Mist

This is no tale of good versus evil, where the heroes wear white robes and the villains gleaming black armor.”

“Prophecy foretold that Ragnarok would be a wash, with just about everyone dying— including you,” she said, ignoring his comment. “I don’t see why it would be any different this time around.”

“Prophecy was wrong.”

“I know you think you’ll have the Treasures to give you the advantage, but you aren’t just going to walk up to my Sisters and take them.”

“Do you think any mere Valkyrie can stand against me?”

Mist jumped up, Kettlingr firmly in her grip, and lunged for Loki. He stepped back, his face registering shock. It only lasted a fraction of a second, but his response wasn’t fast enough. Mist landed a good blow and cut deeply into his right deltoid. He jumped back, instinctively slapping his hand over the wound.

Godlings bled as much as mortals when they were wounded, though they healed far more quickly, as nearly all from the lost Homeworlds did. Mist charged again, aiming for his belly.

But by then Loki had recovered from the surprise of her attack and had a sword in his hand—a black one, blazing red Runes inscribed in its blade. It was serrated like a Jotunn’s teeth, and Loki didn’t have to use magic to meet her fiercest assault.

It was nothing like her bouts with Eric. Loki’s wound dripped blood on the stained cement floor, but he ignored it and counterattacked with the full weight of his fury. Mist had to give ground, deflecting his steel with her own, feeling his sword’s teeth biting into her own blade and catching, twisting, threatening to wrench Kettlingr out of her hand.

What amazed her, when she had a second to be amazed, was that other than conjuring the sword, Loki used no magic on her. Had he done so, the battle would have been over in seconds. As it was, he seemed to take some pleasure in the duel once he let go of his initial anger.

She didn’t expect that to last. She was the better swordsman—at least, she had been so with Eric—and Loki wouldn’t stand for being second best. Especially not to her.

Metal clanged like bells tolling in a graveyard, and they disengaged again. “You think my Sisters are helpless?” she asked, catching her breath.

Loki laughed, his own breath coming short. “You really have no idea what you’re up against, do you?”

“A bunch of Jotunar who let themselves get their asses kicked by a single Valkyrie?”

“If you think the frost giants are my only allies, you are very much mistaken.”

She didn’t have to ask what he meant. He was talking about his evil children: Hel, who ruled the dead; Fenrisulfr, also called Fenrir, the enormous wolf who was foretold by prophecy to kill Odin; and Jormungandr, the World Serpent.

“Your children are alive too, are they?” Mist said, throwing off her horror with another feint. “Well, it won’t be quite as easy for them to have their way in this modern world.”

“And how, pray tell, did you come to that conclusion?” Loki asked, batting her blade aside and closing with her so that their faces were mere inches apart.

“Disaster strikes on a global scale these days,” Mist said, barely holding him at bay. “Humanity has dealt with far worse monsters than Fenrir and Jormungandr, and emerged victorious.”

“Human monsters,” Loki said, grinning into her face.

“Fenrir didn’t manage to kill Odin, did he? And what about Hel? What are you going to do with your daughter now that she doesn’t have the dead to rule anymore?”

“What makes you think she doesn’t?”

“Mortals aren’t as simple as they used to be,” Mist said. “They’re not going to go willingly into some dark, gloomy afterlife.”

“They will have no choice in the matter.”

“You’d be surprised,” she said, pushing him back a few steps. “Outside threats tend to unite the people of Midgard.”

“Mortals are sheep, incapable of making their own decisions on any matter of importance,” Loki said, looking pointedly at her parted lips. “They will always squabble and slaughter each other with the slightest provocation.”

“Look who’s talking.” With a final effort, she threw him off. “All mortals aren’t the same, and there are millions more of them than there are Jotunar, or any of your allies.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Oh, skatten min. Always the sentimentalist.” He lowered his sword and placed his hand over his heart. “Let me assure you that your mortals will be happier under my guidance than they have ever been in all their brief history.”

Mist wondered if Loki actually believed what he said.

Of course he did.

“So you’re going to set up some kind of throne in the Capitol building and have every government in the world pay obeisance?” she asked, preparing for another attack.

“Perhaps,” Loki said. “But I am not interested in ruling in the conventional way, my dear. All I want is for an end to laws that curtail the freedom of the people of this world to act entirely as they wish. Have you any idea how many mortals I will win to my side with simply the promise of such a paradise?”

No law, he meant. No restrictions on what one man or woman could do to another, one race or culture to another, one country to another. It would bring anarchy, unimaginable cruelty and suffering. Until the world fell apart.

And Loki would watch it all with delight.

“Now you understand,” he said, a good approximation of pity in his voice. “Ruling mortal kind takes little effort on my part . . . unless they are as worthy as you say and can constrain their bestial natures. I will only enforce the law that there is to be no law. And if they still survive . . .”

“Why such hatred of the people of Midgard?”

“I don’t hate them,” Loki said, his narrow jaw hardening. “But I know what Freya and Odin will do to your adopted world. The battle they bring here will cause untold suffering and a billion deaths. That is why I will stop them. And when the old civilization is fallen, I will rebuild from the ashes. Then it may be worth ruling.”

There was nothing left for Mist to say. Arguing with Loki was like asking a starving tiger to pass by a sleeping child lying in its path.

She looked past him at Gungnir. “If you’re so confident that neither I nor the mortals can stand against you,” she said, “why did you try to leave Midgard once you had the Spear?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You tried to escape by one of the bridges.” She flicked another glance at Vidarr, who maintained a rigid silence.

“You are mistaken,” Loki said. “I was not leaving Midgard.”

“You were running. What scared you, Laufeyson?”

He chuckled, though the sound rang more than a little hollow. “Your attempts to provoke me into rash action are futile, my dear.”

But there had to be something she could use to make him reveal more information. She was just beginning to form another plan when she heard a faint sound from the room outside. Loki glanced toward the door.

Mist charged him again. She managed to back him up against the wall before he let his sword fall. She laid Kettlingr’s edge against his throat.

“Maybe you can satisfy my curiosity on another point,” she said. “If you managed to open these bridges to Midgard before the Aesir did, you must be clever enough to have found out who or what sent all of you into Ginnungagap before Ragnarok had barely begun. What force could be powerful enough to forestall Prophecy and subvert the will of the gods?”

Loki’s bicolored eyes showed no alarm at his disadvantaged position. “Whoever or whatever was responsible,” he said, “it was unable to prevent me from reaching Midgard or setting my plans into motion. I will discover it, expose it, and destroy it.”

“What if this force steps in again when you and the Aesir resume the war?”

Orange flame surged around his irises again. “I will be ready,” he said.

“You’re certainly going to have your hands full,” Mist said. “I look forward to—”