Since the ten or so years that had passed since Loki’s initial attempt to take over Midgard—which he did sort of kind of regret in the end after it failed miserably and he was thrown into prison (though he was mostly thrown into prison for other reasons and not really the New York incident)—never had he been fully recognized by passersby. It was safe to wander the streets of the more populated regions of America without others noticing who he was and remembering what he had done, something he was eternally grateful for. Granted, no one had gotten a decent image of him back when it happened anyway and what was littered about on the internet made it easy to mistake Loki and just about any black haired dude.
Plus, there was the obvious fact that everyone knew he was a God and that there was no way in possible hell that he could be on Midgard, no way.
But today was different. A bad sort of different. It hadn’t really occurred to Loki, at first, that he was being followed until Keir, watching from his perch on a nearby rooftop, pointed it out to him telepathically. It was a man, late-forties, buzz cut, muscled, and a mean-ass look to him that made even Loki arch a brow in curiosity. Had he accidentally cut off the man whilst walking? He did that a lot. So, he’d turned into a nearby alleyway and stopped turning on his heel to face the man and ask him what the hell his goddamn problem was when blam! he was punched square in the face. His nose made a disgusting crack noise and he stumbled backwards, fingers immediately going up to wipe away the blood that was gushing from his nose. Joy.
“You’re that Loki son of a bitch. I see you hangin’ around here all the fuckin’ time.“ The words were barely processed in the God’s head, but his eyes turned to watch the man with furrowed brow, struggling to keep the anger that was rising within him at bay. Keir had flapped over to the nearest dumpster but Loki quietly forbade him from getting involved. The nose he could fix, but this man’s opinion he could not. ”You killed my little girl in that mess you made. I always said I’d get my revenge but always, always people were telling me you were gone back to whatever hell you came from. Well, they were wrong. So very wrong.”
Yes, yes, as if he needed more reason to regret his actions, but there was little he could do, the matter was out of his hands. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” was what fell from his mouth because it seemed appropriate. Apparently it was not.
The man was set off and before Loki knew it, there was a gun being pulled out. It fired three times and a body fell to the ground…
…but it was not Loki.
In a puddle of his own puddle of blood lay the Midgardian, a dagger sticking out from his neck and the gun just barely out of reach of his fingers. Those bright blue eyes were wide open but they did not blink just as his chest did not move. Dead.
Shit. It had been self defense, yes, but this was a fuckin’ mess and both Loki and Keir knew it. Those shots would’ve easily been heard and it was only a matter of time until cops came to investigate. The dagger was pulled from the man’s neck, cleaned of the blood that stained the blade, and returned to his hiding spot. For a brief second, he considered healing the neck wound and shooting the man in the head with the gun, making it appear as a suicide, but taking the murder weapon away was enough. That’d stump the authorities. Instead, what magic he would have used to seal the wound went to mend his broken nose, which, with another disgusting crack, returned to its normal shape and was mended as if it had never just previously been broken.
Most of her time is spent, lingering alone in Helheim, day in and day out, and no one’s counting. Since Midgard’s population explosion, Hela had dealt with millions at a time flow through her gates. Tsunami’s, Earth Quakes, and other disasters of the sort. Most of them are surprised that Hela is there and not their Lord and Savior, others call for the Prophets, and some those silly animals. Their religions wait, and made Helheim the pit in which to dump lives, along with Purgatory.
Hela usually never went on runs and collected the Dead, she had a system now that the death toll of each day is overwhelming, even for a Goddess. She created her monsters, her ‘demons’, sometime’s copying the Reaper “Death” has it’s benefits.
Today was unusually…depressing. That’s a big word for one that’s to rule the pitied, the lost, the raw despair. She hadn’t done this, in what seems like millennium. Hela, left Helheim.
Chaos, the minute her immortal feet landed on the busy landscapes of Earth. This wasn’t her doing, nay, it was the meat that claim this planet as theirs. The flesh that will abandoned the second their beating hearts fail them. Then their hers.
One mortal, caught her attention, one that still believed in Norse Mythology, well most people here were aware, that explains why so many of them flocked her gates after New York. Hela paced ever so carefully, people, passing through her, vehicles. She wasn’t an idiot, you had to be careful, especially in the havoc that reeks this soil.
Struggle, blood. A newbie. This one was about to meet their fate, their inevitable, gruesome fate. Hot Crimson stained the streets, and no one batted an eyelash. My my, this could be Helheim of the living.
The Goddess huffed, this is what she came here for, to do it herself. She paced around the alley way corner, to collect what was hers when, she jumped back. Which now seems completely stupid to her because only the dead could see her. But, she turned back, there was the one man she had thought about ripping his throat out multiple times, the one living being she would despise to join Helheim, but will.
Before collecting this mans glowing red soul, Hela turned back around the corner, but fading into the same flesh that these humans consist of. She sucked it in, holding her shaking breath, honestly she was horrified and infuriated in his presence.
A smile licked at her lips, as she presented herself in the utmost respect she held for herself that she could muster.
