In the time where time has no meaning, only the Strongest Ones had survived. For before peace there is always war, and without war on those who hate without cause there can never be peace… and there will always those who hate without cause.
If the two different places They were from were bee hives, Hers would of been filled with sweet honey made from the pollen of purple flowers that could bring life to the dead… and the different place of His Father to which He was born of, could be parable to a hive of Giant Meat Bees, Who make Their Hive from stacking the flesh of Their victims for They had watched death choose them first for the crime of being weaker.
He was never a fan of His Father’s ways… and at a younger age He would set sail across seas where the light touched none, for the darkness around Him weighed more than that which could consume the light of stars. He was given no choice, for the place He was from was far worse than the place He would find himself was far from it. When He was just a boy… terrified beyond the will to live, from that to which He had seen in the realm of His Father, and against the demands of the Other’s, the One Eyed One took Him in as His Own for He had pitied the boy. The wise thing would have been to murder the boy the second He arrived, weak from lack of age and his long journey, for the risk of having One from such a realm could not possibly be measured… but He With One Eye knew, neither could such rewards.
When He was younger… it goes without saying He did not fit in. Even in the realm where One like the One Eyed could crack a world in half through might He was feared. Though His Strength was not physical like Theirs, and had He got in a brawl with any Other like The One Eyed He would be hurt badly, His Words could kill with ease or even reshape reality. For He could speak and it would be… such is the power of The Father He was born of.
When He was younger, Another His age started to beat Him for He was different and with one word that slipped from His Mouth without thought… He did not mean to do what was done and wished to never have to do it again. Despite being from where He is from, He is the one gentle One; who’s is not of violence.
After such an incident The One Eyed, Who took the boy in as His Own without fear of what chaos such a decision could bring, would not permit His boy to leave His Great Halls. In such Halls He quickly earned the name Mischief for He had many memorable moments with those who earned their place in The Halls of The One Eyed.
Many of the Others likened to the One Eyed, hated Him, and prophesied falsely against Him. Spreading lies that that spread beyond Their Own Realm. That He would bring a doom to them all. In all fairness He could… But the One Eyed would not believe in such lies against His boy For He saw Him for that which He is.
In His late adolescence He had forgotten the cruelty of The Father to which He was born of: He Who Strikes Fast and Who’s Name has been stricken. To the One Who raised Him, He called not His Father for He was not like the Others and the Others treated Him as such. All but His Loyal One… He would nearly kill the One Eyed and His Loyal One from the sorrow it caused when He left the only place He ever knew to be a home.
To keep things light: The Father Who He was from, fed such a vulnerable adolescence lies when The Boy raised by The One Eyed returned. At this time in the place where time has meaning the world knew of the Others like The One Eyed, and The Father to which He was born under would use His only son to conquer. For The Father He was born of knows only jealousy and rage… an evil The One raised by The One Eyed did not know the cost of. An evil that causes Gods to murder their own devotees and stack their children’s bodies for the disobedience of their parent’s parents. He Who was raised by The One Eyed was not the son of the Father He was born of… and there was a war of the Gods over all that is, where The One raised by The One Eyed had to Kill The Father He was born of… The things He had to do were not in His Nature… For such is the ways of War… and He had to kill more than just The Father He was born under… Such a war could not of been won if The One Eyed did not take such a risk of saving a lost child not of their kind, and in the Realm where there is Many like The One With One Eye, The Different One was no longer of the creed They feared but as One like any Other of Them. Their scorn turned to hymns of praises, and throughout the War He was set to earnThe One Eye’s Thrown, carrying the crown of The Disgraced and Forgotten Father He had to slaughter… when He was ready…
At the end of the war, They had won… He was One Who had survived having been the One Who had finished it… though it was over He was still in it. At the celebration of Their victory, a day He would should of first sat on the thrown of He Who raised Him… He snapped… With a lack of control He laid His Fist into Another of the rank of Brother… Thank The Gods He did not open His Mouth.
It was clear to His real Father, He Who raised Him… that His boy… The One Who used to fill His Halls with Laughter, The One Who used to dance to no tunes, The One Who used to fool His Brothers Who took Themselves too seriously and fill all the nine realms with laughter at Their expense… was never meant to be A God Of War… for war was not of His Nature and He was the one and only from where He was from that is gentle… Learning what compassion is of His Own Merit in the place where One once found none. To say He was fucked up from the war would be a gross understatement… He would not leave His Halls, and refused to be seen. Even the One Who His Heart beats for, Who had loved Him before He was accepted among the Others, could not save Him from Himself…. And even She Who gets to breathe because of His broken ribs did not know what to do. Her and The One He Calls Father sat Him down fighting the tears that still fell… for His boy Mischief was still stuck in the war He finished as a casualty. If it were not for His Loyal One, more beautiful than life… Who would spend all of existence at His Side had He been tied to a rock with the entrails of Their murdered Children as punishment had He committed the most heinous crimes that He would never commit… The One Who would stand by Him in such a situation where if their was a snake over His Head dripping acidic venom that could melt skin She would sit endlessly with Him labouring for eternity making sure not one dropped touched His Skin… If it were not for His One, He would have succeeded in erasing Himself from existence… and If it were not for His One, Who’s Breath He once risked everything for without fear, He would not agree to what must happen for Him to get better… It is easy to die for the things you love or believe in, and it is much more difficult to live for them in joy in the face of death.
His Father, He Who Had raised Him, firmly told Him: Loki… You are going back to Earth, not as a God but as a man… who has learned that He is Who He Is… and that is far from perfect… and despite that, He is loved by many and Many, not for what He or he has done for them or Them or the things He or he could do… but because Love is His Way… and before You refuse… I promise You are not going back to play Hero again… I will not let that happen… You must know Who You are even when the whole world is telling You that You are something far less than Who that is: He Who would die so that others and Others may live, and would do so without the reward of glory, is Who You are… and You are My Son… not His… and everything and everyone on Earth will tell You otherwise… Know Who You are and know where home is. I promise there will be no need to sacrifice more of Yourself… You must learn how to laugh, how to love, how to cry… how to fight for Your life not the lives of others who would not do the same for You.… and when Your time on Earth is over, My Son… MY SON!.. Will be One of Mischief once more, Who knows sometimes One need must put Himself first, and He will… NEVER AGIAN… NEVER AGIAN… NEVER AGIAN… have to be a God of War.
