It was only a second, but it was a second where I had lost myself. It sure felt like what I would imagine dying would be like, but here I am.

Right?

The atoms return themselves to my body, restoring my senses to make me whole again. There was nothing. True nothingness and at the same time I was everything all at once.

Air finds my lungs again and sight perfuses my eyes, yet all I see is white. I stand in an endless room, void of any color, yet it's not the void itself.

I'm familiar enough with the void to recognize it when I see it.

This white is a forgery. It is more deceptive than the original color if that were even possible as it tries to earn the trust that light so eagerly believes it deserves. This was an imitation with intent to mislead.

Or, perhaps, I feel more comfortable believing it a copy than it being the real thing.

No time for doubt.

I turn away from the thought, whether it sensible or not. If it is pure delusion that runs my mind, it is for good reason. It keeps me safe, and for now, that is what I need.

My eyes lie on a set of white, rather opulent looking doors. They tower beyond my own capable vision, hoping to tempt enthusiasts like me into entry. It worked. My body gravitates towards the doors with no need for conscious thought. I slowly raise my hand to rest softly on the handle, as if I were waiting for someone to tell me not to touch something so exquisite. More so, to tell me I have no place here.

"Am I in heaven?" My lips whisper to themselves, not daring to be more than barely audible. I don't want to hear the answer.

"That's hilariously optimistic."

The gods voice elicits a heavy groan as I snap back to rational mind. I quickly take my hand back from the handle and start to inspect the room further.

White.

Nothing but white.

Nothing.

My teeth tense together with each passing moment of inconclusiveness, but they hold the same intent to keep their anger hidden from wherever he watches. With a loud bang, the doors the open themselves. Blackness seeps from the outside in like growing vines, enticed to conquer every face the white wears. It spreads until it forces my attention forward, until I am completely consumed by myself.

What I thought to be the sight of my saving grace betrays me for the first time. The darkness consumes me, but does not hide me. This isn't true darkness. The friend I love to know.

The light, absent from the white, has disguised itself as my ally, devilishly eager to show me all that it wants of my faults.

I move slowly through the inked doors, my face now illuminated by the blood red sky. The red light and my glowing body are the only contrasts to the ghost town I enter, as if we display full responsibility for draining all the life for ourselves. Trees are only skeletons and buildings are half ember, like a gentle touch would send it to join the ashy ground.

Before I could move again, the sky starts to swirl with the meeting of red and black. Without the courtesy of twilight, it looks of nothing but impending doom, and it does not try to be anything other.

I'm taken by the unknown force again as it drops me in front of another set of doors. This scene was all too familiar.

The doors to this throne did not glimmer gold, but a dusty black. The throne of the Antichrist. The angsty cynic.

"Open it." His voice surmounts all my thoughts.

"Get out of my head." Although, the plea is useless. I've already succumb to myself. I can't resist this lure of entry. Giving into my own arrogance, I open the door with great confidence in my invitation. My presence is expected, validated, assured. And that exactly, it was.

On a large, raised, golden slab lay my fall. Perfectly placed before the steps of the throne are my emotions, showing me my mistakes. My humanity.

D.A.R.K. agents, Natasha, the girl who served me coffee two weeks ago, all lay lifeless, waiting for my observation.

The throne stands vacant, drawing me in, wanting me to thank it for taking care of my mistakes. I greedily take a few steps forward before I feel something heavy in my hand. A sword.

I look down as I grip the hilt, feeling myself slowly gain control of myself again. My mouth falls lazily open, having been overwhelmed by the emotions that have been left for my possession. "This isn't real," I murmur, trying to stabilize my breathing.

"Isn't it?" The voice brings my eyes to the other side of the golden block. He is here with me, of course. What lies between this sword through his heart is my own destruction.

He furrows his eyebrows condescendingly, his devilish smirk projecting its own voice. "Isn't this what you've anticipated?"

