GreekGreenGlass
patreon
C260
🕑 Added 2025-01-19 14:49:22 +0000 UTC"Hahaha, good brother, I had a great time fighting today. It's always a pleasure to spar with someone as strong as you!"
"Thor, you're formidable too. Come on, drink!"
"Drink! I won't stop until I'm drunk tonight!"
On a small open-air rooftop, Thor, Sumarokov, Sif, the Warriors Three, and other Asgardians gathered around a long table piled with roasted meats and flowing ale. They laughed, ate, and drank under the night sky, celebrating with the reckless joy only warriors could understand.
Thor and Sumarokov, though jubilant, looked a little worse for wear. Thor's bare chest was marked with fresh scars, while Sumarokov appeared outwardly unscathed but was nursing several cracked bones and internal injuries. Despite their bold words, the duel earlier had pushed both of them to their limits.
The one-on-one clash between the two warriors had been ferocious and thrilling. Thor wielded the power of thunder and storms with masterful precision, while Sumarokov unleashed astonishing attacks, including a massive flying slash that nearly destroyed the entire arena. The ground cracked beneath them, and the energy of their strikes almost overwhelmed the protective runes and magic barriers designed to shield the audience.
Yet the Asgardians reveled in the spectacle. Rather than fearing for their lives, they cheered louder as the fight grew more intense. Their warrior spirit burned brightly, and they returned home that day satisfied with the display of power and valor.
Despite treating each other as deadly enemies during the fight, Thor and Sumarokov now drank as brothers, their mutual respect forged through battle.
As the celebration continued, this small rooftop banquet fostered bonds between the future king of Asgard, Thor's closest allies, and visitors like Wanda and others who had earned Asgard's respect through their strength and character.
In Asgard, relationships weren't built through words alone but through shared experiences—combat, feasts, and acts of loyalty. Though Asgardians were often seen as proud and arrogant, their fierce loyalty to those they deemed friends was unmatched. They would sacrifice everything, even their lives, for those they respected.
This night of camaraderie and celebration, however, was overshadowed by a growing crisis in the dungeons of Asgard.
The dungeons of Asgard were far from the grim, dark cells of other realms. Instead, they were pristine and radiant, their walls glowing with an ethereal light. Magical barriers, invisible but deadly, ensured no prisoner could escape.
Loki sat cross-legged within his cell, his eyes closed as if in meditation. The guards outside patrolled diligently, for Loki was not the only prisoner here. Nearby cells held other dangerous beings who required constant vigilance.
After a long silence, footsteps echoed from the far end of the dungeon. A figure descended the stairs, and the guards immediately straightened, placing their right hands over their hearts in respect.
It was Frigga, Odin's wife and Loki's mother.
She moved gracefully through the corridor, bypassing other cells until she reached Loki's. The magical barrier between them shimmered faintly. Loki, sensing her presence, opened his eyes and rose to his feet.
A bitter smile spread across his pale face.
"Mother…" he murmured.
"Loki, are you well?" Frigga's voice carried a mix of love, pain, and helplessness.
"It hurts, Mother. Everywhere," Loki replied softly. His face betrayed no emotion, but Frigga could see the torment in his eyes. She knew what he was enduring.
Using her magic, she had managed to remove part of the dark influence tampering with Loki's mind—a powerful, malevolent force that had twisted his thoughts. But she couldn't cleanse it completely. The remnants of that power still lingered, and only Loki's will could drive it out entirely.
"My poor child," Frigga whispered, her voice trembling with anger and sorrow. "I will find the one responsible for your suffering, and they will pay for it."
Frigga's gentle demeanor masked a fierce determination. As a mother, seeing her child in pain ignited a fire within her.
"Don't, Mother," Loki said, his voice unsteady. His eyes flickered with a strange light, alternating between cold cruelty and genuine emotion. "You shouldn't have come here. You're putting yourself at risk."
Frigga, unfazed, gazed at her son with unwavering tenderness. "I will not abandon you, Loki."
Loki's hands clenched into fists, his voice trembling. "I'm not myself anymore. I might hurt you. Please, leave me here to rot. Let me spend the rest of my days in this cell."
Frigga's expression hardened. "I will not allow that, Loki. Tell me who did this to you."
Loki shook his head, desperation in his voice. "You don't understand. They're too powerful. I can't—"
Frigga interrupted, her resolve unshaken. "You are my son, and I will not stand by while you suffer. No matter who they are, I will find them. This is not your burden to bear alone."
Her unyielding love and determination pierced through Loki's defenses, stirring something deep within him. Despite his anguish, a small part of him wanted to believe her, to let her help.
But he also feared what his enemies might do, not just to him but to her and all of Asgard.
