The Seventh Stone

Chapter Twenty-Three

Standing in the midst of the chaos and carnage that devastated the Asgardian race, the Mad Titan watches as the God of Mischief and Deceit steps forward.

"Almighty Thanos—I, Loki, Prince of Asgard," he strides forward, pausing as he casts a meaningful glance to his brother—the God of Thunder—who watches from aside, bound in silence by the chains restraining him. "Odinson," he continues, summoning a dagger secretly to his left hand. "The rightful King of Jotunheim. God of Mischief—do hereby pledge to you, my undying fidelity."

The Mad Titan watches as the prince casts his eyes to the ground, pooling at the rims—before lunging forward at his neck, blade in hand. Thanos throws his arm up, wielding the power of the space stone to halt the prince's movement mid-air.

"Undying?" he says in a low voice, taking the prince's forearm. "You should choose your words more carefully."

The dagger falls to the ground as Thanos pulls him forward, grasping Loki's neck with the Infinity Gauntlet—lifting him slowly into the air, grinning at his struggle.

"You..." Loki chokes. "Will never be... A god."

Thanos tilts his head bemusedly, and tightens his grip around the Odinson's neck. With a quiet snap, his vision goes dark.

***

Wind blows gently along the side of Loki's face, as he lays motionlessly on the ground. Consciousness revives him slowly, as his fingers flinch lightly against the blades of grass. His eyes open slowly as sensation returns to the rest of his limbs, and he shifts onto his side.

The ground is soft beneath his face, and his body feels heavy. He lifts himself slowly, propping up against his forearm as his blurred vision regains its focus on the fields stretching out for miles before him. He squints as light pours quickly into his eyes, and rolls them back downward to the ground, rubbing them slightly. A fresh, mountain breeze flows over him from behind, and he turns slightly—shifting to his other side. A tall, slender figure appears in sight, facing away from him at the end of a far ledge that overlooks a scenery of mountainous hills and rivers.

His chest tightens with familiarity at the sight of the landscape—as well as the woman, with her light, wavy hair tumbling past her shoulders. He watches for a moment, observing her carefully as she towers  proudly before the view—clad in black-and-cobalt robes that trail gently over the curves of her figure, enhancing her presence to that of a queen.

Meanwhile, the woman peers down at the small, golden circlet in her hands—running her fingers over the the six empty slots lining its edges. It's hardly large enough to be worn, but that's not an issue—she didn't craft it to be worn, and the fate of the six missing stones is still uncertain. As is her involvement with their fate.

The woman sighs, taking the circlet in her right hand, and bending her wrist downward. A faint light glimmers from within her palm as the circlet rolls down her hand, and disappears with a brush of air against her hand. 

She blinks, sensing the familiar presence approaching closely from behind, and turns toward the figure nearing her. Tall and slender, he approaches quietly, wearing a black suit and green cape that tumbles over his backside. Tense, widened eyes peer back in shock as he comes to a stop just two feet away, and stares rigidly at her—even as her expression relaxes with a soft grin.

His lips part reluctantly, and shut again as uncertainty pours over his expression—unsure of whether or not he's recognizing the right person.

Lara smiles, lifting a hand up before her. His gaze drops down to it for a moment, and he glances back up to meet her eyes with a raised brow. Slowly, he lifts his hand up and slides it over her warm palm.

She squeezes it gently, "It's good to see you, Loki."

[The End]