Unworthy

Chapter 2.2

With the weight of emotion on his shoulders he couldn't sit still any longer. He threw his fists down to the table and slid the wooden chair he'd been sitting on out from underneath. Knocking it to the floor with the force he exerted, his mind was beginning to turn against him. Memories darted back and forth quicker than he could manage. An iniquitous laughter rang in his ears; it was all too familiar. The image of his face was perfectly clear in his mind. That diabolical smile he held every time he would cauterize another part of his body. The words he spoke were as effective as the dagger he used to glide threw his thin flesh. "Damn that bastard.."

He picked up the chair and hurled it at the force field which held him in the tiny room; pieces of splintering shards flew in every direction. By now destruction was what he knew best. It was a way to vent his frustrations, but by now he found it only dug the wound deeper as to speak. This hatred was what he held on to. As much as he wished refused to remember he it was inevitable. The image stuck like a fly on sticky paper, he would do anything to make that monster vanish from his memory. It would eventually lead to his self destruction if it had not already. He looked at the mess he'd made and in the end it did not make him feel any better. All he was good for was wrecking things, causing mischief and other atrocities.

He turned and punched the white wall behind him, feeling every bit of force as he drove it into the hard surface. He wasn't sure if he had broken his hand or not. But by this time he didn't really care. Harming himself was the punishment he deserved, to feel some of the pain he'd caused others. His father refused to torture his son although Loki had renounced that title when all of this started. So much he wished he could take everything back, he would live in the shadow for the rest of his life in silence if at all possible, blissful ignorance. Why did they care, it would have been easier if Odin had let him die long ago, at least then none of his suffering would of occurred.

He held his fist against the wall and hung his head, his long black hair covering his features. He sent countless people to their graves, leading families to ruin the way he led his. In his mind any self infliction was a small retribution for his selfishness. He twisted his hand against the wall until blood ran down from the spot. After a moment he pulled it back and studied it.

Bits of skin were hanging off and blood was oozing from several different places. He lifted his head up to look at the dented surface. Although his over grown bangs covered a good portion of his face he was able to make out a couple thin cracks underneath the red blood and flesh that covered the hole. He wiped the back of his hand on his black pants and sighed. He could punch this wall a thousand times and it would never make him feel any better.

'So long I have prayed for death while under Thanos's watch. What seemed like endless days of torture ultimately turned into a series of relentless brain washing. I thought myself free for a little while but it was too good to be true. They called me an ally but I ended up becoming a puppet controlled by that heartless tyrant. Forced to do horrible things to innocent people and willed to enjoy every second of it. There was an uncontrollable urge to puke every step of the way. Solemnly wishing that one of those humans would be strong enough to end this suffering.' The scars on his back ached along with the memory.

"How gracious of the Asgardian king to let someone of the likes of you fall into my hands. You will serve us well." Those words bellowed deep within him, he would do anything to make that voice stop. Fueled by anger Loki kicked the glass table up and hit the ceiling. Shards of glass and wood rained down to the floor. He held his head in frustration, his hair more or less a tangled mess by this point. Sweat riddled his forehead and ran down his cheek, soaking in the collar of his tunic.