He teleports behind me before I get a chance to speak, taking a hold of my hands. He speaks huskily into my ear as he looks at the blade.

"Isn't this easier?" He drives the sword through Myles chest with my hands under his, letting me feel the sting of the impact.

"Stop," I whisper, yet my hands go soft.

"Louder, love. If you mean it." He baits, yet I don't speak. He takes control of my hands and the sword, yet I hold the fault even more so. One after another, he draws the blade through the hearts of the bodies, trailing my arms along with him. I watch helplessly, bound by my own indifference, silenced by the confusion in my own fallacy. This is my fault.

"Shh." He purrs. He smiles as if he had just attached all the strings to his puppet and he is about to see how it moves. "Look at you now."

In a second, I'm moved to the top of the stairs, looking down at the victims of my very being alongside my mission who has made me his own assignment. My body stands inches away from settling into the mold of the throne. It seduces, whispers, lures me into engaging with it in a way I haven't before. Sitting atop it, a crown, looking as if it were built to the form of my head.

The god stands at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for my next move, looking almost admiringly up at where I stand. I take the headpiece in my hands, feeding into his anticipation, testing my own reliance. It was this dynamic, the god at the bottom and me a touch away from a fashion title, that brought me back. It's as if I broke through a wall I hadn't seen. It was reflective, to nothing I didn't already see, but it was intentional. A slight shutter awakens me to make me fully conscious once more.

Is this what he thinks I want?

I smirk with the confidence that has found me again as I let the crown fall loosely from my fingers, it slipping carelessly like water. It falls down the steps agonizingly slow, each impact growing louder than the last until it reaches the gods feet. I spit down to it, half hoping it hits his shoe in passing.

He kept his stare while the crown made its way down. His frown is more playful than serious, but the disappointment in his face is evident. I take the sword back in my hand, this time gripping it sternly and intentionally, taking control of whatever I am in. I start down the stairs towards him, no longer a passive presence.

"A beautiful illusion you've made."

He smirks at my consciousness. "I would call it a masterpiece."

"Isn't all art really a self portrait?" Masked irritation plays on my face.

His eyes grow dark with an emotion I don't recognize, but it compliments his sly expression. He conjures a sword to match mine in response.

I near the bottom of the steps, settling into a stance out of his reach. "If this is my last dying wish, let me see how you fight without magic."

His laugh is unintentionally mischievous as he bows in compliance. He straightens slowly, burning a hole in my eyes with his stare.

"Entertain me," he starts, "What is it you really want?"

I gaze blankly back at him, a smile teasing the corner of my mouth. We stand off for only a few moments, syncing our smirks, setting a rather playful tone in a bloody setting. With a subtle wink, I lung forward as my blade clashes with his.

Forceful swings make for deafening clashes, yet the blades and our emotional masks dare not falter. We fight with the intent to kill, but each jab is met with a stall and every defense holds. He played intimately, projected the depths of my mind, but I will let my authority be known in even my weakest hour. My ego wouldn't allow otherwise.

A sudden surge of anger gives me two quick moves in one swift slash. I dead his wrist as he drops his sword and I pin him down on the golden block. His face shoots open with rage, but his eyes stay in the dark, unfamiliar state.

Our heavy breaths sync as I find myself at an unexpected stall. He lays atop the slab alongside the familiar eyes we had finished off, with my blade threatening his chest. It felt fitting in more ways than one.

He looks so natural in a place he does not below. My emotions. And that was enough to render me completely speechless.

He takes advantage of my hesitation with a rather surprised look. In a second, the illusion drops and I'm met with the winds of an angry ocean.

"Where are we now?" I say breathily, with underlying irritation.

"Morag." He swings his hand in my direction as my wrists meet a pair of chains. I hang from the rocky ruins of a temple, feet only inches from kissing the ground. He makes his way over to me as I struggle against the restraints.

