Chapter 2
Loki
Gold and cream surround the grand palace. Elegance cream marble walls deck out in gold lining. Chandeliers hanging above. Gold twisted around the bars, the candles lit up using magic. Showing off their wealth; the golden placed thrones, royal blue velvet cushions cushioning the inside, gold leaf vines scattered the outside matching the rest of the throne room.
The elegant setting ostracised by the ragged, chalky black dirty streaks on my face, bare feet, the heavy magic leaching clunky handcuffs. How dare they! I am a prince. I’m not a common peasant, the disrespect is disgusting.
The handcuffs stop the wearer from being able to control magic. The underlying purpose is to suck out secrets buried under the wearer’s skin.
Outrage feasting on my heart. I would never harm the earth where my darling lives.
Lightning striking my nerves. Torturous sounds leave my lips, betraying my dignity. Tremors. Ice chills hugging my bones. Red raw wrist. Electrifying pain ends me into a quivering mess. Rolled into a ball on the ground. Undignified screeching toddler impression sobbing.
Heavy-handed guards slot me into position. The position unfit for a prince, on my knee in a begging pose. The great Loki does not beg.
The cuffs forced me into a docile state. In a trance. The interrogation begins. Secrets long buried trickling out of my mouth one by one.
“Why did you attack the earth,” said Odin.
The holy Odin, old and knackered.
I was the stings, Thanos the puppet master. The other victims had icy blue eyes. My eyes were the same as theirs, but no one cared. Especially fake caring Thor. Brother this and brother that. Placing ‘Brother' in front of every sentence is not caring. He is fake as hell.
I have more things to worry about than Thor. The Ragnarök prophecy. My offspring supposedly destroy Asgard. No one knows when or why. Or if all telling tales is hogwash. Like always, Father looks out for number one. My children hunted down; the kingdom animals have better cages. Trapped for eternity. Denied happiness. They trapped my oldest daughter in hell.
“Thanos.”
“Brother you attacked earth for Thanos.”
Is Thor’s brain pea size or is he just thick.
“Thanos controlled my actions. Thor, did you ever notice my eyes? I would never attack earth.”
The agonising pain twisted magic switching off my mouth filter. Mind kneaded dough, docile, easily stretched and folded.
“You have never cared about any planet that did not meet your needs. What is your plan for earth? What is so precious to you on Midgard?” Odin demands.
Many years ago unknown to any other living being. Birthing a daughter. A half-human daughter. For her own safety, heartbreaking leaving her on the outdated planet. Adopted to a polish family desperately wanting a child, not able to have their own flesh and blood.
“Claudia.”
No. I didn’t just say that. I can not fail another child of mine. She is safe on earth. Hopefully happy. I have failed all my other children. They are all in eternal anguish. Claudia needs to stay hidden. She is half-human.
“Who is Claudia,” said Odin.
No, don't ask that. Come on, useless sack of brain co-operate. Electricity zaps through my brain, gritting my teeth.
“My daughter.”
NO. NO. NO.
“You had another abomination.”
How dare Odin call my children abominations! They are living precious lives; werewolf, hell queen, serpent, half-human.
The guard dragged my uncooperating numb limbs. Not down the hallway to the dungeons. My old dormitories. Green, luscious surroundings grounded my emotions. Everything is how I left it. Must be a demand from mother. Laying on my forest green satin sheets, the old me moulding into an updated ragged tore down version .
Thor steps in the room without announcing himself.
“Brother, you did not attack Midgard.”
State the obvious. Thor’s dumber every microsecond that passes.
“No, I did not. You were there, witnessing the tortured oh I’m sorry interrogation.”
Stiffness fading into oblivion. Functions returning to my body. Thin sheet of dust quitting my unmoved procession’s good sign smashed to smithereens magic blockers gone unnoticed.
“You have a daughter.”
“I have two, actually. Sweet Hela banished to hell you witness it saying nowt. Leave Claudia alone. Thor, technically I have done no crime. Release me from these ghastly cuffs. I’m unable to practice magic within these walls, you know that.”
Thor eyes rolling between the chunky cuffs and my handsome face.
“Thor, I'm innocent, release me.”
Thor slides the key into the lock, taking his sweet time. The key outlandish gems snuggled in the handle. Click cuffs cluttered to the stone chequered ground. Magic fires relit in my gut, dancing flames coming out to play. Before Odin harms a single hair on my youngest daughter's head, I will get there first. Manipulating Thor is second nature to me. A fun game when I was little.
“See you later,” I said.
Disappearing from sight. Leaving the main palace, the outside smothered in glossy gold tower, waterfall scenery. Stealing a small mini flying jet boat hovering an inch above water bank, jumping in. The guards are busy chatting, flirting with the maids. Boasting their sex proest. Unfortunately, slashing from lift off gathers their attention. The guards jump into a few different boats chasing my tail. Damm it. I should have blown up the other boats. You can’t chase a boat you can’t see, enchanting the boat invisible. Flying through a scruffy tiny gap between two cliffs, twisting the boat horizontal. Flying through my many escape routes.
Crash landing in a cornfield. The boat going one way, my body doing the opposite, falling without grace. The cornfield softened the landing. Pride flying out the window.
