We'd fallen asleep no more than an hour later, as soon as Loki was done seeing everything Thanos put me through, he crushed me in his arms and clutched me tightly to his chest. He'd said nothing to me, just shook and pressed my small figure into his with a bone-crushing hug. He'd whimpered a small, pathetic, "I'm sorry," under his breath that shattered my heart, and said nothing else afterward as he clutched me. 

I didn't say anything either, just buried myself in him, hoping it'd make it alright.

After what seemed like forever of holding each other on the floor, we eventually found the bed and he held me to him so tightly I had to adjust to be able to breathe easily. I'd tucked my head into his chest and he'd held one arm adamantly over my torso, his other arm laying on the pillow above my head and leaving his hand resting on my hair.

His body was rigid and tense and his breathing was ragged and shallow. He'd never said a word to me, and I him, we just laid there and let the silence swallow us until I eventually drifted off. I knew Loki likely didn't fall asleep until a long time after I did, as he stayed taught against me and never relaxed even after I drifted off.

I wished that I could say that night was different, that finally being reunited with the love of my life chased away my nightmares and worries.

But not even Loki's arms could protect me.

-

My bare feet slapped against concrete as I walked forward, the landscape spreading before me as red fire crawled on the ground and up the surrounding buildings.

People screamed as I came, clutching children and running in any direction that was away from my merciless heat.

I couldn't quite comprehend the terrible smell of burning flesh that singed my nose, and when I saw people cremate before my eyes, it didn't quite register in my head.

The heat circled my palm and crawled up my forearms, my shoulders, my neck as I unleashed an onslaught of fire into the helpless planet, my cloak blew from my shoulders, the clasp at my neck the only thing keeping it on my body as I paced slowly with red wrapped in my fists.

When the man clad in a red cape and long blonde hair came to me this time, this time I didn't try and walk away. My flames grew and the blonde's eyes widened as he stumbled back, holding his hands in front of his face.

"Lyra!" He begged, but I didn't know a Lyra. I didn't recognize my own name.

I raised my hands and searing hot flames tore through the blonde, he screamed and swatted at the fire as the horrid smell overwhelmed me, but I continued to push the power into him until the screaming stopped.

Thor

the name suddenly popped in my head.

I killed him

A shrill scream ripped through my throat as agony tore my chest and I ran toward the god of thunder, falling to my knees at his bloody, burned up body. "No, no no no!" I screeched, sobbing as I fell onto him. "Thor!"

the pain shot through me and I cried in anguish, my chest split open at the sight of what I did to him. I collapsed completely against him, pressing my cheek to his blistering hot iron armor. I couldn't look at his mangled skin, couldn't look up to see my flames continuing to eat through children and innocents and homes.

The power soared through my skin, and I could feel it thrum with the power as I cried at what I'd done.

-

I startled awake, lurching upward in the bed as I hunkered over to try and catch my breath and gasping in air greedily. I felt vile rise in my throat and I pressed my palm against my mouth, shuddering as I wiped my sweat plastered forehead with my other hand.

I clenched my teeth and sobbed into my fist, trying desperately to not disturb the sleeping Loki next to me. I knew it would destroy him to see me have one of these episodes.

Tears fell down my cheeks and I quickly wiped them off, pain and guilt assaulted my chest with their unforgiving fists, and I was disgusted with myself, hated being in my own body so gods-damned much.

I knew I didn't kill Thor, but still, there was truth to my dream. I'd killed thousands, came within moments of killing Thor, all because of the disgusting, horrible fire in my veins.

I could feel it lurking underneath my skin, the heat stroking my bones and ready to be called upon at any time. The tears came quicker then, and a sob fell from my lips as I rubbed my skin  roughly where I could feel the wretched heat. I wanted it out- I WANTED IT OUT!

I scratched more intensely until my skin turned red and the intensity only grew as flashes of my dream tormented my  mind, the smell of burning flesh, the mangled helpless screams, the torn and burned skin-

vile once again rose in my throat and I couldn't keep it down this time.

I phased to the bath chamber and threw myself over the toilet, emptying the few contents in my stomach. I sobbed and trembled as I did so, clutching the sides of the porcelain. Once I finally had nothing left to bring up, I fell back against the wall and sobbed, continuing to scratch my skin desperately.

