see his apprehension – emanating from his body in shifting auras of orange and amber.

A cry of pain, both audible and psychic, shattered the dark space. The menacing, chitin-covered beast gripped the head of the Jotun-Asgardian and caused him such extraordinary misery that the energy being cried out in silent unison, distressed on his behalf.

The torment continued for quite some time, punctuated by brief pauses of communication in which the hideous creature displayed its dissatisfaction by continuing to afflict the Jotun-Asgardian with dark hues of agony. The spirit was torn between fleeing, quivering in terror, or performing some action that would stop the horrible brutality being inflicted on his psyche.

The energy being remained paralyzed, torn with indecision until it could no longer endure the Jotun-Asgardian's cries. It abandoned the meteoric rock it had taken shelter in and flew at the hideous torturer, expanding the illusion of glowing jaws as it did so, rushing forward in a blaze of vibrant, furious colors.

Spearing through the torso of the tormentor, it caused the twisted alien to drop the Jotun-Asgardian as it burst through the other side, leaving a scorched circle on the surface of its pale, armored chest.

The creature hissed in ire, an ugly vibration which shimmered in violet as it cut through the air. The spirit had meant to conflagrate a hole clean through its body, but it must have expended most of its energy on reviving the dying Jotun-Asgardian – which may have turned out to be a futile gesture, considering their predicament.

The spirit then flared with a harsh amethyst light – ready to dive at the nasty one and continue to char and melt its physique until it was nothing but cinder. It felt greasy and violated having to pass through its deformed body, and it wondered what the creature had done to taint its own soul so thoroughly and completely.

But the energy being would tolerate the unpleasantness and scald the creature as many times as necessary. Anything to stop the cruel, monstrous agony it was causing to the lost soul it had rescued from the void.

A deep, ominous, patterned vibration stopped the energy being as it was about to strike, the edges of its light shivering in dread. The pattern was difficult to decipher without aural organs, but it seemed to be filled with a malicious amusement. The vibrations continued into a communication sequence, and though it could not decipher the meaning, it could perceive the vile intent.

A sudden agonizing jolt of intolerable pain as the sinister creature snatched it with the long, golden device, tethering its energy to the impossibly powerful orb – and this time the orb began to drag it down with a force that could not be denied.

The energy being was sucked into the potent crystallized light, helpless to stop its spiraling descent, the suction as irresistible and all-consuming as a cosmic singularity.

It did not vanish. It was still aware of its own existence, and therefore, still existed. But it could not move freely. It was… trapped. Confined. Barricaded inside the azure oval sphere.
And it was not alone.

---

Loki did not know how long he had floated, without direction, in the lightless, airless frozen abyss. Days? Months? Decades?

All he knew was that he was not dead – and even that at times was suspect. He supposed he had his Jotun heritage to curse that he had survived the bleak, inhospitable environment as well as he had.

It was taking him longer to die than he would have preferred.

At one point, he was sure he was dead. Though he understood the paradoxical nature of that statement – if he knew he was dead, then he obviously was not. But he could no longer clear his thoughts, and his bored internal musings were becoming more and more irrational and senseless.

His brain was delirious from oxygen deprivation, and he was plagued by nightmares of his brother and father throwing him into the void when he had clearly done everything in his power to spare Asgard from a careless oaf ascending the throne.

And then Loki would dream he had thrown himself from the Bifrost into a wormhole created by the broken Rainbow Bridge. That he had tumbled and drifted for what felt like centuries, crushed by the absolute density of nothingness. Wanting to die and being unable.

He sometimes dreamed whatever had been left of the love for his family had been burnt away by the undeniable thirst for vengeance and murder. That he wanted nothing more than to see their corpses lying at his feet, their lives ended by his own hand.

They were horribly dark and evil nightmares, and he wanted to wake from them. He wanted to awaken in his own bed in the palace, having overslept again because of the way his racing, overactive mind prevented him from falling asleep until the early morning light. Or because he had stayed out all night with Thor and his friends, causing mischief and starting small-scale wars throughout the Nine Realms.

Loki would hear his boisterous, towheaded brother come crashing through the door, insisting that they had a long day of revelry or battles (or both) ahead of them.

But none of that happened. There was no Thor. No Father, no Mother. Not even Lady Stiff and the Idiots Three, who he would have been sorely glad to see at that moment. He would happily suffer Volstagg's teasing, Hogun's disapproving stares, Sif's sneers of derision, and Fandral's offhand jabs if it would make the crushing pain disappear.

