The Same Story For Different Fools (Loki Fanfiction)

Winter's a deranged Nightmare from the dead world, Daxidaille. After a child named Loki steals her Power incarnated into a stone, she finds herself caught up in the mishaps of Asgard and its people in her attempts to retrieve the treasure, and discover what 'home' really means. This story contains all characters in the Thor franchise, and DOZENS of complex stories running wildly in the background to provide interest and new characters. Enhanced AU of the entire Thor series (VERY enhanced)


4. What Lies Behind The Mirrors



1,551 years ago




Daxidaille was dead, that much was undeniable. The rotting corpse of the decaying world writhed upon the ash coated ground, infested with maggots, worms, and the horrors of the past. Its only comfort as the sky darkened above its carcas as Hell itself descended, was that the viscious race of Nightmares were nothing but bones strewn across its stagnant fields.


Well.. All except for two.


The air was thick with misery and madness, as it always was, as it always had been. The world of Daxidaille was a barren wasteland of cliffs and sudden drops generously strewn about the eye's view, the crashing of roaring water pounded the thick air with malice beneath the crumbling crevices. The ink black ocean of Insanity led furiously into the horizon beyond the end of the landscape.


The rasp of injured breath gasped over the babblings of the ocean as a blur of red sprinted across the ragged landscape in leaps and staggering bounds. Gnashing her teeth in a pained snarl, the hooded figure threw a panicked look backwards, the harsh light of the three dying suns above casting weighted shadows across the woman's bleeding face. Droplets of blackened blood flew into the air at the quick action, wordless testimates to the grievance wounds marring her flesh.


The woman ducked suddenly, her singed cloak billowing around her mutilated form as she dove to the side desperately.


A scythe sliced through the air over head, the sound of metal ringing through the dead air in madness. “Oh!” The armored man crooned, flipping the scythe's handle expertly in his gauntlet clad hand as his black horse streaked past, “That was an impressive dodge, Trophy!” Grinning violently, the man yanked upon the reins of the horse mercilessly, bringing the beast to a staggering circle towards the recovering woman.


“I am no trophy of yours, Atdis.” The woman hissed bluntly, charging the opposite direction with bleeding, bare feet. Clicking his tongue mockingly, Atdis spun the handle of the scythe skillfully as the black horse sped forward obediantly. “That evasion was predictable, Trophy! You're losing your touch!” Atdis scolded, dragging the sharpened blade along the ground a moment before slashing upwards in a cruel attempt to bisect the fleeing woman.


She leapt from the edge of the cliff face and into the open air, her tattered cloak flailing dramatically behind her before she disappeared beneath the edge of the dead soil.


Frowning sulkily in disappointment, Atdis struck the horse towards the crumbling edge of the cliff, the creature panting profusely with steaming skin as Atdis peered over the precipice in absent minded dejection.


The sky above was as dark as midnight, only without the gleaming stars above to keep onlooker's hopes high and hearts warmed. The pitch black misery above was filled, rather with three planetary figures, lined perfectly crooked with one another and they glared down at the occupants of the dead land with hatred. There were three Goddesses within Daxidaille, once. And each, of course, drew power from their respective Aboves.


The smallest planet perched upon the sky's grin was The HellCastor Above, which had a tendancy, like the legendary figure it was named for, to disappear at a random whim, only to appear at the oddest, and most unsettling of places.


Set before the HellCastor Above rested The Death Above, which loomed imposingly close to the barren world of Daxidaille with a maliciously grinning crevice dividing its features in two.


The final hanging planet was entitled Tasaria Above, it was a soft shade of blue, but not in the calming sense the inhabitants of Earth enjoyed just through the mirrors, no. Rather, it was the same sort of blue that came after death, the same shade that preceded decay, and the same hue that destruction ended in. It was, simply put, the same shade as the admittance of an endless defeat.


Across the crevice, the horizon was illuminated by a thick, gory red smoke that clung desperately to the line of sight, the same delicious shade of dying blood, and mutilated muscle that painted through the black sky in a horrific contrast. In the distance, balanced precariously between the mountains of the Hells, stretched a gruesome castle born from terror and fear. The intimidating structure loomed over the mountain faces, its stones black as night, and shaped to curl to offensive points at the ends in hatred. The very essence of the castle itself seemed to toy with the world below with a sadistic malice, bristling at any who dared to look upon its walls with the excited joy of a mistakingly provoked predator.


Atdis turned his unimpressed gaze towards the bottom of the precipice at his feet, leaning over the side of the panting horse to do so in repentance.


He hadn't meant for the fun to be over so quickly.


Dismounting, Atdis leaned over the cliff's edge, peering below with an interested eye. Noting the fact that blackened blood pooled at an indent in the face below, a wolfish grin stretched over Atdis's lips.


She'd survived.


But not for much longer, Atdis promised himself with a playful grin.


Leaping adruptly, Atdis slammed onto the unstable lip below, the ground trembling from the new weight beneath his boots. “My, my! Look at you!” Atdis whispered wickedly, turning upon his heel to face the cornered woman with a charming, demented grin. “That was impressive, Madness.”


Aw! You remembered my name! With a mind as despairingly small as yours, I'm really quite flattered you chose to fill an entire half of its limited capacity with such a trinket!” Madness taunted, her shifting footsteps lifting the powdery soil from its eternal resting place as she cunningly strode around the small space of the indent within the cliff face, rounding upon Atdis, who's back remained to the edge.