I didn't want this skin anymore, it didn't belong to me, this whole body of mine- it was Thanos' now. I hated it. I hated every finger and hated every strand of hair, and I hated my damned skin.

I hated my damn fire.

I could still feel it there, lurking within the corners of my joints and taunting me with its warm caress. The feeling soon began to overwhelm me far too much and I grew hysterical, rubbing and scratching my flesh to get the power out of it without thinking of how futile it would be. My judgement began to cloud with the overwhelming need to get the heat out of me, and my sobs grew as I summoned a dagger, bracing my hand on the floor as I raised the blade, only thinking how much I needed it out-

But before I could impulsively cut a fucking dagger through my hand, fingers curled over my raised ones from behind me, jerking the blade free of my grasp.

I fell back against the wall, knowing who had stopped me without having to look.

He stared at me as I curled up and cried into my knees, digging my fingernails into my palm and feeling strangely resentful that he didn't let me cut into my skin. Valhalla knows I deserve every torturous thought and pain I could put myself through for what I've done.

The dagger clattered on the ground as Loki dropped it, sinking to the floor beside me slowly. I couldn't bring myself to look into his eyes, to see exactly how horrified he would be to see that I was gone; the girl he fell in love with was completely and utterly gone, I was still stuck in that terrible room with Thanos, still reliving every little thing that he forced me through.

I sobbed more into my knees, and I continued to tremble until gentle hands cupped each of my cheeks and raised my face.

Loki knelt down in front of me, gently running his thumb along my cheek and drawing circles on my skin.

He did not look horrified, he looked understanding, he knew the loathing that I felt rooted deep inside myself, knew how much I hated my own skin.

"You don't belong to him," Loki breathed, and my chest tightened with those words. I knew he was only trying to help me, but it didn't work.

I shook my head as tears dropped from my cheeks, sucking in a sharp breath.

"I did." I squeaked, and we both knew how much truth was in my words. Loki moved his thumb to my lips, trying to gently shush me, but I dropped my head down and out of his hands, blinking a tear from my eyelash.

Images of rising flames kindled behind my eyes, the smell of burnt hair and flesh forever a whisper on my nose. 

"I still do."

-

I knew that we had remained in the bathroom for a long time, I didn't even recall going back to the bed. I assumed that I'd drifted off eventually, somehow, and Loki had carried me back to the bed.

When I woke up, I was nestled back into the comforting sheets, though a there was a certain, ghastly loneliness on my skin from the absence of Loki's arms.

I narrowed my eyes as sunlight poked through my eyelids, and I groaned at the intrusion of light and moved to roll over to the other side of the bed so I'd avoid the windows, but instead when I rolled I did so into the sleeping man next to me.

When I bumped into him Loki stirred, a yawn stretching his lips and incurring a yawn from my own mouth.

Loki's eyes blinked tiredly, and he rolled over onto his side slowly to face me, a deep shade of green concern flickering across his eyes as he fixated his gaze on me. He moved his hand slowly to my arm, trailing his fingers on my skin in gentle inquiry.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, his index finger passing over a small, white scar engraved in my bicep. I hadn't expected the question, and I didn't know how to answer. How was I feeling? How would I answer that?

The memory of last night taunted my mind, and my cruel subconscious had to remind me that Loki had witnessed one of my episodes. I'd never wanted him to see me that way, never wanted him to see how badly Thanos affected me.

I never wanted him to see how weak I was.

Loki frowned at me, dropping his eyes to my neck and grazing his gaze over the brand on my chest briefly, and I tried not to squirm with the weight of his eyes.

"I'm sorry you had to see me like that," I said, electing to not answer his question, as I had no idea how to. Loki trailed his hand up my arm, his fingers igniting small fires on my skin as he does so, until he reaches my face and he brushes his thumb over my cheekbone gently.

"You don't have to apologize for anything, love."

"Except for maybe trying to cut off my own hand?"

I tried so hard to sound light hearted, I fought to get humor into my voice, but the Gods know I don't have that strength and I only sounded weak.

Loki cringed, moving his hand back down instinctively to my hand- the one that I had impulsively raised a dagger too. He twined our fingers together, staring at my hand for a moment while moving his thumb in a silent path across my knuckles. I could see the jade worry mixed with the emerald in his eyes. I wasn't a mind reader, but I could see his thoughts written in between the creases in his face.

He was wondering what I would've done if he hadn't have stopped me, what I might do.

