Tournament of Thieves

17

Loki landed on his hands and knees in a fiery wasteland. There was no sign of Utgard or Skadi – just the leaping, dancing flames all around him. Standing, Loki gazed around him in consternation.

He could feel the bombardment of intense, blistering heat from the flames. He instinctively drew back, his arm coming up to cover his face as he turned his head away. But the flames were everywhere, closing in on every side of him, and there was no way to escape the extreme heat.

Smoke filled the air surrounding Loki, and the trickster fell to his knees as he coughed, searching for clear air to breathe. Normally immune to smoke, Loki now felt its full effects, and he keeled over, his throat parched from the intense heat the flames were blasting him with.

As he hit the rocky ground, the rocks glowing red from the constant fire, the dancing flames closed in around him, seeming to murmur and whisper about him. But Loki couldn't understand their words. He could sense the form and even slightly hear the syllables that made them up, but he couldn't draw any reason out of them.

Muspelheim.

These words came clearly through the smoke, and Loki could instinctively tell they were not uttered by any tongue of fire. They came from a being of flesh, although from what species, he couldn't tell.

The world of eternal fire. Where flames devour the earth and the only living beings here are demons. The power of fire is clearly in evidence here, where it has been shoved aside in the hope of never interfering with fate again.

Loki rolled over onto his side and curled his body into a ball, trying to protect himself from the inevitable. Despite his friendship with fire, these flames weren't the kind he had played with under his mother's watchful eye. These flames were ravenous, and would soon strip the flesh from his bones to satisfy their unappeased appetite.

This is one extreme of life, young hybrid, young mutant. This is FIRE. This inferno is not to be treated lightly. It demands respect, it demands fear.

The flames rushed forward, converging and covering the trickster beneath their biting tongues. Then suddenly, they retreated from him before doing any lasting damage, swirling up and away. As the flames receded, Loki felt the ground vanishing from beneath him and then he was falling through darkness.

Next thing he knew, he was lying face down on ice-slicked stone. Pushing himself away from the rock, Loki gazed around himself in astonishment.

The world had changed from one of fire to one of ice. Sheets of ice blanketed the ground. A hard sleet fell, blinding most of Loki's vision. He felt the biting cold, although he was normally immune to it. Drawing in a deep breath, he then let out a gasp as the freezing air scraped down his throat. It was like the polar opposite of the smoke-filled air in Muspelheim, and it was just as difficult to breathe.

Loki shoved himself up onto his feet, gazing around the icy world. He could barely see a foot in front of him due to the blinding sleet, and a cold wind blew which cut right through him. He staggered in one direction, shoved by the wind, before regaining his balance. He planted his feet a shoulder-width apart to better steady himself.

The sleet seemed to hurl words at Loki like stones, but he was unable to grasp their meaning. As he stood there, looking around, he heard another voice, exactly like the one which had spoken in Muspelheim.

Niflheim. The world of ice. A harsh world, representing the other extreme of life. The ice covers the earth, suffocating any attempt of nature to thrive. Nothing survives out here, Trickster. Know that. Remember it.

This is the other extreme of life, also shoved away so it may not do the unpredictable. This is ICE. It and fire have danced together once; perhaps they shall dance together again.

The ice was blown at Loki in swirling gusts, surrounding him with the biting sleet. Then the sleet vanished, and his vision was clear again. He blinked, rubbing at his eyes to clear the ice from them. And then the ground fell out from beneath him.

Loki plunged down through darkness again and landed, on his feet this time, in a dense fog. He could see nothing of his surroundings for the thickness of it. It was cold, but a different cold than Niflheim. This was the cold of absolute nothingness. Then the voice from earlier spoke once more.

Ginnungagap. This, truly, is absolute nothingness. This existed in the beginning, and it will exist in the end.

Do you know how life began, Thief? Fire and ice clashed here and formed life. Your mother was right, Loki, when she told you that. They were never supposed to mix. The one time they did, they caused life.

Now, I'm sure you're wondering if that's such a bad thing. On the surface, no, it is not. But look deeper, Trickster. The two extremes of fire and ice, blending together when they were not supposed to, caused life to spring into being. A combination such as that – disastrous! For ice and fire to merge again...who knows what the result shall be?

I am the only one who knows what the result of another combination of fire and ice will be. Because I have done it. I have combined the two essences.

Without fire and ice, we are nothing. But with it...we are alive.

Remember this, Loki: fire and ice created the world, and fire and ice will destroy it.

Loki glanced around and saw darkness rolling in over the fog, coming towards him menacingly. As he watched the ebony cloud descend, he wondered what was next. Where else would he be taken? What else would he be shown?

And who, furthermore, was this mysterious voice? This voice that claims to have combined the two essences that Laufey had warned against mixing? The voice that knew exactly what Loki's mother had told him back when he was a child?

The darkness surrounded Loki and he felt the ground give way beneath his feet once again.