Skadi's receding footsteps faded away as Loki wrinkled his brow, still slumped against the wall. With a huff, he finished removing the battered shield from his back and pulled it out from behind him. Adjusting his position, the trickster stared down at the wounded mess his right leg had been transformed into.

Eydis the wolf's teeth had ripped through the flesh of Loki's thigh, making him wince as he examined it. Blood stained the shreds of his trousers, and a portion of the flesh had been stripped away by the wolf. What remained was quite a ragged mess.

Without any bandages, Loki didn't know how he could effectively treat the leg. He didn't have any water to clean it, either. For the first time since the contest started earlier today, Loki realized that he and Skadi didn't have enough supplies to last them any length of time. A couple days, at most. They would have to find Brisingamen sooner rather than later.

Easing himself up, pressing his hands against the wall for support, Loki managed to get himself up onto his feet, although he couldn't place much weight on his leg. Once standing, he slowly reached down and picked up his dented shield. A couple of adjustments to the straps and he was able to slip it over his arm to act as some sort of defense against attackers.

Having prepared himself so, Loki ran Skadi's words through his mind again. You have a choice to make here....become who you were born to be – a jotun, or you will die here as an Aesir. He needed to decide whether he was going to break his oath to Odin, or whether he would continue to keep the only promise – aside from his wedding vows – that he had never broken.

But before Loki could continue his deliberations, he heard a sound from down the passageway, from the direction in which he and Skadi had fled. Standing absolutely still and listening, he could determine the sound of heavy footsteps – and the soft pad of a canine's paws.

Who else could it be but Agmundr and Eydis?

With one hand steadying himself against the stone wall, Loki limped as quickly as he could in the direction Skadi had gone. He had no idea if the giant knew that the trickster he wanted to kill so badly was just a little bit in front of him. If he didn't know, Loki was resolved to keep it that way.

Loki hoped he would find Skadi, but as he turned a corner, all he found was two paths splitting off from the one he was on. Pausing for the briefest of seconds, Loki glanced back over his shoulder before surveying his two choices. The left path was a continuation of the current one, while the right wound away, deeper into darkness.

Loki tried to think of which path Skadi would have taken in her scouting trip. But with Agmundr behind him, he didn't want to spend much time dwelling on it. He glanced down each path. The continuation seemed the most obvious path that Skadi would have scouted out – but it was also where Agmundr would most likely go.

Hastily making a decision, Loki rashly chose the path that twisted away to the right. He limped into its narrow confines, finding solace in the darkness.

The path's twists and turns quickly took Loki out of sight of the main path. The dim light didn't allow him to see much of his surroundings; he had to keep his hand on the wall for the dual purpose of navigation and support.

Loki exhaled softly, his uptight muscles slightly relaxing on the belief that he had escaped the threat of battle. He slowed his quick pace, wincing at the throbbing pain in his leg.

As he took another step, his left foot landed on an uneven, bulky weave. His eyes widened in recognition as his right foot, slightly dragging along the ground, hit the edge of the net he had stepped on. He tripped, stumbling forward into the net. Into the trap.

As Loki landed on his stomach, the net jerked into the air. His body was folded backwards as the top of the net was yanked closed. With a snarled curse as fresh pain cut through his leg, Loki writhed as he tried to yank his shield arm out from where it was folded beneath his body.

After managing to move the shield out from underneath him, Loki gazed down at the path. Escaping this net would be a cinch. All he had to do was shapeshift. As long as he didn't morph into a bird, he wasn't breaking his oath. In fact, he had done this many times before.

Closing his eyes, Loki focused on his form becoming liquid and then solidifying into the shape of a snake. He felt the process begin, experienced the familiar feeling of his flesh, blood, and bones combining into one essence, but then it ground to a halt all too suddenly as his inner structures bounded back into their normal shapes. Eyes snapping open, Loki stared at the net with shock. Only now could he see the slight flicker on the strands indicating the barrier there to prevent shapeshifters from escaping.

Loki was trapped. He felt the same resignation leak into his veins as he had all those years ago, when Thor had caught him at Franang's Falls and marched him off to the cave. This was it. This was the end.

Hopelessly closing his eyes again, Loki felt himself slip into the past. Into his memories.

"I demand retribution for my father's death!"

Skadi, defiant, her hair thrown back over her shoulders, stood before the Aesir, once again strengthened after the return of Idun and her apples. Her sword gleamed in her hand as her eyes flashed threateningly.

