Hi guys ^^

so, i couldn't really stop myself from making another Loki fanfic. just then an idea crossed my mind: what would happen if Loki wasn't immediately found by the Other?

this ensues :)))

I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER OR LOKI. THEY BOTH RIGHTFULLY BELONG TO J.K. ROWLING AND MARVEL.

I drifted in the darkness of the abyss for… Odin knows how long. The black haze that surrounded me was my only companion, along with frequent shimmers of rainbow-coloured light. It was getting tedious, actually. My previous feelings, about everything, about my family's betrayal, it had seemed to turn as blank as the picture that lay in front of me; it was now nothing.

Instead, questions floated around in my head, and I imagined them surfing on waves of green right in front of me, begging me to answer them. Questions like: where are you, who are you, how long has it been…

… are you dead?

I did not know.

Stories have been told about the selfish prince dying and floating in darkness forever. And that was their punishment. To live without knowing that they were dead, to drift in a vast ocean of nothingness, and for the memories to remain in their minds and torture them. But I thought then, wasn't what I had better? I knew nothing, I felt nothing, I saw nothing. I was nothing. Maybe then I was dead indeed, but then that would have been better anyway.

I was shook from my thoughts as sharp pinpricks numbed my feet, then the feeling crawled up my leg, then up my torso until it had overcome all of me. Fear did not register in my mind. Nothing did. I accepted what was, as long as I wasn't found. I didn't want to be found. Better to be a lost toy than an overly-used vessel.

Then I noticed that the blackness had somewhat become… brighter. It was not as horribly black as before. It offered me small comfort, seeing grey instead of black. Was this the little mercy that the gods decided to bestow upon me?

I inhaled sharply when my feet touched solid ground, rather heavily than expected, and I was forced to my knees. I looked up, and saw eternal light.

The long room I had landed in was white everywhere, and it seemed to go on forever. Columns stood to my left and right, also continuing forward until it was out of my line of sight. Everything around me felt holy, but I did not recall such a place being taught to me when Frigga had described to me Valhalla. Valhalla was blue skies and green pastures.

My mind begged the question once more: where are you? Where am I? Surely I didn't deserve such peace? I struggled to get on my feet, for the gravity seemed to weigh heavier in this place.

"Need some help there, mate?" I heard someone ask and stopped, a foot already planted on the ground. The man's voice had a thick accent that sounded something close to Midgardian. I thought for a moment on whether incompetent mortals could find their way here as well, their supposed 'heaven', as they liked to call it.

"I need no help." I growled back, my boots scraping the cold floor as I was finally able to stand upright. And there the man stood, just watching.

He was not anyone I had met before in Asgard, and the clothes he wore were nothing I had ever seen in Midgard, but not on Asgard as well: black robes. His dishevelled dark hair ran until above the nape of his neck. A slight pale colour ran beneath his veins, and glasses were worn over green eyes. He wore a smirk as he stared at me. "Not what you expected?"

"Quite." I answered bitterly, my lips thinning into a straight line as I smoothed my tattered clothing. Feeling bold, and rather jaded, I asked, "Where am I?"

"You, my friend," he replied, smiling widely, "are in the Blind Side of King's Cross Station."

I understood none of this. Though I did know what the term 'station' meant to Midgard, and I assumed that King's Cross was just a name for it. The Blind Side… yes, I suppose it had a ring to it. Everything about me felt numb, my limbs, my mind, my heart; even when I took a step I barely felt the ground touch the soles of my feet. "Who are you? Why are you here?... Why am I here?"

A shadow fell across his face, then. And he seemed reluctant to answer. I was just about to force it out of him when he spoke. "I can't tell who I am, not now, not yet."

I frowned. "Enlighten me on exactly why we're here, then."

"Well," the dark-haired man paced closer to me, his hands in his pockets casually, as if it was every day he met someone here, as if he had given this lecture before. "If you're here, sorry to say, I'd assume that you were dead."

The news didn't shock me as much as I wanted it to. I expected it to scare me lifeless. It didn't. It didn't do anything, actually. So I stood there and sighed, "And you're quite sure about this?"

