I hate this..
But I am here. And it looks like I'm heading to Earth anyway. Because frankly, it doesn't matter where I run; this whole universe is going to get leveled by Thanos in his bedazzled glove in a few years regardless. At least Earth has the internet.
And potatoes.
Asgard doesn't have potatoes. The locals prefer game meat and weird fruits, but I love fried potatoes. Dying with a belly full of fried potatoes is better than dying without them.
Or at least, that's how it seems in my current state of hysterical depression. Plus, there might be normal, cute girls on Earth… though I shouldn't count on it.
This is the Marvel Cinematic Universe; they managed to ruin even Adamantium, turning it from an indestructible metal into a piece of crap that can be chopped up with a heated stick.
However, despite this less-than-rosy analysis, I couldn't say I'd spent all my time since waking up just wallowing in depression.
My main activity was getting used to my new… let's call it biochemistry. Loki's memories and reflexes were with me, but so was the memory of living in a human body.
And let me tell you, that feels significantly different from living in the body of a Jotun, which is what the Asgardian God of Magic actually is.
My predecessor didn't know it yet, but I was well aware that he wasn't Odin's son, but the son of Laufey, King of the Frost Giants.
Maybe a half-blood, that would explain the size and appearance difference, but those are minor details. The point was, a Frost Giant's body perceives the world differently than a human's.
There are more senses: a sense of magic, of space, of the earth beneath your feet. And the senses familiar to humans are far more perfect, far sharper.
I can count the number of flower buds in a bed three kilometers away from the palace. I can hear the ringing steps of the guards' armored boots in a courtyard six floors down.
I can distinguish every shade of scent wafting through the air, identifying every species of tree blooming in the garden.
And none of it is distracting. It doesn't even demand attention; it just is.
But the most important thing, of course, was the magical skill set of the body's previous owner.
In Asgard, "magic" was the term for all fields of creative knowledge that went beyond mere craftsmanship.
There was no division between mystical and natural sciences here, probably because for the Aesir, the mystical facet of the world was just as tangible as the physical one.
Odin's kingdom was a true technomagic civilization. High-level tech like artificial intelligence, anti-gravity, and nanomachines existed in tight symbiosis with classical magic as understood on Earth.
True, fireballs and ice arrows weren't really a thing in the Asgardian tradition; for those purposes, they used enchanted weapons. Although masterpieces like Mjolnir or Gungnir were rare, lesser enchanted gear was common enough.
So, while my brain was having a miserable time processing the new reality, my hands and the rest of my body were busy checking reflexes and practical knowledge, making sure everything in Loki's arsenal was available to me.
The results were pleasing: I could create any illusion, solid enough to land hits on an enemy during a fight, fully shift my physical form (turning into a giant snake was a go), use telekinesis, store items in a pocket dimension, and perform plenty of other little tricks.
I figured mind magic wouldn't be an issue either; my predecessor was a master of that too.
But several hours had passed since I woke up. No matter how vast the arsenal of the God of Magic was, I had already tested everything I could test alone.
Stalling any longer was just stupid. It was time to get the hell out of this world.
Regrettably, I couldn't take much with me. Just Loki's personal items, a number of artifacts from his collection, and a few hundred magic books kept in his chambers.
He had already read all those books, so they weren't strictly necessary, but I figured I might as well strain myself to carry them. Where else was I going to find literature on magic?
The artifacts were mostly useless, carrying more cultural and nostalgic value than power.
They were souvenirs from campaigns across the Nine Realms and victories over various troll shamans or other magic-dabbling critters within Asgard's sphere of interest.
As for personal items… A few enchanted outfits capable of easily transforming to suit specific needs were always stored in his pocket dimension.
The same went for his favorite daggers, which he preferred over other weapons.
Aside from that, the God of Mischief didn't really own much. In this regard, Loki was no different from any other healthy male, quite unpretentious and ascetic.
I would have loved to swipe something from the Vault, of course, but Odin watched that place like a hawk. He'd notice an intrusion instantly, and I wasn't enough of a greedy kleptomaniac to risk my life for a shiny bauble.