"Do you want to..?"

"No."

I didn't have to know what he would ask, I could see it in his eyes. Do you want to talk about it? Do you want to tell me why you almost cut off your hand in the bathroom? Perhaps he deserved answers, but-

I couldn't give him them. At least not yet.

-

Hela sat on Asgard's ornate throne, running her fingers methodically over the smooth arms of the chairs.

This was once the great Odin's mighty seat, she'd seen him park on it countless times while she merely stood at his side, merely a nice little ornament to the room.

It was her throne now.

This is finally what Hela wanted, the throne of Asgard. She'd finally sat in that seat, after centuries of banishment, entrapment, suffering, here she was.

Her kingdom at last.

If only these damn Asgardians would realize the same.

She cringed as yet again another loud bang sounded from the gates of the palace, the vastness of the ceilings only echoing the wretched noise.

Her eyes rose slowly in agitation, falling onto her first subject who stood at the base of her throne. Skurge, the forgettable little thing as he was, sat there awaiting a command, his eyes raving over the marvelous throne room and the 'renovations' she'd made to the ceiling.

"Skurge, what is that noise?" She demanded annoyingly, her lips curling in obvious distaste. Skurge's eyes snapped right to hers at the first mention of his name, and he casted a look over his shoulder toward the source of the noise.

"Some of the Asgardian people, they aren't exactly falling into line." He said slowly, carefully, like he wasn't sure what she'd do with the information. The corner of her lip twitched and she tossed her head to the side, where a few of her undead soldiers, whom she'd brought back with the eternal flame of Asgard since she had to slaughter all of Odin's arsenal, stood gathered in a small circle.

She jerked her head, implying they take care of it, and the soldiers wasted no time with their animalistic grunts as they shambled off to hopefully brutally murder those protestors.

"Daughter," a new voice called from the entrance of the room, Hela's entire form went rigid but she hid it with a devilish, gleeful smile at her mothers entrance.

Skurge suddenly went completely still as he indeed heard the voice of whom he most likely assumed to be the devil. Skurge witnessed Hela's mother tear apart those warriors, no doubt he was terrified beyond reason.

Hela stood from her seat to great her mother, pulling herself down into a brief curtsy. Clove sneered, knowing that it pained her to do so.

"Mother," Hela greeted.

"I've found your sister, we leave now. Take the Bifrost sword, and your pathetic undead army, there is work to be done." Clove spat impatiently, her eyes passing over Hela's executioner with blatant disinterest. Hela silently stretched out her knuckles, listening to them pop at her side as she fought down her hatred for her mother, and her sister.

"You do not need me to find her. You can take men, but I am needed here."

"I decide where you are needed," Clove said coolly, her brows drawing together as her eyes narrowed. Hela knew better than to argue.

"Be ready within an hour, the Bifrost awaits." Clove finished, before leaving as swiftly as she arrived. Hela clenched her teeth together as she watched her mother leave, the dark skirts of her queenly gown brushing the ground as she left.

Damn her half siblings, she hadn't even met them more than a few minutes, but she hated them.

They had no appreciation for their lineage, and were going to take everything away from her. She wasn't stupid enough to think her oaf of a brother was dead, probably stranded somewhere with the girl, and she knew he'd be back. Back to take it all away.

Damn him.

Hela hated her siblings, both of them, but she despised her sister more than anything, so much it rivaled her hate for her own mother.

Lyra.

The unappreciative bastard child of Clove, not even Clove's firstborn, given the right to Nilfheim at birth, just because she'd inherited Clove's demonic power. They had no idea what real power was- and this, this child- she had everything.

Clove hadn't even known her, and Lyra was her pride. She'd gleefully give Lyra the throne of Death, though Hela was the one to serve her all these years, SHE WAS THE POWERFUL ONE.

But they'd both see, Hela would show them, what power truly looked like.

She would get the Bifrost sword, as her mother instructed her,

and she was going to kill Lyra.

Hi everyone!

Doing the A/N thing again basically for my Queen Bee throwawaym8

Speaking of my queen, look at this beautiful masterpiece

Omg I cry 🥺❤️

Tysm my Queen Bee, your so talented everyone go follow her immediately please.

Also sorry for not updating in a while, I've been busy watching Hamilton five times lol. I'll try and update more often ✌️

Come back soon for the next chapter!