Why had they not come for him? Why did they leave him to perish in slow, brutal agony? Why did he suffer alone in the dark nothingness? Had he fallen so far from Heimdall's sight that he could not be detected? Or did they simply no longer care what had befallen him?

Loki was left with only his desolate thoughts and the equally destitute stars – which he was clearly hallucinating, given that he had fallen into a wormhole from which there was no escape or respite.

The false stars stared down at him in apathetic silence, mocking him even in their nonexistence.

Except one star. It twinkled with an irregularity and a brightness which expanded into a glowing mass – vaguely serpentine and patterned with a rainbow of hues. Beautiful but decidedly alien, foreign in appearance and exotic with its undulating movements.

The strange spirit seemed to watch him, which was impossible, as it had no eyes with which to observe him. It began to circle him in a way that was either predatory or inquisitive, its intentions indecipherable by its lack of corporeality. Not that it would have mattered – his frigid muscles refused to obey him, rendering his body no more than an ineffective deadweight.

Loki began to accept the notion that his sanity had truly been lost – left behind on the shattered Rainbow Bridge – for him to imagine a glowing phantom had appeared to him and was watching him with some kind of curious awareness.

The glimmering shape had begun to slowly twist around his form, and now it completely covered his frozen body, encircling his skin which was now hard and blue from the cold dead of space, his Jotun features manifesting against his will. The only part of him able to move were his crimson irises, attempting to follow the spirit as it moved about him.

Loki waited for the hallucination to disappear, or for his brittle mind to fail, his body soon to follow. He waited for the sweet relief of death.

He waited, but it frustratingly never came.

A different sort of relief flowed through him, and he would have gasped if there was air with which to draw breath. Energy flowed through his body, his senses tingling as his blood and organs began to unfreeze, and then pleasurable warmth as the energy was fed directly into his cells, bypassing the need for oxygen to his lungs.

And then the true pain began. The realization, as his brain came awake, that his nightmares had all come to pass, and they were worse than he could have ever envisioned.

Loki had been cast out, abandoned, rejected by his not-father whose affection he had strived for even after discovering his true origins. That he had been born a monster, that he had been lied to his entire life, kept close at hand as another tool in the All-Father's diplomatic arsenal which he could one day wield then toss aside.

Even Thor, the brother he had loved with every fiber of his being, had turned his back to Loki. The golden and favored prince, now too virtuous for his flawed, tainted little brother. Suddenly having a crisis of conscience when he refused to allow Loki to eliminate the monstrous Frost Giants, he had actually fought Loki in order to spare their miserable lives.

Thor had sought to protect real monsters over his own brother.

If there had been air with which to fill his lungs, he would have screamed. And screamed. He would have never stopped. Hysteria filled the cracks in his mind, threatening to shatter it in to a thousand pieces as his body responded in kind, his muscles tense as steel as he felt his anguish turn to icy malice.

They will pay dearly for this treachery. I will not kill Odin. He deserves a much more creative and fitting end. I will take everything from the All-Father, everything he holds dear to his heart, and crush it into oblivion. I will turn his life's joy to dust, his ambitions to rot, and his throne? His throne will burn until nothing remains but charcoal and cold ash.

This, I swear, on the House of Laufey, as well as my entire cursed line of monstrous ancestors.

Before Loki's agonized mind could turn murderous vows onto his mother and brother as well, a soothing mental balm covered his twisted thoughts and tortured emotions. It was then that he remembered he was not alone, and the glowing, mystery phantom was still with him, covering his body in a shimmering ethereal shroud.

No, please. Don't, Loki silently pled. He could endure no longer. Everyone he had loved had betrayed and left him for dead. He could not stand the sentimentalities that exposed him to the cruelty of others. Of believing that someone was there at his side, wanting to ease his suffering. Extending a hand in companionship, only to yank it away at his greatest time of need. Even now, his family could seek him out and bring him home. But they did not.

They did not. And that told him everything he needed to know about trusting another living soul ever again.

Even this odd alien-being of light would grow bored of him and leave. He would not be able to take the crushing disappointment when it did, for it would mean he was truly forsaken.

He was of use to no one, and would have been better off dying, forgotten, in the void which was meant to be his grave.

Soon, even those thoughts faded away, and were replaced by feelings of dulled happiness, much in the way Loki had heard how certain drugs worked on Midgard. His fresh mental wounds and traumas seemed so distant and small. Insignificant. He was safe now. All would be well. Loki was not alone, and the little spirit somehow imprinted to him that it would not leave.

