The fires circling the pillar had begun to die down. The puddles of blood on the ground were still fresh and stunk of rotting meat, vomit, and saliva. The boy lay against the pillar, clutching a golden helmet. His hands and tunic were stained a bright red. Droplets of blood fell from his mouth.
The echo had taken over most of his body. In a matter of minutes, Loki would no longer exist.
He could not move. His body felt like it was sinking down to the ocean floor. One by one his senses began to fade. He did not notice that his mouth tasted like metal, did not smell the pungent aroma of death around him. His eyes were shut, unable to open.
He still could hear and feel. He heard the swishing of someone's coat accompanied by footsteps.
Was it a pre death hallucination?
The sound grew louder until it stopped. He felt a presence of a body kneeling in front of him.
"Hello Loki."
It was a young man's voice. Loki did not know who it belonged to, yet it sounded so familiar, even comforting.
The Midgardians had their stories of an angel of death. A chilling numbness washed over Loki. The end. It was near.
"Who are you?" He was surprised he could still speak.
"You haven't recognized me?" The man asked. "I am surprised."
"Are you death itself?"
"No," the man laughed. "I do not care for souls or bodies. I deal with something a little more abstract."
"What?"
"I collect stories."
"Stories?" Loki whispered.
"Yes," Loki imagined that the man was smiling as he spoke. "I listen to stories. I memorize them and remember so they can be told. I would like to hear yours."
"My story?"
"I listen to all stories no matter how long or how short. They are all beautiful in their own way. You must have a story to tell. Tell me, how did you get here?"
His lip trembling, Loki began to speak.
"My name is Loki," Loki started. "I'm dying--well first I died--"
With each word he spoke, Loki felt the pain inside disappear. His voice was soft and hoarse, but it began to regain the fullness it once had. His body began to feel light as if he was rising into the air. Suddenly the stench of blood reached his nostrils. He coughed. He smelled it also in his mouth, mixing with his saliva. He winced as he swallowed it back. He continued on, recounting his experiences of the past year.
"And then I ate Ikol. And here I am, waiting."
There was a pause.
"Thank you," the man's voice shook.
He began to sob.
"Are you alright?" Loki asked, concerned.
"Oh Loki," the man's voice sounded happy even through the tears. "Open your eyes!"
"I can't!"
"Open them!"
Loki's eyelids fluttered. He let out a gasp as he took in the sight.
He was hovering over the ground like a ghost, staring down at his unconscious body.
"But!" Loki exclaimed. "I'm supposed to be wiped out of existence!"
Laughter again. Loki looked over at strange story collector for the first time.
He looked exactly like what Loki used to imagine he'd look like in the future.
The man wiped the tears off his cheeks and beamed.
"Your soul is gone," the man's voice wavered . "Your story lives. I managed to rescue it before the echo took over. You still live Loki! You still live!"
"Alive?" Loki gazed down doubtfully at his transparent body.
"Yes! A story never dies! It lives to be told. To be shared. As long as it is remembered it will never die. And I Loki, promise to never let you be forgotten."
For the first time Loki smiled. He held out his hand to the man.
"Thank you," it was his turn to cry.
The man took Loki's hand and squeezed it. He raised his free hand and conjured a portal. A flash of light greeted them.
"Where are we going?" Loki asked.
The man glanced down warmly at Loki as they stepped into the light.
"We're going to tell your story. Everyone will love it."
