Wednesdays are for the slowly dimming souls realizing that they were trapped in an enforced enclosure of turning wheels in a closed system.
It was a workable metaphor, but it was all Loki could think of as he knelt yet another time at the feet of his master. His brain had been frayed. His body was hurting. His bones were crumbling under the weight of his armor. And yet he kept rising and kneeling. Ignoring the sounds of crying behind him - the kind you were reluctant to let out, in fear it would break whatever will was left.
(Whose will Thor was trying to uphold Loki could not answer. He hoped it was his own. For Loki’s will had run out long ago. All that was left was its ruins of pragmatization and routine).
He was distantly aware the warriors, who had defeated him, were standing in a circle. Defenseless and out of depth. The plan had never accounted for this repercussion of his loss. The way it would hurt others he had never intended to bring master’s attention to. The warriors were fierce, but they had no chance of stopping what Loki’s uncalculated actions had wrought to this realm.
There was no way forward. There was only repetition until satisfaction.
Loki’s body, his hull of a body, was once again held up into the air. Like a mother showing their kid proudly to the masses. Yet now, it was more of a father showing the masses what his might and control could bring. He was aware. He knew. That his ‘father’s’ his master’s love was only a farce, a lie, if not one told by his false freedom then one told by actions.
He had been promised freedom, but even as he thanked the knuckles laid out before him, his gut twisted with the painful truth. Freedom, is life’s greatest lie after all. He hadn’t been lying when he had uttered that phrase. Beaten but not yet broken. When he arrived in Midgard to conquer it for his master’s approval. The lie hurt yes. But he was hopeless to change it. Withstanding it? An action he was now paying for.
He was grateful. He would no longer bear the shame of his actions. Of him going against his master. His battered body showed the truth of his submission. His continued rising showed his love. His remorse was highlighted as he kissed the knuckles that would ensnare his throat until he wheezes and was cast aside once again. Only to rise and repeat the motions until satisfaction. His arms hanged limp as they had from the start. His lungs were burning as no air could come through the tight grip on his throat. There was no twitching, no fight for survival. He would take what was given. Take his master’s love and turn it into remorse. Thanos had never accepted Loki’s words, only his actions. And actions were easy. It was simply the body continuing tasks the brain had left behind as it deserted the conscious mind. Love rose inside him. Or was it hate? The two had become so intermingled…
Loki’s thoughts were getting harder to hold onto. Burst blood vessels were filling up his eyesight. Bones creaked and cracked, but the smile of gratitude never left his face. Then he was tossed to the side. His back skidding along the pavement. Tearing up the bloodied skin as stones tore it apart. His head hit something hard and his vision blacked out.
He needed to get up. This inaction wouldn’t do.
Get up. Get up. Get up. Get UP. Get UP!
Somebody screamed. Thor?
No, he wouldn’t scream for something as small, as meaningless as this.
He struggled but eventually, he moved his hands under him, ready to push off the ground.
Get up and SERVE. You mindless beast!
He coughed. Everything was red. Like a monster’s eyes. Heaving with the effort he pushed off the ground. But something heavy stopped him. A boot on his back. He didn’t dare look up. He didn’t have to, for he knew.
Thanos stood calmly. His right foot is situated on Loki’s upper back. “Rise Godling”. He smiled. Looking at all the ants that had gathered for his show. The warriors of SHIELD, and the small infant group that had defeated his son. Together with the brother, his little monster had cried out for so much in the beginning, before he had learned.
The command resonated through his body. Situated itself where his little Seidr that was left lay. And he obeyed. Pushed through the pain and rose up until all fours. Nauseated swaying, and dripping blood. But then the pressure of the boot grew heavier. And Loki fell again.
The routine repeated.
His head was swimming. Mouth dripping blood, and the wound in his skull had opened and started gushing again. The bones in his legs were broken, his shoulders dislocated. Wrists were stomped on and bruised. And still, he rose. The command to stop had not been issued yet. Whatever consequences would be for disobeying a direct command, would be worse. Pain was easy to understand, it was the mind-twisting that broke down Loki’s defenses and left him screaming.
Thor was held back by the green berserker. Mjolnir was forgotten by the asphalt. The Avengers are pale-faced and few had thrown up. Some of them had to be held back. Was it ironic? That the people he had been trying to invade, to half of life, were now looking with horrors in their eyes when his failure to succeed was being paid for. Loki supposed it did not matter. Nothing would stop until the command was given. And his Master had not received his full submission yet. That was fine. Loki would continue until he was satisfied. His heart stuttered, as he once again rose. Bones cracked even further by the pressure and tension of the boot. The bones in his wrist snapped, and Loki fell before he could fully rise.
There was no longer any energy to get up. With his left wrist immobile, he balanced on the right as he rose. It creaked with displeasure, but the pain was a mindless sensation that could no longer reach Loki’s conscious mind. It would come later, for now, there was only rising.
“Rise”
Unable to use his wrists to push off the ground. Loki turned his head. His forehead was heavy against the ground. Stones dug in. And his eyes were bleeding, painting the ground directly underneath him a hateful shade of red. He pushed off, laying his weight on his forehead. Until his knees could rise enough to take some of the pressure. The tendons snapped, the sound ringing in everybody’s ears for years to come. Loki didn’t go down. He was close. Close to completion. To acceptance, and love. He could feel it. Soon his master would allow him his rest. And Loki would gladly follow him.
But then there was a second boot. A heavy weight on his neck. Unable to bear the full weight of his master on just his head and knees, Loki went down. Hacking out blood. His vision was blurry. All the people blended together and he could no longer see his former brother in the crowd. Perhaps he had left. Unable to stand the sight of Loki’s noncompliance.
“I have no use for a tool that cannot obey a simple command”
The statement rang through him. An ever-loping sadness follows. His failures were too great to overlook he knew. He would be a plight on his master's good name.
Thanos left. Uncaring for the ants gathered around to watch.
Loki, understanding the dismissal and the command, took his knife and rammed it through his eye.
He would cut his eyelash on the tip if he blinked. But the knife would move no further. Loki slumped with defeat. Knowing that this would not even be granted, and finally fell unconscious. Uncaring for what would happen now, as his master and father had discarded him.