He stared at me with raised eyebrows, and I didn't blame him. I would have looked at myself the same way if I were in his shoes. "Positive," he replied slowly, stopping to stand in front of me. "You're not shocked at all at the probability that you're dead?"

"Not at all." I answered, grinning. "My previous predicament will then be left to be solved by someone else, someone more willing." He didn't prod me to talk about the subject, and I was grateful. But then I noticed something about his statement that disturbed me rather so. "... what do you mean 'the probability' that I'm dead?"

His lips tightened into a thin smile. "Yes, see, about that." Clearing his throat, his fingers started fiddling with something that he had pulled out of his cloak's pocket. It looked like some kind of stone, triangular in shape from the glimpses I saw at the corners; coloured a very dark grey, though there seemed to be something written on it. It was too small and he was too far for me to make it out. I raised my eyes to meet his green gaze as he continued. "There is still a 50/50 possibility that you're alive," a shadow crossed his face, then, when he said, "barely."

So I was barely alive. It was very logical, in my opinion. Immortals that fall from the Bifrost never really came back up to Asgard. But the question was…

… where had I landed?

I had thought about it all beforehand, and knowing that I was not yet dead, this was not my real body. This was not my real state. I was probably more far gone, every bone on my body probably broken.

But I was alive.

"And that then offers you the choice," the man then continued, dropping his hands to his side though still not letting go of the stone, voicing out my thoughts, "whether to come back or not."

My eyebrows furrowed together as I thought of the prospect of going back, having to live again with such pain. I had to feel. Why would I have to when this was so much better? Not so much about the scene that I had to live here alone, only with this man, who could leave me whenever he liked, but about the fact that I didn't have to feel anymore. In such a white place, it was so easy to finally achieve peace.

But something was nagging at the back of my head, pulling at the strings of my heart and forcing me to sense the slightest jab of hurt. The voice in my head told me, He is still alive. A growl escaped my lips as I hear this. He is still alive, living the life that was meant for you.

The life of a king.

"So what'll it be?" the sound of the man's voice distracted me from my raging thoughts just enough for me to realize that I had been staring at empty space all this time, a wicked snarl on my lips. He stared at me with eyes wide and questioning.

I pursed my lips, still not looking away from the patch of white ground that I had been glaring at. "I will go back."

He beamed, for reasons I didn't have the time to find out about. "What made you change your mind?"

My hands clenched into fists beside me as I answered. "Revenge." My voice came out much like a lion's would if it ever had the ability to speak: fierce, deep, frightening; the very sound of fear itself that would strike men dead and would haunt children in their sleep. I turned on my heel, then, not even caring that I knew not how I would get out of there. Visions of the past clouded my thoughts, events of his betrayal.

It was enough. Until…

"Loki."

The sound of my name being called stopped me dead on my tracks. The man should not have known my name, and yet there it was, clear as day and not at all foreign from his lips. When I turned around he stood there, his eyes hard, yet sympathetic. He said, "Revenge will not prove you to be the bigger man."

It struck nothing within me. The cords attached to my heart felt attached no longer, save for one, and that one cord was hate. It seemed to be the only thing I felt at that moment; hate for the man standing a few feet away from me, hate for all the lies, hate for my childhood sentiments, hate for the man that called himself my family.

"No, revenge will prove me to be the wiser king." At that, I spun around and strode off, my ears not hearing his calling my name, to bring me back, to make me once more the weak man I had been not an hour ago.

I would not have fallen for it.

I would not have sentiments ruin my soul a second time.

woooo!

so how was it? how was my comeback? :D

please review. reviews mean a lot! 3

hugs and kisses from ellesmer~

-this-is-a-line-break-

update~

a random person who didn't really have an account here on reviewed on this story, and i don't really know how to reply yo those kinds of messages, so i'll answer her (his?) question here.

Q1: "are you gonna make more of this?"
A: unfortunately, no, this is only a one-shot. my apologies.

Q2: "is the man Loki met Harry, Death, or Male OC?"
A: it was actually Harry. terribly sorry that i didn't mention his name, but i wanted you guys to figure it out for yourselves. and take note that this was post-Hogwarts, meaning that Harry is already the Master of Death. now J.K. didn't really say if Harry could control Death himself, or if Death's spirit became Harry, so i'll leave it to your imagination. ;)