Her burnt cloak twisted and writhed with every movement, the destroyed folds moving back to reveal a torn and tattered dress that once might have appeared rather grand. Now it hung in slivers and slices, the longest strands of which, collected around her bleeding bare feet. Madness's breath was thin and ragged, matching her blood stained body that trembled with injury and disfiguration. The hood covering her features had fallen down her back in the wild leap, revealing her marred face smeared with blood, and her white hair of an uneven, tattered length.


“Looks like you've run out of places to run,” Atdis goaded, his own steps rounding the circular indent to mirror Madness's. “Finally.”


Madness's steps stopped adruptly as her heel glanced the edge of the lip, her final foot fall cruelly disrupting the resting place of dismembered shards of long deceased bones of others who had taken useless shelter within the very crevice they now stood. The remains tumbled over the edge, crackling and snapping as it slammed time and time again against the cliff face before slamming into the sharpened rocks far below, only to be lapped up by the sea of Insanity as it spilled over the boulders.


Madness turned her gaze thoughtfully over the precipice, a tired sort of smile twitching across her lips as she turned to Atdis, “It would appear so.”


“Now, now! Don't be a sore loser, Trophy!” Atdis laughed mockingly as he flourished his scythe readily, his fingertips flipping the handle through his hands with ease, “You did last an aweful lot longer than I expected you to. Eight hundred and fifty years longer.” Atdis spat with discontent, lips pulled back in a snarl as his own steps halted.


“That was the point,” Madness confided easily, a smooth smile stretching at her blood coated lips, “To distract you.” She added simply, as if Atdis were slow at thought.


Atdis cocked his head in challenge, his teeth gnashed in hatred, “Excuse me?” He dared, flicking the blade of the scythe forward in irritation, forcing Madness's heels over the edge.


That 'toy' you wanted is really very far out of your reach now, isn't he?” She answered calmly.


“I expected more of a fight from you in the end, Madness. This is almost disappointing.


“What is it you want to hear?” Madness goaded, a knowing grin touching her bloodied features, “That I've got some trick up my sleeve? That I'm the notorious, fast thinking Imposter of the Mad Tricksteress, Tasaria, and this is not where I die? Do you expect me to vaunt my wit? My skills of opportunity?” Chuckling dryly, Madness stretched her arms outwards cockily, “Let's skip the dramatics.”


“So be it,” Atdis informed curtily, raising his scythe to do just that.


“But know this, Atdis The Unwed,” Madness halted his movements with a single, cunning smile, “What you want, what you crave, what you need. It will never be yours.”


“The Power of a Nightmare goes to their defeater.” Atdis dictated boredly, “The one who deals the final blow claims the Power of the defeated Nightmare for their own. It isn't in your power to deny me this.” He informed adruptly, his very words pungent with distaste for the very idea of losing something as precious as Madness's Power.


Humming softly as if in thought, Madness lifted her hands before herself, calling her Power to her palms with the twitch of her fingertips. With a flick and a burst, her Power manifested itself between her spread palms, spinning softly as it danced in a web beautifully spun of purple, blue, red and black strings, beaded with white, glimmering gems.


It was no wonder that the inhabitants of Earth across the mirror's surface entitled the essence as 'Magic'.


Eyes filled with greed and lust, Atdis stepped forward with an outstretched hand, eager to claim the prize he imagined his. Coyly, Madness pressed her hands together tightly, compressing the manifested power within her palms into a single, ordinary shape. Smug, Madness opened her fingertips, revealing the perfect imitation of a stone within her grasp, and displayed it proudly to Atdis.


“I'll take it with me.” Madness supposed, bouncing the stone within her palm before dangling the treasure over the cliff, “One stone, among a hundred, thousand, million more.”


Give me the stone!” Atdis roared, his dark features turning a hateful red as he lurched forward, throwing a desperate, gauntlet clad hand out to pluck the prize from her grip.


Madness released the stone.


Atdis's fingertips grazed it briefly, before it plummeted.


Oops. Awefully slippery.”


“If you think,” Atdis started, trembling with anger as he eyed Madness with contempt, “That I will kill you for this, you are sorely wrong.” He informed, stepping steadily forward as he brandished his weapon, “I'll tear you apart, piece by piece. Then I'll stitch you back up and start over, you're awefully resiliant. I'm sure you'll survive for a good eight hundred years or so.”


“And if I get bored,” Atdis considered dryly, “I'll curse you again, properly this time-”


“As delightful as that sounds, I have an alternate proposal.”


“And that would be?” Atdis inquired boredly, a wicked grin stretching across his features as he considered all the immensely fun new ways to torment Madness. The only pity of the entire situation, he reflected, was that the two of them were the very last Nightmares in existance.


Perhaps he could remedy that, he toyed with the idea absently, finding that he really rather enjoyed the concept.


“Why, I'll just take half a step backwards, and say 'Whoops!' Madness informed shortly before sliding her heels backwards half a pace, and plummetting with a well timed, “Whoops!” thrown Atdis's way.


Atdis screamed in childish rage before turning his back to the sight, unwilling to see his prize, his trophy escape his grip forever.


It worked to her advantage, Madness considered, after all, it would be awefully anti-climactic if she were to actually die.


No, she wasn't done yet.


She had at least one more trick up her sleeve, literally.

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