Chapter 1: Loki and such
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Loki was minding his own business while fighting some ogres. Why was he fighting ogres? You should ask Thor, not him! He just gets tossed around by Thor and Odin all the time (actually, he follows them around like a lost puppy who only knows those two people) and ends up in some random fight because of them. With his immense strength, he can usually win against an ogre, but against five? He had his limits, which meant that after a huge amount of punching and bruising, he became so slow in his movements that one orc was able to hit him in the head. Half of his brain was blown out on the side, and the other half smudged by the weight of the ogres weapon.
When he opened his eyes again, he was in Hel's house.
Just because he didn't have a weapon didn’t mean he couldn’t go to Valhalla. God dammit! Usually, when he died and went to Valhalla, he had to wait outside of the building until a valkyrie recognised him and let him fall down towards Midgard again.
The privileges of being banned.
But instead in Hel's house, when he died he would have to wait fro Hel to start the invitations herself, and then be thrown out of the house by being literally cicked in the ass followed by various insults. Eeeh, his father-daughter relationship could have been better, but who cared?
So this time around, he waited in the atrium for a bit surrounded by weak and fragile souls that barely recognised their own death, let alone the place. He didn’t even have to wait for long before he catched a glimpse of black and bone white on someone. Those were Hel's colours, she was the only one allowed to wear white along black just because it made her dead part look a little less atrocious. But when he turned his head completly he was met not woth his daughter's dark and moody eyes, but with some curious deer-like brown ones. He felt both relief and happiness in seeing his grandchild, that was booth similar to him and his daughter.
Hel never revealed to him who was the father, but he always suspected it was a mortal since the son looked decently more alive than dead.
«Simon! I haven't seen you in such a long time!» Loki was genuinely happy to see him, no tricky lines or anything, just wanting to riunite with this side of his family. «You grew so much! I think you are above me already.»
By reply, the grandchild just shrugged and sent him a not-so-happy smile. His face was usually quite dull. He naturally didn’t show much emotion. Unlike his mother, he was pretty symmetrical with his decomposition stages. His fingers were scheletrical, no meat or skin on them, only a few nerves connecting his bones and contracting them. Under the loose black and white clothing his ribcage too had an opening in the front, where his heart and lungs should be, where instead of the organs he his various knives, some fkr ceremonies, some made just for killing and some for throwing.
Loki's red hair had passed through his daughter (who had a red-ish undertone in her dark hair) and from his daughter to his grandchild, who had a dirty blonde nest on his head with a red undertone.
Finally, the grandchild decided to speak. «You'll make Hel angry again…» His voice was literally magical. He could vocalize his deepest toughts since he couldn’t breathe, and it always rumbled through the walls. It was always a commanding voice for some damned reason, almost like the child (or at least he could be called that in Loki's eyes since he was much older, but the man was fully grown and more than a capable adult by human standards) wasn't given any power as an infant and now felt like he had to compensate.
In fact Loki had seen the boy for the first time when he was already completely developed, which initially made him think that he was Hel's new partner rather than her son.
Before Loki could come up woth a sarcastic reply to Simon's statement he felt the air in the room become suddenly chill, and he realized that Hel was behind him. When he turned around he was eye level with a half decomposed face.
Chapter 2: Parents and children
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When he turned around he was eye level with a half decomposed face. Hel, whose left side of her body was rotten, showing in some places the white bone, and whole right side showed a beautiful young woman, was observing him with a hatred in her eyes he could only describe as eternal.
Not a single other emotion towards him. She grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back towards the exit, breaking the mix of lost souls that was surrounding them without a single stance.
«Hel, we can talk about it, maybe this time you let me jump instead of throwing—» She kicked him once. «Ah! Hel!» She threw another kick at his ass.
«Why do you still try? Why do you still bother coming?» Her voice rumbled, half organic and half magic, even he tongue was split in half.
Loki usually wasn't even trying to enter her house since he didn’t exactly like the sensation of dying on a regular basis (since he could still perfectly feel pain), but if he had the possibility he liked to interact with the few people that treated him more like a person rather than a monster (such as Simon) because sometimes he felt lonely too (nobody ever believed him though).
But this time he had a trick up his sleeve that wouldn't hurt anybody. He reached for his pocket, from where he grabbed some ogre tusks. He knew Hel and Simon practiced magic (even if not at his level) and that ogre tusks were useful but hard to obtain.
«I even came with a gift— Ahy, stop please!» Hel was basically dragging him out. He felt a hand reach for his, the one with the tusks, but then the void towards Midgard absorbed his soul before he could elaborate who it was. He gained consciousness again while falling towards Midgard. The fall was usually extremely wrong, and rather than a fall it was a "being dragged up for a bit too long for it to be enjoyable", but at least he could observe his surroundings.
He looked at his hand, and noticed that the ogre tusks weren't there anymore, so he tried to spin on himself while falling (with so many deaths and falls he learned how to move while falling quite gracefully), and behind him, or rather under him if he used a bit of logic, there was Simon, who had the ogre tusks and had lost consciousness. Loki immediately tried to reach for him, but he was wearing tight clothing, that didn’t help with falling(or rising) slower, while Simon's robes were slowing him down, distancing the two.
Oh, Hel would have killed him if she knew that Simon had fallen out too (or rather she would have tortured him until he was constantly falling in and out of consciousness and would suffer for eternity), but he couldn’t do anything. Their distance was becoming grater the more they fell, and Simon's non aerodynamic position was moving him laterally from Loki's position, meaning that when their souls would have landed in Midgard, they would be days of travelling away.
