Sylki One-Shots and Poetries (English)

No Time

The only thing that accompanied his movements were Sylvie's choreographed dance routines against the unpredictable blows of a Kang overcome by his own rage. His name admitted it: the Conqueror.

For him, the desire to have everything at his feet was inevitable, to demonstrate his strength, his power, his wrath. Loki couldn't deny that Kang was nothing more than relentless to the height of two daggers and his magic.

Or even Sylvie's.

The battleground in question was the grimy entrance to the Kamar Taj in downtown New York. It was strange to admit that, after so long, he would only return to help the team of heroes he once tried to defeat. Help a world he tried to conquer.

Nothing differentiated him from being like Kang, thirsty for power, if not time itself, which they fought tirelessly not to lose. Time was a sacred concept in a branching, multifaceted, open, and extremely lethal multiverse. Time was the concession, the living and the limit of life.

And nothing is more powerful than conquering time itself.

As Kang advanced, Sylvie's steps got stuck, her dance no longer had so much freedom of movement and Loki noticed the gasp of breathlessness that stopped her from continuing.

Lost war.

But how far was allowed to give up? Not until everything was completely over.

He couldn't see Sylvie lose, not while he was there to help her, not while he was there to die for her – if needed be.

Perhaps his loyalty had been more extreme than usual, but he allowed himself to feel it. He did have important things in life, and making sure she was okay was one of them.

But now he wasn't so sure he could do this.

More time passed, as a series of twisted, dodged – hit – strikes found whoever was in front.

Once again, the heroes were far away from winning and, honestly, in this story Loki was fed up with knowing who was the villain or the savior.

But a fatal deviation, a slip and a moment of inattention captured his eyes for a tiny second, when a horde crossed the portals of time, like an army declared against everything that was most sacred and crossed that awful battlefield.

There were really good, powerful defenders. Wizards, soldiers, fighters, sorcerers, gods. But none of them prepared for what was to come - at least not for Loki himself.

Dozens – or hundreds – of bodies lying, shattered and torn to pieces on the ground still didn't devastate it like the scene that would follow.

Kang advanced so subtly, evenly and lightly, against every effort Sylvie made to reach him, like a child struggling to match the strength of an adult.

The whole situation was doomed.

- Does this dagger bring you luck? – Kang mocked when he took it from Sylvie's hand with extraordinary ease, helpless by his own tiredness, while Loki felt too far away to do anything.

But he did – or at least, he tried to.

It materialized in front of the figure of a simple, human man, who carried with him the power that no man or creature should have. His purple clothes imbued with the symbolism of power, a color Loki was used to know, his face completely covered by a type of shield that left his skin pale and bluish.

- Killed you before. – She exuded confidence, it was typical, even when she looked exhausted. – Will kill you again.

- Presumptuous of you to believe I'm weak like that. - He replied. – And I know you. And you know me. – He went on, advancing slowly, Loki feeling the menacing, confident movements. – We don't need to play this game again. He paused briefly, tense anticipation building. - You're going to die today, Sylvie. – The name was pronounced in a way that made him shiver. Loki knew that only he could say it like that, hungry for the power. A fury surged through his body and he braced himself for a more arduous battle than he could have anticipated.