The Ragnarok Trials

Day Two: Army of Me

Day Two
         Army of Me
Focus Word: Demand
Word Count: 2405

The storm was just finishing up as I stumbled out into the night, pain lashing its way through my every limb. It is a disconcerting feeling, the sharp clutching of flesh embodied, and one that I am entirely unique in experiencing. A side effect, if you will, of dealing with my more ascendent masters, who now summoned me into their realm.

Since Christ came and the Old Gods fell, kicking and screaming, into obscurity, we have been trapped on the human plane. Asgard is lost to us now, and Olympus, and Tir Na Nog. The ability to travel from realm to realm is reserved solely for the higher powers among us, a power rich and deep, stretching back for millennia, tied solely and inextricably to the solid, steady belief of humanity. I sometimes wonder if humanity realizes how much power they had over us, and how hurtful it was when they turned away from us. I'd never gotten to ask them; I was locked away in a cave at the time. But then, hey, that's the reason I'm not trapped with mortals.

It was the cruelest part of Christ's gift to us. And the greatest. For though we were no longer bound to humanity's belief, instead drawing sustenance from food and drink, and the continual warmth of a loving host, we had lost what made us gods. We were turned out into the streets to fend for ourselves, to learn and love and, something entirely new to us, simply survive. Gone were the servants and the priests and the offerings. Instead we had apartments and part time jobs.

I say 'we' as though I were a part of this, of course. I was not. Again, I was in a cave. With an acid-dripping snake. In the interests of full disclosure, the snake had died some years before, unable to find sustenance without belief, but that just means that I was left in a cave alone, chained to a rock. Part time jobs weren't really a concern of mine. It really became mostly about continued existence at that point.

My freedom came later. You see, my brethren were simply not used to living the honest life. And who could blame them, really? I certainly would never have lived anything resembling an honest life--where the hell is the fun in that, right--but then I am quite incapable, under normal circumstances, of being anything but lies. Unfortunately for them, they were breaking the law.

See, when Christ allowed us to continue being when we would have faded into nothing, he did not do so without rules. The most important of which is to remain unseen and unknown. We can interact with humans, but they must not know that we are gods. Christ, as nice as he is, is not stupid. His is an ascendency of faith without proof, of belief in the absence of direct communication; if a bunch of gods suddenly showed up in the streets, that would undermine the ministry. So secretive we remain.

The other rule was no crime. Especially if it involved violence against others. And it was this rule that my brethren had issues following. God Towns around the world became dens of sin and vice, violence and fear; everything that Christ wanted removed from this planet. Places that, if I were not under certain strictures, I would have dominated. Truly.

But my freedom and what that means for the cramp in my style. As the crime rate rose, Christ turned to his enforcers--the Angels--to crack down on God Town vice. There was, however, a very unfortunate...well, Angels are very painful to be around. For any Old God, even the innocent. And, apparently, it's no picnic for them to be around us, either; something about a void, an emptiness pulling at them, dragging them into nonexistence. Only the strongest on either side can even stand to be in the same room as their opposite. And so Michael--that bastard--decided that an envoy would be the best bet for continuing relations between the two camps.

Enter moi. Remember me, trapped in a cave, locked away for all eternity, no end of the world battles to look forward to? Turns out I was just what they needed. And so they came to me, in my cave, where my kind had left me to rot, and asked me if I would work for them. Locked in a cave as I was, I told them to piss off. Then they offered to free me in exchange, to wipe free the Allfather's curse, and set me out into the world to live my own life. In return, all I had to do was investigate Old God crime.

Who would turn down an offer like that? Only a moron. And certainly not a genius with a grudge such as I.

The tingling of the air around me, and a sudden rush of air, were all the warning I received before the age-darkened brick and gum-stained sidewalks of the city disappeared around me, giving way to bright white. It was cool here, but not so cold that my coat was necessary, and a blinding white that only slowly faded into a plainly furnished room. I'd been told that the room reflected only my expectations; apparently, I thought Angels were boring sons o' bitches.

It was pretty damn cool, actually, being the only one of my kind with the ability to realm travel, even if I could only enter this singular room in the Heavenly plane. I met my handler here. And only when they wanted to see me. But, still, pretty cool, right?

Being here hurt. It was a bone deep kind of hurt, which radiated up and down every inch of my body. Muscles twitched and teeth ground together in an effort to keep from groaning aloud. I didn't want to show any weakness here. The Angels might have given me my freedom, and let me keep more of my old powers than most Old Gods, but we were not friends. Not all of us, anyway. There was one Angel I never minded seeing, even if it hurt like the dickens every time we got together.

The sound of a trumpet, soft and melodious, wafted into my ears and I couldn't help but smile. "Gabe," I breathed out, spinning on my heel and spreading my arms by way of greeting. "If I'd have known it was you, I'd have come faster."

Gabriel wore armor, but then, all Angels did. His was silver and blue, an aquiline metal of pure light dancing over his body. He had it mostly pulled back, covering just his chest at the moment, and wore jeans and a t-shirt beneath. Of all the Angels, Gabriel liked spending time among humans. Spent a lot of time playing in jazz clubs a few decades ago. It's one of the reasons I like the guy so much. He never lets rules stand in the way of doing what he loves. And Michael isn't particularly fond of him, either, which should be enough to make anyone like anyone, as far as I'm concerned.

Upon seeing me, Gabe dropped his trumpet and jumped up from his perch, the stump of a lightning-struck tree. I didn't know where it had come from, but I couldn't really say I understood Angels at all. They are ascendent and I...well, I am Old God. And I can barely change my face anymore. "What on earth have you done, Loki?"

