A Game of Gods and Grit (PJO/MCU Crossover)

Chapter One

Loki Laufeyson yelled in anguish again after falling to his knees, sending every object in his cell into the wall. Some shattered, some snapped, some stayed completely intact.

Let them break, he told himself. He sent them flying into the wall again, he let them smash back into himself. He let himself bleed- even cry. She was gone, she was never coming back.

He was alone.

How long had it been since he'd been given the news of his mother's death? How long had it been since Thor had begged for his help, used him like one might use a weapon, and then cast him to the side, forcing him back into this dreaded cell? How long had it been since he'd last slept?

Odin didn't seem to be showing any concern. Loki was sure his adoptive father was lounging languidly on the throne that should have belonged to him, eating grapes and sending out commands as though Loki was not several floors below, rotting and suffering in this prison that he longed to escape from. And, as far as Loki knew, Thor was somewhere in the Nine Realms- presumably Midgard, with his precious mortal- living luxuriously as though he didn't practically owe Loki his whole life after the stunt he had pulled in the Dark World.

He let out a soft sob of rage and despair, running a hand through his hair and letting his magic run wild around his cell, destroying everything that it could. He'd clean and repair everything once the damage done was enough to satisfy him. It gave him a sense of control; a sense of clarity in this dungeon where time wasn't real and sanity was an illusion.

*

Loki woke to the sound of shouting down the hall. About thirty guards walked into the dungeon, several of which were gripping a young man, who was struggling against their grip, yelling obscenities at them. Loki rolled his eyes. It was not uncommon for prisoners to be brought in this way, kicking and screaming, trying to convince everyone they were innocent when, in reality, they were really not. Loki rubbed his eyes and grabbed a book, knowing he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, when the sound of several guards exclaiming in surprise caught his attention.

The young man had somehow managed to break free of their grip and was now fighting against them all at once. Loki raised both his eyebrows at this. Odin's Einherjar were the fiercest soldiers in all the nine realms, having trained for millennia in Valhalla. The fact that this young man, hardly a thousand if he happened to be Asgardian, was beating them down without too much hassle was almost laughable to Loki. Odin's strongest warriors, hardly able to control a rogue prisoner of Loki's age. Or, perhaps, he was just going mad and there was, in fact, nothing funny about this, but his mind was simply telling him so.

After several minutes of this, more guards loaded into the dungeon, and the man quickly became overwhelmed by the number of guards and was knocked to the ground and promptly dragged toward a cell- more specifically, Loki's cell. He looked back at his book almost immediately, wanting to make out that he hadn't even noticed the man or the guards at all. The man was shoved in and immediately stood back up as the guards walked away, assisting the injured and possibly dead.

Loki got a better look at him. He was beautiful- ethereally so, as though he was not of this world or any other. His hair was an inky black that made Loki think of the deepest crevices of the sea that the light had never touched, his skin was a shade of brown that reminded him of the dried rivers Loki had seen when visiting the drier parts of Asgard that suffered from severe drought. He was tall and lean, perhaps two inches shorter than Loki, and wore Midgardian attire- however, everything about this man was not Midgardian. He was not of any world or any species Loki knew of, judging by the sheer power radiating from him. Loki suddenly understood how this man was able to take on so many guards at once.