Loki and the Kindergarteners Save the World (ONC 2023)

their lord and saviour, loki

Will waited until the dust settled before climbing off the goat. His limbs were heavy, and his side throbbed with each step. Crimson paint dripped off his fingers, yet he didn't stop. He staggered towards the wreckage with the determination of a man gone mad.

"Mr. P?" Charlie whimpered.

"Stay in the chariot." The authority in Will's tone wavered, and he wasn't sure if his class heard him. Not that he stopped to check. The world was foggy, the ringing in his ears like a nagging mosquito. One foot in front of the other.

The corpse of Jormungandr was a black stain on the world. Regardless, the serpent was dead, and Will felt a knot loosen in his chest. Loki's spawn was massive, an effective barrier between the kindergarten class and the rest of the war. Ultimately, the serpent provided temporary relief for part of the journey.

But then Will found Thor and the knot pulled tautly.

The god of thunder was crumbled heap at the mouth of the snake. Sightless eyes, now the colour of a foggy day, stared at the skyless sky. The copper beard, once groomed and thoroughly, was limp and knotted. The god's mouth was open in one final battle cry for the dead. His hammer, Mjolnir, lay just out of reach, the stunted arm reaching for the sky.

Will's knees buckled as the acidic bile went up his throat. He threw up all the precious contents in his stomach. Tears stained his cheeks. Their one chance to get home—dead. The goats and children in the chariot were still there, but facing a war of gods and giants was dauntless. The class was even more vulnerable. Their window to reach the Bifrost was closing, and Will couldn't do much in his state.

With trembling fingers, Will closed Thor's eyes. "May you rest in the halls of Valhalla."

His shoulders slumped forward, the weight of his defeat a burden. He didn't notice his class until a pair of arms wrapped around his neck. Twenty five-year-olds clustered around him, cheeks smeared with dust and tears. They were so small against the backdrop of the snake, their glassy eyes no longer shielded from the brunt of the violence.

"We'll be okay, Mr. P," Charlie whispered. She rested her head against his shoulder as the other children closed in, arms around each other. Their circle was warm and comforting. Will fell apart and rested his cheek on Charlie's head.

"I'm sorry," Will whispered. He was so tired. Tired and defeated, his class was rallying to encourage him. They knew getting home was a long shot and accepted that possibility. If only he could get his limbs to work and his thoughts to focus.

"Mr. P, are you okay?" Alexandre asked, peering close at their teacher.

"He looks sick," Deirdre pointed out. "And his owie looks really bad... mommy said if something didn't stop bleeding, it needed to be sewed up."

"Sewed up?" Amina wrinkled his nose. "Like his skin? Ew."

Charlie placed a tiny hand on Will's cheek. "Does your owie hurt? Mr. P...?"

Will's eyes fluttered, but he had no strength to say anything. His body was on fire, yet a cold sweat broke across his skin.

"What are we gonna do?" Alexandre's voice crept up a few panicked notches.

Panicked cries erupted, the children begging their teacher to get back up. They stared at their teacher, wide-eyed and afraid, as the sky darkened above. A cold, sweeping chill settled in the air like the first biting strokes of winter.

Charlie squished Will's cheeks. "You gotta wake up, Mr. P." Her voice dropped to a pleading whisper, though their teacher remained still. "Mr. P, we need you."