I dropped my arms to my side and leaned back, buffeted by the feeling of his worry, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What do you mean? I was, uh, having a drink at Bacchus's joint just now. Came as soon as I felt the summons..."

Gabe shook his head, grey eyes frantic. "Michael's furious! He's ready to pull the plug and toss you back into your chains. And that's the safe bet. Half the Old God community is calling for your blood. Why would you be so stupid, Loki?"

"What the hell are you talking about? I haven't spent much time in God Town at all, since the last case. Saw Anubis, spent some time with Coyote, had a drink with Bacchus, the usual. I've really been with the mortals, mostly. Old Gods don't like me much. I've been having fun with comic fans. Poking fun at comic book me. Unless everyone in God Town is a Marvel fan..."

Folding himself onto the stump, Gabe rubbed his face with his hands. He was less perfect than the average Angel, by choice rather than by design. He preferred to look more human, with a softer chin and a ruddy cast to his cheeks, but he was still a beautiful entity. Slightly less perfect was still perfect. In another time, I would have done something about it. As it stood, the encounter would likely destroy us both. "You really didn't do it, did you? Oh, you poor bastard. You're on your own now, you know. We--those of us who support you--won't be able to save you this time, my friend. Michael has already decided your guilt. And so have your brethren. You're up against the clock, and you've got very little time."

"Gabe...what is going on? What has happened? I hate to make any demands of you, but tell me what the hell you're talking about!"

"Baldur is dead." A new voice spoke, this one deep and rich with power, but tight with rigid control. Gabe looked up, dismay written all over his beautiful face, and I closed my eyes, spinning slowly. Michael was golden light, as close as one could be to God without actually being Him. Unlike Gabe, he preferred to wear his gold and fire armor over his entire body, and he allowed no human imperfection to mar his divine-touched features. His sword, hulking and two-handed, lay strapped against his back; it slept now, but I knew from experience that its fire burned blue with but the barest thought from its master. He glowered down at me, arms crossed across his expansive chest, looking like nothing so much as a stern, and very angry, father.

"Really? Again? My, he really must learn to take better care of himself." The words were out before I even thought of them. My tongue, at least, does not take well to being threatened, even if I have learned something of circumspection in the last few centuries. "Any more and I'll have to assume he's trying to take your master's place!"

"I assume that is exactly what he is trying to do," Michael replied. "With your assistance."

"Oh for Pete's sake, you think I'm working with him? That little shit? I can't say I'm not glad he's finally gone for good--he was far too sanctimonious for my tastes--but I certainly didn't do it. It's not my style to do the same thing twice."

Gabriel came up behind me. "Michael, the Old Gods are threatening to rise up. They demand Loki's blood. This is not a crime of usurpation. He is not in league with his kind."

Michael frowned, displeased with Gabriel's interruption. "Nevertheless, I remain unconvinced of his innocence, Messenger. And if the Old Gods want his blood in exchange for peace, I am of the opinion that we should give it to them. There are others who can take his place who are far less...unpredictable."

"But without his unique set of abilities, Michael. It is for his intelligence as much as for his special circumstances that we chose him. How many gods can change their appearance and the push the minds of his fellows? The mind of a trickster, Michael, is not something easily replaced, no matter that you do not like him."

"What is it you are asking, Gabriel?" Michael glowed brighter, challenging his fellow Angel, and the pain, which I had just about managed to ignore, washed over me again, doubling me over. Gabriel looked concerned, but Michael continued his onslaught, a perverse smile playing about his hard, perfect lips. "For me to ignore that this godling has broken Christ's divine law?"

Gabriel shook his head, stepping closer to Michael and shielding me from the pain. It faded only marginally, but enough for me to whisper through clenched teeth. "No, I think he's asking for you to give me a chance to prove that I didn't do it before you punish an innocent man."

"And just how do you propose to do that, Lie-smith?"

I grinned, but I'm pretty sure it looked a hell of a lot lot more like a grimace. "Do the job you picked me to do and find the real killer, maybe?"

Michael glared down at me, the orange of his eyes burning with the Lord's firey judgment. "Very well," he spat out eventually, as if disgusted with his own forbearance. "You will have three days. And Gabriel will not be allowed to help you at all, except to protect you from your fellows. If you cannot sufficiently prove to me that you are not Baldur's killer, I will not simply return you to your chains, Loki, I will turn you over to the Old Gods and let them have at you. Three days, and that is it. Do you understand me, Loki Laufeyson?"

Licking my ragged lips and running a hand through the roughage of my short-cropped hair, I nodded. "Yes, Michael. I understand you."

Nodding, Michael turned away and stalked from the room, leaving me with Gabriel, who'd allowed his armor to cover his whole body by way of defense. He turned to me then, and sighed. "I am sorry, Loki. Truly sorry. But I can offer you no help. I will, however, send you home, so you can rest free from the pain I know you are feeling." Reaching out, Gabriel swiped at the air with his hand and, around me, the room began to go blessedly dark as I was dismissed from the Heavenly plane and returned to my own, dingy human world.

Grinning as the pain faded away, I nodded to Gabriel and called out before he disappeared. "So, Gabe. Three days and no help. Just Baldur, a raging crowd of Old Gods, and an army of me. Oh boy, oh boy, is this going to be fun!" And then the world was dark, consciousness abandoning me as Gabriel's magick gripped my limbs and sent me spiraling into sleep.