Before Loki could use any magic to grab Simon ar track him down they entered the Midgardian air domain.
Suddenly they slowed down, due to air resistance, and they were thrown even more in different directions. At least they were both going towards Viking territories.
The heat of the air resistance was starting to burn on his skin, but he had to endure it. He had no idea if Simon in Midgard would be in pain for his decomposed parts, but if he was wearing combat clothing that was literally meant to protect him he couldn’t imagine what Simon was feeling with loose clothing that didn’t cover him completely, so he could only with him luck from here ongoing.
Their distance became greater the closer they get to the ground.
He landed in a forest in the eastern side of the Viking territories, in the territories that were called of the "Slavs", in the middle of the continent.
He waited for a few hours for his body to heal with his magic from the fall, that had broken various bones (a human wouldn't survive returning to earth, but he was an immortal God that could heal pretty fast, so for him it wasn't a big problem), but he didn’t know Simon's situation at the moment.
Oh, Hel was going to destroy him when she found out what happened. He could only ne grateful of the fact that she could not physically leave her house since it would fall into the void without her, so as long as he didn’t die he was relatively safe.
Chapter 3: The house of the dead
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Simon just wanted to make his grandpa happy and actually take the gift. What he didn’t expect was the strength of the void. He was thrown out of his mother's house at a speed that scared him.
He felt like there was a pull towards Midgard that was unstoppable.
Then there was dark.
When he woke up he was freezing under the rain, his limbs felt as heavy as his eyes and for him the sky was the ground and the ground the sky. The water falling down made his clothes stick to his skin and even breathing was hard. He had a terrible headache, splitting his head in half like a thunder breaching the sky. He reached for his forehead and tried to massage his temples with one hand. What he didn’t expect were various ogre tusks falling on his eyes with a soft sound like small stones hitting each other. He groaned, having forgotten that he had taken those, and then he jumped up after smelling them. Ugh, the smell of rotten teeth, blood and saliva wasn't his favourite by a mile despite being constantly around dead souls. He gathered his thoughts for a moment, thinking about where he was (Midgard), where he was exactly (he was surrounded by wet mountains, he saw the smoke of some houses various kilometers away, so he wasn't completely lost) and how he could return home. That was… probably both the easiest and hardest part of his journey.
Looking at his hands he noticed they didn’t change from his original form. He expected that falling towards Midgard would “regenerate” his body like he heard Loki say, but maybe since he was born this way it couldn’t be changed. His fingers were still long and thin, composed in white bones connected with a few nerves connecting and helping flexing them. He tried to move his hands, almost amazed that he was on Midgard and alive (for the most part). He had seen Loki fall towards midgard dozens of times, and he even had been described the place once. His grandpa had said it had oceans, valleys and mountains, those were the Danish territories, where he was considered a God, along with Hel and him.
But the place seemed ordinary to him. The mountains weren't giant and unsurmountable, the valleys weren't es extended as ten battlefields and he couldn't see the ocean, but maybe that one wasn't as big as it was described either. He sat up, still wet from the rain and a bit nauseous.
He noticed how some of the edges of his clothes seemed burned and after that how his right arm seemed in worse conditions than his left arm.
It wasn't burnt, but it was red and irritated, and was also clearly hotter than the rest of his body. Maybe it was because it was covered, or maybe he fell on it and bruised it, but the weirdest part was that it didn’t hurt and it was also visibly healing. The more he stared at his arm the more the skin that was red before returned to a more natural pink and then to the paler colour of his skin.
He instinctively grabbed a dagger from between his ribs, moving to the side his clothing to grab the sharpest one he had. He opened it with his hands trembling and angled it ready to cut.
He took a deep breath and pushed it towards his skin. A small stream of blood came out of the wound, a single line of sparkling red against his almost white skin. And again it didn’t hurt. He felt the cut on his skin, the blood dripping out and the air hitting the uncovered flesh, but it didn’t hurt. After a few moments it started closing, and the only thing that remained to remind him of the cut was a thin line, only a bit lighter than his skin.
He moved his dagger to aim towards his throat. If his theory was correct then he couldn’t die in Midgard. He pushed hard until his skin broke and more blood came out, much more than before and darker in colour. It slipped down his throat, towards his ribcage and absorbed by his clothes. When he extracted the dagger the wound started closing and he could still breathe and speak.
He got up, put the dagger back between his ribs, covered up his ribcage and started walking towards the village in the distance. He couldn’t die to return to Hel's house (or technically even go to Valhalla), so he just had to search for Loki. How big could Midgard be after all? Surely he could find his grandpa pretty fast, but after that?
He stopped on his feet and closed his eyes for a moment trying not to think about it, to keep peace in his mind. He continued the walk towards the village, but the closer he got the more the realisation hit. The smoke wasn't coming from the houses. Those houses were on fire, an entire village was set on fire and was being raided. He didn’t even accelerate, instead he took a slower pace, after all if destiny had decided that those people had to die he couldn’t interfere.
The closer he got to the village the more the smell of burned wood and human meat became stronger.
Gyusmind on Chapter 1 Mon 02 Jun 2025 09:18PM UTC
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Fifipool09 on Chapter 1 Sun 06 Jul 2025 08:05PM UTC
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