Loki, his task complete, stood beside Thor and Odin, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. He glanced at Odin out of the corner of his eye, wondering what the All-Father's move would be.

"Retribution, you say?" Odin said to the young frost giantess. "Your father's death befell from his own careless footing on a reckless path. His death is retribution...for the wrongs he committed against us."

Loki had to bite his lip to stop his grin. So Odin wasn't going to hand him over. Then again, the trickster thought, he couldn't. It had been the Aesir who had directly caused Thiazi's death. Not Loki. Therefore, he couldn't be punished for something he didn't do, could he?

Skadi was at a loss for words. "My father is dead," she eventually said softly. "Whether it is his fault or no, I would have compensation."

"What compensation do you ask for?" Odin inquired gently, stepping forward. "For I have something that may sooth you."

Reaching into his pocket, Odin withdrew two orbs. Loki grimaced on seeing them. He knew what they were: Thiazi's eyes.

Skadi's own eyes widened on seeing her father's in Odin's palm. With the muttering of a few runes, Odin tossed the eyeballs up into the sky. "They shall look down on you always, Skadi. From the sky, among the stars."

The scene faded in Loki's mind, but he didn't need to relive what happened next. Skadi's compensation had been a husband and a joke. Loki had supplied the joke; Njord had ended up marrying the giantess. Skadi had gone from being a potential threat to an ally. But she always blamed Loki for her father's death.

Sighing, the trickster recalled another memory: the reason for his capture, all those years ago. Directly, it was his insolence; indirectly, it was vengeance for the death of Balder, Odin's son.

Loki had put Balder's death in motion. The god of light was standing in the midst of the gods, arms spread wide as they threw weapons at him in jest. None of the objects could harm him; they had all promised Frigga, Balder's mother, that they would never cause him pain. So the gods made sport of Balder's invincibility and hurled deadly objects at him, howling with laughter as they rebounded without causing the son of Odin any harm.

With his usual cunning, Loki had gone to Frigga in disguise and had asked her if there were any objects which had not sworn benevolence to Balder. Letting her guard down, the wife of Odin had told him that only mistletoe, a gentle plant, had not joined in the vow. What danger was there in mistletoe?

Loki had sworn to himself to find whatever danger hid inside the little plant, and forcibly wring it out of it.

He had had to go hunting for the plant. Finding it on Midgard, he had used one of his knives to whittle the stem of the mistletoe into a dart. As he held the dart before his eyes, turning it back and forth, the trickster had smiled. It would do. It would do nicely.

With the dart hidden in his belt, Loki had rejoined the ring of gods around Balder, eyes scanning the crowd until he found the one he was looking for. Scampering over to the blind god, Hod, son of Odin, Loki had asked him why he was refraining from flinging objects at his brother.

"I can't see," Hod had responded, not bothering to turn in the direction of the trickster. "Why should I throw weapons at my brother when I cannot see?"

Loki, removing the dart from his belt, had pressed it into Hod's hand. "You throw this. I'll guide your hand. It'll be fun! Trust me."

If Hod had known better, he would never have done it, but he hadn't. Acquiescing to the trickster's request, he had thrown the dart at Balder. Striking the god in the chest, the dart was driven home into his heart, and the son of Odin collapsed.

He was dead.

Shortly after Balder's death, Hod was executed for his part in it. Loki, meanwhile, had been left alone. For a while. Then, after his insulting of the Aesir at one of their feasts, they had called for his capture and they had turned his sons against one another and they had hunted him down. And Loki had nothing left to resist them with.

That was the way he felt right now: like Ragnarok could come and he wouldn't care. He didn't care anymore. About death, about life, about any of it. It had all become dull, and tasteless, and alien to him. And he didn't want it anymore. He just wanted pain, something sharp to wake him up, to tell him he was still alive and feeling.

Loki closed his eyes, the strands of the net cutting into his exposed skin. What was there left to fight for?

Sigyn.

She was back in Asgard. But she didn't seem to want anything to do with him anymore. If he could get back to her, could he make her see? Could he win back her love? Or would she think of him as a failure? He had already let her down so many times. His second chances were all gone. What was the use?

"His hands."

The words seared through Loki's mind, causing him to scream. The two syllables were connected to a memory that was too painful, too deep, for him to remember. It was a memory he had spent years forgetting, spent years tamping down.

It was the memory at the root of everything he was today.

"HIS HANDS."

It was a memory fighting to be remembered.