He believed it.

He drifted in that eternal bliss, and would have been happy to float in that manner for eternity. For the first time in centuries, he was simply content and at peace.

Loki did not know how long he had slept, but he immediately knew when he was awake.

He knew, because he felt a piece of himself torn away and a bitter cold fill his heart in its place. If his lungs had not been empty of air, he would have cried in agony, begging the spirit not to leave him to die alone.

This was when Loki realized there was breathable air, and he gulped it in but did not scream. He slowed his breaths as he lay on his back, gravity pulling him down onto a solid, rough surface. He stared upwards through the slits of his eyes at the celestial being which had found him adrift in space.

Unlike the amorphous, vaguely reptilian silhouette it had claimed before, it now took a form which was unmistakably dragon-like. Loki could still see through its shape to the blinking stars on the other side, but its intentions were clear as it hovered protectively over him, threatening an unseen third party.

Its translucent tail seemed to be snagged on something, and Loki carefully adjusted his field of vision, trailing his eyes upward to view the whole scene.

A blind, pale, chitinous robed alien held a glowing sceptre in its double-thumbed hands, grinning menacingly at the ethereal dragon-like creature. The blue orb which seemed to have trapped its tail flashed a painfully bright glare, and the serpentine spirit writhed in silent but obvious discomfort.

"THE LITTLE PRINCE HAS AWAKENED. TEND TO HIM."

Loki shuddered visibly at the horrible words slicing through his head. They were not so much sounds as they were psychic bludgeons, violating his mind with their brutal and powerful intrusiveness. He could not identify the source of the booming, invasive voice, but the dragon-like spirit seemed to hear it as well. It abruptly collapsed into a ball of light, and he could have sworn it flickered in fear.

"Yes, my Lord," the robed alien replied, hissing and releasing the energy being, which promptly fled into a nearby meteoric stalagmite. Loki had a feeling it would not go far despite its mistreatment.

The Asgardian could not contemplate long about the welfare of the spirit as he was yanked to his feet, pale hands grasping at the front of his breastplate which was still slick with ice. Thankfully, his skin and eyes had returned to their previous Aesir state, sparing him that particular shame.

Loki disguised his discomfort at the too-many fingered hands by fixing his face into a stony expression, which had been very effective in the past when he and Thor would seek to avoid punishment from their… from Odin.

The involuntary recall of that memory was interrupted by the foul-breathed creature, his gnashing teeth exposed by the spreading of his lipless mouth.

"Loki Laufeyson. We have a proposition for you."

Loki kept quiet, his only reaction an involuntary curl of his lip at the use of that particularly undesirable surname.

He quickly fixed his face into a blank mask – he would give this vile creature nothing until he had some tiny sliver of knowledge about his current quandary. He could then begin to ply and exploit for leverage, until he could either gain advantage of the predicament he was in or slip away at the first opportune moment.

No matter how bleak his position seemed, no matter how weakened he had become, there was no transaction he could not bend to his advantage. He was in his element completely. No one yet lived who could outmaneuver him in a bargaining.

Who did this foul creature think he was dealing with?

"My Lord wishes for you to take an army of our Chitauri down to Earth. You will return an artifact to Him and have the privilege of ruling in His name." The creature's breath was even more fetid this close to his ugly mouth, and Loki did not bother to mask his repulsion as he wrinkled his nose.

"Well, I do not know if you have heard, but apparently instigating intergalactic wars does not agree with me."

Loki's sardonic smile was wiped clean as the hissing alien jerked his hand forward, faster than he could see, releasing his breastplate and grabbing his head roughly as a waterfall of splitting agony crashed through his skull. The pain which emanated from the alien's palm should have been impossible, and the orb of his weapon flared with seemingly dark delight.

Loki was suddenly glad for his solitude, as no one could hear the disgrace of his screams. Save Heimdall, perhaps. What did the Gatekeeper think of his situation now? Would he tell Mother or Thor? Or was he truly and completely alone, not worth the energy it would take to bring him home now that the Bifrost was destroyed?

If so, he may yet find the death he had earlier craved. The Norns were cruel indeed to now grant his wish when he no longer sought its cold, final embrace.

"You have a… peculiar way of asking for… favors," Loki managed to gasp once the pain began to ebb, his smile returning in a much shakier form. The pain had driven him to his knees without his realization, and his gasps for breath were much too loud in his own ears.

"You presume?" There was an angry hiss, and the grip on his forehead tightened. "That He would need anything from you?" The creature seemed as offended as if Loki had insulted his entire line of ancestors.