It was a dark planet with nothing in sight but the rough ocean that wants so desperately to consume us. He had found the only spot not underwater. In the middle of the sea.

He conjures a dagger and drives it into my thigh. I laugh through the pain to suppress any groans. This wasn't just torture.

"Why am I not dead?"

Ignoring the question, he addresses my resistance. "Don't you dare silence yourself. Let me hear it." I grit my teeth to keep in my screams as he twists the blade in deeper.

"This is punishment. What are you trying to prove to yourself?"

"I have plans to fulfill. Plans to rule. You will ruin it."

"Does that really need any further consideration?"

He twists deeper to shut me up as he speaks aggressively over my screams. "You hold darkness I cannot resist. My indulgence will be the death of me."

"I agree. That's quite vulnerable of you to say." I joke, but fully understand he would only be saying this to a dead man.

"You have distracted me, weakened me in the eyes of others, worsened my judgement-"

"Then kill me already!"

He grunts as he makes another wound, yet the frustration seems to be for himself. Perhaps it is just my very being here, but I'm driving him mad.

With each cut, I feel myself getting immensely weaker. I know I won't win. This was probably it, but I'm not going so easily.

"You're running out of options, Friggason."

He slashes me across the cheekbone with his dagger, sending shimmering blood down my face like a boastful tear. The force of the waves splash water into my face, mixing the salt with my wound. We don't have much time until our little space is underwater.

He curses to himself as I hang weightless from the chains. He starts to pace closely in front of me, rubbing his chin with clear aggression.

I laugh weakly, antagonizing my end to come quicker. "God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard.." I mock. "Can't even kill one woman. From Midgard no less."

"Stop."

"What is it you said?" I laugh lazily through the pain, pushing the words out. "'I dream every night of your head in my hand. Lifeless and submitted-"

"Oh, but you would never allow that would you?" He speaks back in pure spite. "You're defiant. Relentless. Built to rebel against everything I am."

"So take it."

"Safiya-"

"Take the throne. The power—You won't have it if I'm left alive."

He laughs bitterly, beside himself and his hesitation. "Don't-"

"Don't what!? Why are we here then!"

"Because of you! Your very existence!"

"Have I bothered you that much?" My words drip in sarcasm.

"More than you know."

"Then make a move-"

"Stop, Safiya."

"Come on! Show me what a god can do! Show me how much different you are than the others! Fascinate me, god of mischief. Show me more--"

Mid sentence, the chains loosen and I fall into another grip just as strong. One of his arms wrap around my waist to catch me from falling as the other grabs a hold of my face, crashing his lips violently onto mine.

I have lost the feeling in my legs that would let me escape, but that's no excuse for why my lips comply so eagerly. I indulge, mindlessly meeting the throws of pure hatred behind his dire grip that keeps pressing me closer. The rage radiating between us was pure, passionate, and beyond profound that it robbed me of any sense other than the need to tear him apart.

I bite down on his lower lip, eliciting a dark, frost bitten groan before his fingers snake into my hair and pull in retaliation. The move forces my mouth open to which he wastes no more time in slipping himself in, rendering me completely breathless at the unexpected tenderness in the way his tongue caresses mine.

"Oh, my god," I whisper against his lips, keeping back a moan that threatens to escape me.

He uses the break of our lips to feverishly bring his mouth to my cheek, kissing along my jaw, and down to my neck where he finds again the one spot that never fails to break me.

I fist his armor in my hands, anchoring myself as my eyes squeeze close and my mouth falls open soundlessly.

His mouth — proving merciless — doesn't cease, even between his growls against my skin and the impossible tightness in which he holds me against him. Lost in a fit of a mindless, carnal rush, he works to mark me in any way he can while I do nothing but feel the sensation of him, gasping and humming near his ear.

But the third "Oh my, god" had a bit more consciousness to it and the reality of the words turned it into more of an "Oh. my...god!"

I use any strength I still have to push away, fighting how paralyzed I feel inside.