Magic salty in the air.
Teeny weeny magic spark was in Claudia’s soul as a babe, over the years it would have grown up with her. My magic is not connected to a woman's magic but a man’s. How can that be? With ease, I should be able to connect to Claudia's spark and find her. Biological magic.
A magical pulse beacon pulls be towards them like an anchor to a boat. A small town in the distance, transforming my rags to a posh dark green suit. The town has a dark aura hanging above. Wafting foul smell, gift wrapped around the town, darkness lurking below.
A large rigid stump, centuries old. The forest in a protective stance, trees growing circling it in a sort of hug. Yggdrasil, the tree of life. What is it doing here? Yggdrasil is a myth, a fairytale to describe the Nine Realms. It’s here on dark ages Midgard. Dark presence sewed into the bark, a beacon to creatures great and small sending them here.
This pulse didn’t send me to my daughter, but to a tree. Cut down one, at that. A trail appears in my peripheral vision, the magic from the tree of life. Following a blue line trail through trees, hiking up a steep small hill on a dirt road, to the tiny mundane town.
Hope evaporates. A curved sign fence labelled ‘Beacon Hill Cemetery’.
A well kept gravestone flowers scattered the base. Floral senses, mainly lavender, masking the air.
‘Claudia Stilinski
Beloved Wife, Mother and Friend’
Collapsing to my knees. My daughter is no longer in danger; she is already dead and buried. Howling in grief banshee would have a quieter screech. Heart shattering to tiny little pieces. Damp cheeks.
A little flame is still burning inside my daughter. Her sparks still lit up. The magic burning with nowhere to go but a cold, dead corpse.
The next steps are unplanned and not analyzed. Game-plan roadmap: each step over analysed person has left the building.
Not caring, their red ringed glowing eyes gawking at me. A werewolf can not defeat me. Ignoring the crooked-jaw man, a bulky, ugly tattoo on his bicep.
Tearing, snapping, and yanking the roots out the ground. The coffin levitated in thin air. Root twisted around the coffin, tying it shut tight. Muddy debris falling to the ground, dusty gravel sprinkling the air.
Laying the coffin on the ground, snapping the root off my darling daughter's coffin. Opening the door, my daughter's corpse rotted and decayed.
Stuffy eyed, head stands tall. I am a prince. Can not let outward emotions show.
How did my daughter die? She is. She was half-me.
Enlighten the coffin, red and yellow flames dance. Bones turn to ash.
“You can’t do this. It’s disgusting. You are destroying the Sheriff's wife's body.” The whiny voice is destroying my peace and solitude.
The Sheriff's wife. My daughter's legacy can’t just be she was the sheriff's wife. She is above these commoners.
I released the spark to the wider world. That minor part of Claudia is still alive. Creating and swirling, gushing wind. Blowing the fire out. Collecting the cooling ashes in my hand, carefully pocketing them.
“Who are you? You haven’t got permission to be on McCall land!”
“I don’t need permission from a tiny little mere werewolf. I am the trickster god, Loki. Have you heard of me?”
The man in defiant doesn't know his place. Standing tall, claws out morphine into his werewolf form. This man can’t even transform into a wolf. His son would reap, seeing one of his kin so primitive.
“I am a true alpha.”
A what. What the hell is a true alpha? That can’t be a true thing. This man thinks he is the holy grail. That it would impress me.
“I don’t care if you are a true omega. Whatever you are. You will leave me in peace. This is a graveyard. So shut up and leave.”
Vanishing from mortal eyes. Observing the townspeople. Mostly the alpha. He knows something about my daughter.
“Sheriff, I need to see you, it’s urgent.” The alpha pockets the mobile device.
Trailing the idiot’s alpha. Going into a sheriff's station, staying in the shadows. Is this the sheriff married to Claudia?
“What do you want, Scott.” said the Sheriff.
A simple name for a simple man.
“It’s Claudia. A weirdo burnt her to ash.”
The Sheriff stood up standing tall, “what the hell are you talking about?”
“Loki. The New York destroyer is in Beacon Hill or an imposter. Levitating the coffin burns it to a crisp. We could use this to trick Stile back home. He is our opposition. Our campaign is failing peacefully and honestly living with humans is a far dream. Stile has the Safe Haven on his side. Section 7. He isn't responsible enough to have all that power. He was in my pack, the power should be mine.”
Fury written on the Sheriff's exhausted, aged face. “I don’t care about Stiles. He is not even my biological son. You told me he is a murderer. I’m more worried about my wife. You want to kill Stile. Trick Stiles, go ahead, get out.”
Mother scripted on the gravestone. Is this Stiles his grandson? Apparently has power. This weak, a pathetic wolf is after him.
Finding this deserted land, not one in sight. Magically bombing it, all my seething anger, heartbreaking grief bubbling to the surface. Bottle up emotions exploding, destroying everything in sight. Forcing a tremendous amount of pressure on a mountain face, one bolder rolls, domino effect, landslide. Catching my breath, heart out of control. Falling to my knee. Rolling into a ball on the sandy ground. Sobbing my heart out. The reason I haven't destroyed this pit of a planet that stole Claudia's life is my grandson.