"A proposition implies those involved seek something they do not possess, generally from other parties who are also lacking in something they desire. So… yes."

The next torrent of agony forced him to grit his teeth as he refused to give the creature the satisfaction of his cries. Cold sweat broke out across his skin, the agony stopping for one blissful moment as the alien continued to pontificate about his so-called lord.

"Your insolence is crude, and your words have all the wisdom of a fool. It is a privilege and an honor for you to feel even His displeasure," the alien seethed, before another white-hot rod of pain stabbed down the center of Loki's forehead, bright and nauseating in its intensity as it left him nearly breathless.

"You must be… new to this. Let me explain in terms even you can understand." Loki gasped for air while smiling coldly at the creature with all of the contempt he could muster – which was a considerable amount.

"You present your proposition, I present a counter-offer, and we negotiate like two civilized-"

The pain piercing through his skull was so intense that Loki was certain he had lost consciousness for at least several seconds. The world had receded in a grey fog, and now it slowly crept back into his senses, a high-pitched whine in his ears as the stars remained blurred before his eyes.

A low chuckle filled his ears, air wheezing past teeth both sharp and decaying.

"We seem to be having a… misunderstanding. There is no negotiation." Loki grunted as the blade of the sceptre slipped under his jaw, the flat side of the blade forcing his head upwards as the alien released his forehead, his eyes having nowhere else to look but into the creature's partially obscured pale face.

"We command. You obey. If you disobey, you are punished. We will bend your mind to our designs. If you resist, we will break and we will remold you. And we will repeat, until we have your complete and utter obedience."

The creature grinned with a malicious evil that Loki would have found quite impressive if it had not been directed at him.

"I am sure those are terms even you can understand."

The grin slowly faded from the alien's face, replaced by a snarling grimace as it slapped the flat of the sceptre's blade against Loki's temple.

The fallen prince began then to truly scream. All that had proceeded before was laughable compared to the experience which held him in its thrall now. His skin was on fire, his bones were molten lava, his throat tearing from his ragged screams, and his muscles were wires of unbridled electricity. He would have begged for death if the torture had not been abruptly, mercifully halted.

The hideous alien gave a strangled cry and broke the contact the blade had against Loki's temple, causing him to fall on his side against the barren ground, the strength sapped from his limbs as his muscles trembled violently.

The demigod looked skywards, gasping for each breath in his seared lungs as he saw the glowing spirit poised to strike, resuming its purple dragon-like shape and looking exceedingly cross – if such a thing was possible for a creature without a face or a body.

He had thought spirits were supposed to be whimsical, carefree, and barely perceptible to those in the physical realms. This one seemed to have an extraordinary amount of gumption.

Or it was suicidal. Given the situation, either option was equally applicable.

Loki gave a small grin as he saw the burnt circle on the alien's pale chest. It seemed his little guardian phantom was not so toothless after all.

His smile faded as the booming voice filled his head again, this time in the form of macabre, bowel-loosening mirth. It was less like laughter and more like a vibration filling the air with animosity and malevolent humor.

Loki had believed the Jotuns to be true monsters. He had been gravely mistaken. This unknown entity was pure nightmare merely from the timbre of his voice, and Loki was immediately certain his ethereal rescuer was about to meet a most horrible end.

He was not wrong.

"AMUSING LITTLE SHADOW. BUT WE HAVE SO MUCH TO DISCUSS WITH OUR NEW… ALLY."

The next words to come from the godly, unknown entity made the Asgardian's stomach clench with dread.

"GET RID OF IT."

Loki watched in helpless despondency as the orb in the sceptre flared to life, the alien holding the weapon above its head as it dragged the spirit down into its ravenous, sickly light.

The phantom fought valiantly, flaring its translucent webbed wings and attempting to battle against the inevitable current, its glowing jaws open in silent roars of defiance. Despite its indomitable will to resist its fate, it eventually succumbed to the pull of the sceptre.
In a flash of painful blue, the cosmic entity was gone.

Loki felt true pity for it. It had aided him with no promise of a reward or boon, and now it was most likely destroyed due to its interference on his behalf.

Within the next few seconds, he felt more pity for himself. Loki's screams of crystal sharp agony echoed through the dark chasms of the floating rock and through the vast reaches of starlit space.

No one heard his cries. And even if they had, none would have cared.

Notes

Thank you so much for reading! More chapters will be forthcoming, and I hope you enjoy them!