However, what I was ready to do, what I had to do, was sow some confusion and try to secure myself against potential fallout.
I figured a properly worded farewell note would work almost as well as the canon "touching the Casket of Ancient Winters in front of Odin" moment.
So, I grabbed a sheet of paper from the desk and recalled the Asgardian script…
Doing it was barely harder than saying it. In my past life, thoughts rarely flowed so easily into coherent sentences on paper or a screen.
Here, composing the letter took zero effort. It was probably the result of this brain's rich experience in inventing excuses on the fly. But what difference did it make?
The result, in my opinion, was a bit dry and bilious, but… that was probably for the best.
"I found out who I am. And who my real father was. 'You were both born to be kings', I remember that phrase well, Odin. Though I don't know how to feel about it now. Or who I was in your eyes. A son? Or just a tool, a useful hostage? I need to think about a lot of things, so I am leaving Asgard. If you truly consider yourself my father, then please, do not look for me. When the time comes, I will return on my own.
Also, pass my congratulations to Thor, in light of this new information, I realize the throne could never have been mine anyway. This new information explains a lot about my life, actually. However, it would be petty to hold a grudge over that right now. So good luck, Thunderer. It was fun with you, but now I need to go to understand and figure out who I really am.
Best regards, Loki, son of Laufey. Rightful heir of Jotunheim."
Scanning the desk where I left the note, and then the chambers I might never see again, I walked out the door.
I wondered who would find the message. Although… either way, Odin was in for a "fun" time. I felt the urge to laugh villainously, being the "God of Mischief" was leaving its mark, but back to the issue at hand.
If a guard tried to check on me, the fact that the Allfather had been hiding the son of his arch-enemy would become public knowledge very quickly.
That would leave quite the aftertaste. In that scenario, I definitely wouldn't have to worry about Aesir wanting to bring the prodigal son back.
On the contrary, they'd be glad the "Jotun spawn" had left Asgard's walls.
At the same time, no one would do anything stupid like trying to kill me, Odin did name Loki his son, and he wouldn't appreciate an attack on a member of his family, to put it mildly.
If Thor found the note after barging in to ask why his brother missed the most solemn moment of his life and didn't bow to the new king, the result would be roughly the same.
That not-so-bright God never knew how to keep his mouth shut; he'd spill the beans to his buddies for sure. And they would spread the "good news", unless the news reached Odin faster and much more explosively.
In the unlikely event that the Allfather himself came down, the old man would feel a bit unpleasant, maybe even hurt. But that would be it.
He'd either tell Thor everything in private, strongly requesting him to keep quiet, or he'd say something like "I sent Loki on an extremely important and urgent mission."
Whatever happened, I genuinely hoped this move would either free me from the intrusive supervision of my "relatives" entirely or at least give me a head start.
Lost in thought, I didn't notice reaching the necessary corridor. The Path of Shadows began right here.
This was exactly the route Loki had considered using to bring the giants from Jotunheim, but for me, it would serve as a road to other places.
Getting to Earth this way would be harder, but "harder" didn't mean "impossible."
Taking one last breath of my "hometown" air, I tore open space with a sheer effort of will, revealing a passage into the realm of eternal twilight. And I took a step forward.
Shadow walking isn't the most pleasant experience. Even as a master of magic with a natural talent for the subtle arts in general and their darker branches in particular, sliding along the underbelly of the world couldn't be called fun. It was no wonder the original Loki preferred the Bifrost when he had the option.
I didn't have that option. So I had to grit my teeth and push through the twisting, dancing metrics, where three dimensions flowed into just two, then immediately expanded into an eight-dimensional space… only to snap back to a mostly normal four- or five-dimensional state. Even though I had memories of walking these paths, I was experiencing it for the first time.
So, when I stepped out into a snowy little forest illuminated only by starlight and the distant lights of a highway, I let out a sigh of relief.
Made it!
Now I just needed to make sure I was still reliably hidden from the gaze of all interested parties, and then I could finally go meet some people.
….
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