"No.." I repeat it under my breath until I'm out of his reach.

Those dark eyes challenge me for only a second before he sobers, raking his eyes over my body as if he needed proof of what he's just done. He steps back from me, matching my face of mixed disbelief and horror of himself.

I quickly grab his dagger from the ground and slash him on the arm.

He stands still, tranced by his own thoughts and taking the blow as if it hadn't effected him at all.

"Why?" I half yell, half tearlessly cry, attempting to keep together some kind of composure. I slash him again on the arm wanting him to retaliate. "Why are you letting me?"

"I don't know." He breaks out of his stun to take a hold of my wrist before the dagger hit him a third time. "Why aren't you aiming?"

It's as if we had both been broken a little, a part of us taken. There we stand, both armed but heavily exposed.

I drop the dagger from my hand, waiting to hear it fall on the stone under us before I meet his eyes. His gaze moves all over my face in distress until they fall to my lips. The intensity stare might as well have ran his fingers down my spine itself, and it almost forces the words out of my mouth.

"It's your rule or your reckoning." I whisper, yet it could be heard over the loud crashes of the waves if one were focusing intently enough.

He looks back into my eyes blankly, flaunting the part of himself that will never leave through a smirk.

"You underestimate me."

And for a moment, I am nothing and everything once again.

... ... ...

My eyes shoot open as all my senses stimulate at once. I jolt my body to sit up, half expecting to be on the bottom of the ocean, but instead I'm greeted by the comfort of a bed and Thor's silhouette in a view of Asgard. I relax myself as he turns his head to face me with a rather surprised smile.

"How long was I out?"

"Two days. You're almost completely healed." He turns his full attention to my being. "You have been thoroughly tended to. There will be some scaring though."

"Tended to.."

He laughs slightly and walks to sit on the side of the bed next to me.

"Thoroughly.." I repeat under my breath.

"I wanted to be here when you woke."

I smile softly, genuinely appreciative of the gesture. He doesn't necessarily require a further response.

"Malekith brought the fight to Midgard. We dealt with them and Jane is safe. I will be going to see her soon. Hopefully for a long time. "

A deep sigh of relief leaves my body. "Thank god. I'm sorry I couldn't be more help."

He takes my hand in his, which is exceptionally unproportional to my own, but comforting nonetheless. His look, however, is hesitant to speak.

"Loki escaped me when I released him. He cloaked himself so Heimdall would lose sight." He squeezes my hand tighter. "I'm sorry we let him get to you. When I got back to the city, you were already gone."

My eyebrows furrow in pure confusion as to why he puts this blame on himself. "You have nothing to apologize for. I ran to him despite your orders. I put the city in flames-"

He waves his hand to signal me to stop in the nicest way he could, as if each word pained him. He lays down next to me to settle in more casually and puts his hands behind his head. I move to the side to give him more room since he already takes up most of the bed himself. He lets out a long sigh, obviously dreading the words that leave his mouth next.

"He's dead."

"Who?"

Silence. Confusion, with a hint of selective ignorance.

"Loki. He's dead."

Silence. It was unexpectedly comfortable.

I turn my head to face him. His eyes hold the grief for his brother for the entire realm. He's aware that Asgard will not mourn it's enemy, but he was one of the two that were delusioned enough to love him.

I smile despite myself for him. "Like, really dead this time?" I playfully ask.

He laughs quickly like he had felt guilty about it. I'm glad he considered it comic relief rather than insensitivity.

"Yes. Really dead." His smile fades slowly back to his frown. "I watched it happen."

Silence. I don't want him to have to elaborate.

"He sacrificed himself for us. He protected her."

I turn my head to face the ceiling, hoping he doesn't find my reaction to be worthwhile. I woke with the memory of our last interaction still fresh as if it happened minutes ago. I don't have time to work through feelings, or to consider their presence as anything at all. All I know for sure is that he does not strike me as one to be that virtuous.

