Twisted Fate || Loki Odinson

43.

Bursting through the door of my cabin, I push it shut behind me, leaning against its solid frame to catch my breath. "Loki!" 

From the kitchen, Loki emerges, his usual calm demeanor replaced by concern etched deeply into his features. "Cassie, what's wrong?" His voice, usually steady, now carries an undercurrent of worry as he steps closer.

"Eric," I begin, the word stumbling out of me, my voice trembling.

His eyes narrow, jaw clenching with restrained anger. "What did he do?" The controlled fury in his voice sends a shiver down my spine, a reminder of the power he holds.

"He... He came to the diner," I admit, my voice catching. "He attacked me."

His expression darkens further. "I should have dealt with him sooner," he mutters, more to himself than to me. His hands clench into fists at his sides, a visible sign of his growing agitation.

"I got him to leave," I continue, my tone wavering with lingering fear. "But Loki, he won't stop... and I'm scared."

His features soften briefly as he looks at me, understanding crossing his face. "I will not let him harm you again, Cassie," he vows, his tone low and determined "Stay here. I'll take care of Eric."

I reach out to him, my hand shaking as I plead, "Loki, please... Be careful." The urgency in my voice reflects my fear for him as much as it does for myself.

He nods, his gaze unwavering as he takes my hand in his, offering a reassuring squeeze. "I promise," he says firmly. "I will handle this."

Releasing my hand, he strides purposefully towards the front door, his movements fluid and determined. As I watch him go, a mix of fear and relief washes over me. I trust Loki with my life, but the danger feels tangible tonight.

|| || ||

The night air is cool as I materialize outside Eric's decrepit house. My mind races with the implications of Cassie's distressing news. Eric's foolish act has placed him squarely in my sights, a position from which few mortals emerge unscathed.

The front door creaks open effortlessly under my touch, revealing the dimly lit interior. The air inside smells of stale alcohol, a fitting atmosphere for what is to come. My footsteps make no sound as I glide across the floor, my gaze fixed upon the figure slumped on the couch in the living room.

"Eric," I announce, my voice cutting through the silence. 

Startled, Eric jerks upright, his bloodshot eyes widening in terror as he recognizes me. "You!" he stammers, scrambling to reach for something on the coffee table.

I allow him a moment of futile resistance before my magic coils around him like a serpent, rendering him immobile. "You attacked Cassie," I accuse, each word laced with the weight of consequence. "That was a grave mistake."

"I-I didn't mean..." His voice trembles as my presence overwhelms him, stripping away any pretense of defiance.

With a flick of my wrist, I summon a sleek handgun, its polished surface catching the faint light. I gesture towards it, my eyes locked on his trembling form. "Pick it up," I command, my tone resonating with power. 

He hesitates, his gaze darting between me and the weapon. "Pick. It. Up," I repeat, my voice brooking no argument.

"What are you going to do to me?" he pleads, his voice cracking with fear.

My lips curl into a cold smile. "I'm not going to do anything," I reply, my voice dripping with malice. "But you will."

Reluctantly, his trembling hand reaches for the gun, his fingers closing around it with a desperate grip. Sweat beads on his brow as he raises the weapon, his hands shaking violently.

"Now, shoot yourself," I order, my tone cold.

His entire body shakes with fear, tears mingling with sweat on his pale cheeks. "I can't," he whispers hoarsely.

"You will," I state firmly, my eyes boring into his with an intensity that leaves no room for defiance.

The gun wavers in his hand, his resolve crumbling under the weight of my will. "Please," he begs, his voice raw with despair. "I didn't mean to hurt her."

"You crossed a line," I retort, my tone unyielding. "There are consequences for such actions."

With a gut-wrenching sob, he raises the gun to his temple, his finger hesitating over the trigger. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his own heart.

"Enough," I snap, my patience wearing thin. "Do it."

A single gunshot shatters the silence, the sound echoing through the room. Eric slumps back against the couch, lifeless, the gun slipping from his grasp to clatter on the floor. Blood seeps from the fatal wound, staining the fabric beneath him.

I watch impassively, my features unreadable as I survey the scene. With a flick of my fingers, I erase any trace of my presence from the room, leaving behind only the echoes of Eric's desperate act.