I would like to dedicate this chapter to my sister, as it is her birthday. Anyway, last chapter, thanks for reading/reviewing, and keep an eye out for the sequel!

X

"Oscar" never questioned the story Loki had put in his head.

He'd been an only child, raised by a wealthy businessman and his trophy wife. At a moment's notice, they would jump on a boat, or later, in a fancy contraption known as a "jet airplane". Exactly once, they'd gone on their own. Oscar had been reading the morning newspaper when two men in suits rang the doorbell. That was a bad day.

Witnesses reported pieces of the airplane plummeting from the sky into the ocean. A few bodies were found, but neither of his parents. Every now and then, Oscar would visit the beach closest to the crash site. That was the closest he ever got to a funeral.

Inheriting his father's corporate empire -build around developing and selling military aircraft- brought him various women hoping for a slice of wealth. The first who caught his eye was named Veronica. They married in fairly short order, and nine months later, right on schedule, their daughter Helen was born.

Veronica had just handed him the baby to inspect when she let out a choking cry and began to seize violently. The doctors said it was something called eclampsia. She was dead within hours. Later, he would realize a certain amount of justice in Loki giving him the guilt of responsibility for his first wife's death. He was certainly no angel.

Raising Helen on his own proved too difficult. A few nannies came and went, and when Helen was about nine, one of them, named Faith, staked her claim on his heart. They married, had a son named Thomas, and lived happily.

When a story broke on the news about a newborn abandoned at a local church, Faith couldn't resist. He'd agreed to visit the babyin the hospital, and even put their names in to adopt him, not really believing they had a chance. They brought baby Luke home a few days later.

All of this he related to a young woman named Piper, who listened with fascination. Something about her unborn child touched a memory, and the dam broke. They talked for hours, with the young woman occasionally offering smiles, or condolences, or a touch of her hand.

Even as he spoke, he knew that what he said was untrue. The memories had been planted to keep him happily docile. they were nothing but a beautiful lie.

That, too, was justice.

Finding the truth would take power he didn't have. That would have to come from somewhere else. Where exactly it usually came from, he couldn't recall, but he knew another way to get it.

When Piper left, he turned to the man next to him. David. He was just a mortal, and dying already. No one would question another death in a place like this.

Laying one hand on David's forehead, he began to absorb the man's life force. It didn't take long before David's breathing slowed to a stop. Peaceful enough. That seemed to be the goal with mortals, to have their last moments be something they enjoyed. So different from the glorious death to which the Aesir aspired, but following the same logic.

It was time to leave that place. There was somewhere he wanted to go. Back to before everything had gone wrong. Or were they destined for trouble from the beginning?

His feet carried him first to a park, the only green space in the middle of the mortals' busy city. Individuals and families went about their busy lives, moving in every direction.

One person lay still, wrapped in one of the black bags that usually held spoiled food, empty packaging, or what else. Discarded on the roadside, they would be whisked off into oblivion. But whoever this was, they were still breathing. This one was sick, certainly. So many of these people had that kind of problem. A quick spell, memories and power coming back just a bit, and the breathing grew deeper and steadier.

Why he even bothered, he couldn't be sure. The mortals had so many ways of cutting their short lives even shorter. Maybe he just wanted to do something good, one last time.

"Your majesty."

The solemn voice was so unexpected, Odin (yes, that was his real name) at first didn't realize it was directed at him. The dark-haired man with a cape -unusual for a Midgardian- had appeared out of nowhere. A few red-gold sparks faded out of existence behind him.

"And you are..."

"Doctor Steven Strange. You've been using magic, and I want to know why."

"I- it was just a healing spell. I'm trying to leave."

"Back to Asgard?"

"No."

Why did I say that?

Loki or Thor must have been ruling it. Not too badly either, since Asgard was still in one piece. He could tell that much, somewhere in that part of him that drew strength from the planet's core. But he wouldn't live much longer, even if he went back, even if he never left. It was time for the next generation to take over. There was, however, one place left he wanted to see.

"Can you send me to Norway?"

X

It had been so long since Odin had set foot here. Back when Frigga was healing from a birth gone wrong, Hela was a loyal soldier, Thor hadn't even caused his first thunderstorm, and Loki had yet to put in an appearance at all.

Where exactly his youngest had come from, he had long been uncertain. Memories of finding him abandoned in the snow, as he'd related that day in the Vault, he'd known even then were false. He'd never even bothered to ask Frigga if it was her doing. But no, she would have done it better, so he wouldn't realize. Which left Hela, but to what end?

It mattered little. They would never see each other again. Maybe that was better.

