To Avenge Mother

Part 2

Loki began vigorously thrusting into her core. Each rough impact sending her wide red eyes into a further state of hurt, cracking her piece by piece. His brutal invasions of her being, entirely devoid of all but spite, lust, and a deep-seated need for vengeance, stung her noble pride above the physical pain. Jensicara continued to meet Loki's eyes but she knew she could not keep a maintained composure for much longer. Loki halted inside of her, allowing her just a moment to feel him, before fervidly regaining his pace. Though her expression attempted to remain stern and unfeeling, tears began to generously stream down the sides of her face, which flinched with each connection of their hips. ''Call my name, pet.'' Loki purred into her ear. Her situation was against her choosing, but never would she willingly obey an order from this man. At that time, Loki conjured an iron dagger and drove it into Jensicara's leg. The virulent metal scorched her flesh and muscle. ''Howl my appellation like a thirsty wolf hailing its mate.'' Loki said as he twisted the noxious knife blistering her thigh. ''Loki Laufeyson!'' She uttered through her heavy breaths. ''Good pet.'' He mocked as he slowly removed the knife.

Loki could feel his release rapidly approaching. Jensicara felt his hot breath on her neck as he taunted her. '' You are not but a holster for me, a sheath of which I can practice my will. Here I will teach you of your purpose.'' With this, Loki spilled streaming loads of hot, pungent liquid deep inside of Jensicara. She cried out and shook as she exploded as well. Being the god of mischief Loki was far from finished, much to his dejection however, as was Jensicara.

With the weakening of the spell ailing her, Jensicara used her magic to throw Loki's own clones at him. She hastily freed herself and bolted to a wall. While desperately searching for an exit, she retained a shield of energy about her. The pain and heat between her legs meshing with the stinging of the dagger wound was almost intolerable, but she knew if she were to escape this place and return to protect her father, it was a necessity that she be strong. Loki's magic savagely lacerated through her feeble means of protection with ease. The young Dark Elf was in no way comparable to this deranged god driven by the vengeance of pain. And yet, Jensicara continued to project spells unto him, causing no more disturbance than that of the occasional light gash upon his body. He continued to advance on her. Slowly, for there was no need to rush.

Loki roughly grabbed her arms and pinned them above her head in his hand. He pressed his body up against hers, pushing her back into the wall he hovered his lips just over hers as he teased, ''I presume you were attempting to make way to your father? Fret not, my fatuous goddess, for soon enough you shall be remet.'' With this, Loki cast another spell and promptly had the Svartalfheimian princess lying unconscious in his arms. This was the end of the projected memory.

Now, Loki stands before the fallen king of the Dark Elves and his brutally ravaged daughter.

He was the god of mischief. And his one true friend was about to be avenged.

''Release him.'' Loki said shortly to his doubles. Malekith stood as tall as he could facing this demonic man, tears burning the corners of his eyes. ''Have you nothing to say in the presence of your god?'' Loki chided, his face dangerously close to Malekith's. ''Now kneel.'' To his pure astonishment, the elf had taken a knee without any sign of angered declination. But before this surprise could set with Loki, Malekith had dashed for his daughter, instantly transporting her at his touch and draining him of the very last of his power.

Loki sauntered over to where his meek prey lie waiting for his boot to meet its flesh, which all too vehemently it did. Pulling by Malekith's hair, he lifted the elf into the air before throwing him violently across the room, embedding him high in the dense marble and allowing him to fall the way back down. The groans he elicited from this fallen king brought more pleasure to him than any maiden, victory, or acknowledgement ever could. Again he approached Malekith, his walk now more resembling a child's skipping than a prince's stride. He took hold of the back of Malekith's undershirt and relieved him of his armour and chainmail before throwing him to the floor on his back.

Reconjuring the iron dagger, he slowly carved crude lines unto his victim's torso and delighted in the sights and sounds of the forbidden metal scorching his skin and the following cries of true agony erupting from this once-great force. Once his wailing had subsided, Loki dragged Malekith to the front of the palace, where a tall metal beam with a spiked peak had been prepared for this moment. Malekith was stripped completely naked and Loki used his sorcery to lift the other male high above the beam. Looking down, Malekith could see only his castle and strange red smears above his entry way which he may have made out, were he not falling so fast.

Loki watched with hungry eyes as the thing which he had hated most was mercilessly impaled by his hand, forever marking his place above the people of Svartalfheim. He stepped back to admire the message he had sent to this pitiful planet, which was quite clear.

The ruler of the Dark Elves, Malekith the Accursed, stripped naked, broken, and impaled above his conquered palace, marked with Svartalfheimian blood reading, ''FOR FRIGGA OF ASGARD.''