He's selfish for leaving his brother. Again. The most selfish for giving him more to grieve. It's as if he had taken his own life, but his life is not his own whether he wants to admit it or not. None of ours are. He left people with the burden of his loss, which is exactly what we live to avoid.

We.

I stop myself before I lose touch of the conversation – Before I start to lose touch of myself.

I close my eyes, lifting my head to speak to the sky. "Heimdall.."

Thor turns his head to me with urgency. "He can't. He's considered a traitor to Asgard. It would not be wise to show any sign of further involvement."

I keep my stance, ignoring his intelligence. "Heimdall, show me what happened."

"Safiya-"

"Please, I know how this looks." I follow the brief silence with a deep seated sigh. "Forgive me."

Whether or not Heimdall was watching my not-really-fallen fallen opponent and I, I still have much to apologize for besides kissing the darkness so directly. I entreat as if he would ever require an apology, yet it was then when my eyes turned memorially gold.

I watch as he follows Thor's plan. No tricks. No lies.

On some rocky terrained planet, he protects Jane. Even though her mortal life is as fleeting as it is vulnerable, he puts value in it, which is more than expected. Whether it be for the good of the plan, which is what he would have probably said, or if it were for his brothers happiness, which he probably would not admit to, it was of good intent.

It is more than Odin would have done.

Then he takes a fatal stab in the chest where my blade could have been, and even thought he did it to save Thor, I can't help but feel unfulfilled. For me, and for him.

The gold fades back into my green-blue eyes as I face Thor's incessant stare. I lift myself out of the bed, prompting him to slowly raise to his feet as well. I start to pace and feel irrationally anxious.

Something about watching him. Something about listening to his voice.

I cringe at the thought. He's my mission, the proclaimed god, the one who tried to take over Midgard. These reasons somehow carry the same weight as this new consideration of his humanity. There should be no challenge.

Thor grabs my shoulders to keep me in place. "Woah, woah, woah, hey – hey, it's okay. It's me. This isn't like you."

I look in his eyes to see the man who just lost his brother. He comforts me, the refugee who had him so unhinged. I calm myself quickly to check my place. There are feelings that are reserved for a select few.

"Thank you for letting me stay. Asgard is a wonderful place, but it's better when it's not up in flames."

He frowns, resenting even the slightest notion that I could be an match to the blazing fire.

"I'm afraid I failed you. The prisoner was let loose and caused complete havoc."

"You were the worst guard we've ever had." He jokes with a smile as wide as when I had first seen him, but he's not wrong.

I smile and playfully punch his shoulder.

"Odin did come see you yesterday. He was not as incessant on your departure, but I would not leave you alone with him."

I walk to the balcony and overlook the darkness of Asgard, as if my very touch had brought it all to ash.

Ash.

I shake away the memories to keep our secret hidden. The god had opened my head to reach beyond the safe delusion I had spent so much time crafting. He played with it, manipulated it, but forced me to recognize that I knew it all already.

But he's dead.
And so are all of those concerns.

I shake my head of it all – Of him – and turn to Thor. "If you the chance to go anywhere in the whole universe, where should I go next?"

Thor settles next to me and laughs to himself, crossing his arms over his chest. "She told me you don't have a choice but to be given back to her."

I look to him puzzled as he leans in to kiss my cheek. He pulls me into his side as he winds up his hammer with the other hand. In a second, we are flying over the city towards the bifrost.

"Where am I going?" I yell up to him, not too fond of the idea of being handled.

It isn't until we settle in front of the bifrost entrance that he addresses me again.

"Until next time, Ms. Natalle."

"What is with the formalit-"

I don't get to finish my sentence before the bifrost takes me in, giving me the "once in a lifetime" experience once more.

In a few minutes, my feet touch the ground and I couldn't help but half groan, half laugh at the sight.

Second time's the charm.