No trace remained of the portal the Jotuns had traversed in the original invasion. They'd done their work well. A few rocks marked the spot, on the edge of a cliff. A beautiful place, truly. The sun shone on it nearly every day. Just as well. He wouldn't be leaving, not alive at any rate. At least he would see Frigga again, and his first wife. But there was something of a letdown, to die without a struggle. Not what it should have been.

So many things left unsaid. Questions left unanswered. What happened to Loki after the Bifrost broke? Where had he gone wrong as a father (aside from thinking he would be good at it)? What would have made a difference?

It became harder and harder to hold on as the days wore on. He supposed he should have been grateful to Loki for leaving him in a good place. He could no longer manage on his own. But hold on, just a little bit longer-

A yelp and a thud, and the sense of magic behind him. No one could ever arrive somewhere quite the way his children could.

He called them his sons, because that was who they were. He told them about Hela, as much as he could. He told them he loved them, because that was the truth.

There was some sense of regret, that they did not have enough time for him to fix all of the mistakes he'd made as a father, but then again, no amount of time would have been enough. All he could do was say the important things. He'd wanted a struggle. Looking at Loki one last time, telling him Frigga would have been proud, because he could not voice his own pride, that was a struggle. After all they'd been through, to say "I love you" one last time, and genuinely mean it, that was perhaps even harder, but he managed that, too.

It would have to be enough.

Slipping away at the end was gentle, the aches and pains of thousands of years loosing their hold. The cliff, the rocks, the clouds, his children, all faded away with his body.

Then it was pure light.

X

The deaths of the soldiers had been unfortunately necessary. People would mourn them, want to avenge them, that sort of thing, but Hela had their unquestioning obedience now. They had died their glorious deaths.

Asgard would have to become stronger. Loki's idea of ruling had been to pull everyone back to the planet itself; they abandoned their allies and neighbors to retreat like a turtle to its shell. Understandable; her absent sibling was no fool. There was a storm coming. She'd hoped he would turn out like her, but there was so much of Odin in him she couldn't help joking to herself that he and Thor must have been switched at some point.

Somewhere in there, Hela almost regretted throwing him out of the Bifrost. He hadn't shown up anywhere, so he was probably alive, and for that matter, so was Thor. But there was no reason to tell the rest of Asgard. If they showed up, she would deal with them then. Other than that, what had she to fear?

Thanos came to mind.

Hela's brief glimpse into Nebula's memories scared her more than she cared to admit. The Mad Titan was a plague of locusts, devouring everything in his path. Or he was your average predator, picking off the weak ones first. Skurge had told her about Midgard; that pathetic little planet had grown up in Asgard's absence. They were the first ones to fight back. Little wonder that Thanos had changed from simple slaughter to seeking the Infinity Stones, if rumors from the dead were to be believed.

Even for Hela, the prospect was unsettling.

Asgard's population had dropped considerably due to the soldier's mutiny and her suppression of it. Yes, that was a good word. Don't call it murder. They would have killed you given the chance. On the other hand, it wasn't so much a problem of numbers. Having twice the planets would solve the problem just as well as having half the people.

Fortunately, there were eight other Realms to conquer and she came equipped with an undead army. Unfortunately, the portal could never handle that many at once and the Bifrost sword was missing. Gungnir used to have that ability, but something was different about the bridge now; perhaps it had been rebuilt at some point and Odin wanted no one but Heimdall to have that ability. That had a certain logic to it.

Understanding it didn't have to mean she liked it, right?

X

Thor announced his arrival in classic form: by pounding on something. That was who he was. Hela couldn't fault him for that, not really. But they couldn't both rule Asgard. Perhaps she would use him for a second-in-command, if he was worthy. He certainly had the strength. Removing his eye simply ensured that he would always be weaker than she.

Or so she told herself. That lightning strike was impressive, at any rate. Impressive, but futile. Maybe he believed that lie she'd fed him about killing all of Asgard's people to get the sword. They were such children. She'd threatened one of them and they caved.

A glimpse of Loki running flat-out for the palace. Whatever that was about. She would deal with him later. He was so desperate for affection, it wouldn't take much to draw him in. He hadn't remembered her on Midgard; he'd just been scared. Which he should have been. He would be a useful asset.

Then Thor pretended to surrender Asgard to her, and something went wrong. A rumbling under her feet. Fire pouring from the palace.

Surtur.

The worst fear of any Asgardian with a brain. The legendary prophecy of Ragnarok, the destruction of the world. It was supposed to come back, to start again, but nothing would be left of anyone by then. Were her brothers so afraid of her that they would prefer him? Is that what she'd become?

Seeking Asgard's throne had been a mistake. Too late now.

Fighting back against Surtur, much as with Thor's green smashy friend, was purely out of instinct. She held no hope of victory, or even survival. But it was a battle. She died her glorious death.

Instead of Valhalla, though, she was completely and utterly alone.