The Acquisition (Ch.1)

It was nearing midnight and the dungeons of Asgard had fallen silent, a pale reflection of the raucous activity occurring there during the day.  
The harsh cell lights always dimmed down immediately after supper.  It was an unsubtle encouragement for the prisoners to cease their restless activity and lay down to sleep.  This simple manipulation tended to work well, as most of the prison’s occupants were usually unconscious by nine or ten o’clock.  
Loki, however, ignored the guards’ condescending machinations as a rule.  He hated being herded into any routine, no matter how inconsequential.  
Therefore it was not unusual to see him awake tonight, even at this late hour.  What was unusual was the state in which he found himself, sprawled out upon the hard floor, limp and bleeding, and in no small amount of pain.  
He flicked his gaze over to the left, regarding his forearm with queasy satisfaction.  A vicious wound was carved into the tender skin, ruined flesh gaping wide open from wrist to elbow as it spit blood everywhere.  
It had taken him almost two hours to tear apart the skin on his arm, using his teeth in the absence of any other viable weapon.  He had systematically widened and deepened the wound, chewing on the limb with terrifying resolve until muscle and a small flash of bone peeked through.    
He waited for a guard to pass and see what he had done.  Hopefully, if all went to plan, one of Odin’s lackeys would lower the protective barrier around his cell to check on him.      
The trickster gave a woozy, red-stained smirk, staring down at the damage.
Warm crimson dripped off of his mangled arm in slow, steady rivulets, collecting beneath him in a grisly puddle and soaking the side of his tunic.          
He tensed as a sharp stab of pain began traveling up and down his arm.  Gritting his teeth, he waited for it to pass.      
A whisper of insecurity began to set in.  
He knew very well that his escape plan was flimsy at best, a construct of desperation and despair.  It was too reliant on disparate elements lining up in his favor and luck, unfortunately, had never been overly partial to him.  
Many of the men guarding the prisons despised him and he was sure, in fact, that the brasher of them would forego calling the healers altogether, preferring instead to watch him slowly bleed to death in his cell.
Though at this point, Loki was all-too willing to take the risk.  He was desperate to smell the fresh air again, to feel warm sunshine upon his skin.  He would rather chance a slow agonizing death than spend one more day rotting in chains at the behest of his hated not-father.                      
He shut his eyes against the low light.  
The blood loss was beginning to take its toll.  Dizziness was setting in, and nausea tickled at the back of his throat.  He swallowed thickly, his esophagus sticky and dry.  The taste of blood was strong in his mouth.    
Suddenly, as if lured by Loki’s plight, the tell-tale footsteps of one of the guards making his rounds echoed throughout the silent dungeons.  Whoever it was, they were moving at a maddeningly slow pace, casual in their patrol.  The trickster tried not to scowl with impatience.
He forced his muscles to slacken, pushing his arm away from his body so as to better display the gory wound.    
Slow, clipped footfalls echoed along the corridor before coming to an abrupt, shuddering halt somewhere near the trickster’s cage.    
“Oh, shit!”, the guard cursed loudly, anxiety coloring his tone.  
Loki fought down a smirk.  He recognized the voice as belonging to Jaanes Berickson, the commander of the night watch.  
“Meare!  Get out here!”, the man loudly barked, heedless of the other prisoners stirring in their cells.  
Meare Torinson, a young soldier who had joined the dungeon watch only a month ago, came from the guard’s station at the end of the corridor.
“Yes, Commander Berick…son…?“  He trailed off.  His eyes widened, falling upon the gruesome scene inside Loki’s cell.  
Jaanes dropped a heavy hand onto his shoulder.  “Run and fetch a healer, boy”, he told him, “Tell them Prince Loki is badly wounded, and in need of their immediate attention.  Hurry, now!”    
“Yes, sir!”, the young soldier replied, his voice shrill with panic, “I shall return straightaway!”
Loki forced himself to remain still as a corpse, listening as Meare’s footfalls grew ever more distant.  He heard nothing further from the commander, and figured that the man was staring hard at him, trying to gauge his condition by sight alone.  
“Prince Loki, are you alive in there?”  The words were weighted with thinly-veiled contempt.
Loki stayed still, feigning unconsciousness.  He heard the guard curse colorfully under his breath a few times.
“My lord trickster, I do hope this is not some misguided escape attempt.  I would dislike having to harm a son of Odin.”  
Despite himself, Loki found that he was greatly amused by the guard’s boldness.  It rather reminded him of Thor.          
Minutes ticked by, and still the barrier remained up.  Apparently, Commander Berickson was no fool.
Loki lay still, listening to the mutters of his fellow prisoners, who were surely speculating about the dramatic goings-on.  
Distantly, he realized that he was starting to feel light-headed from the blood loss.  A chill was also seeping in, bone-deep and paralyzing.  A bad sign indeed.  He wished that boy would hurry and return with a healer, so he could finish this.
Finally, he heard pounding footfalls in the corridor, growing closer.  Whoever it was, they were approaching at a run.  
“Commander, here are healers Greite and Freipp”, the young soldier Meare frantically introduced the healers, “They said they would help-“
“Have you not taken pains to staunch the wound at all?”, one of the women asked sharply, “Gods, man, can you not see he is bleeding out?”
The commander was certainly not accustomed to having his decisions questioned, especially by a lowly healer.  “I did not think that...”    
“No, I suppose you did not think, Commander Berickson”, he was coldly interrupted, “I do hope, for your sake, that he will not die as a result of your incompetence.  The Allfather would be extremely displeased.”  
“Open the barrier, then”, the second healer interjected, “We shall do our best to save him.”
Loki could sense the heat of the soldier’s displeasure as he moved to obey.  
The trickster tensed ever-so-slightly, readying himself for action despite his grievous injury.  He knew they would only leave the force-field down for a few seconds at most, though that should be all the time he required to open a portal.  
Loki barely breathed as he waited for the field to dissipate.    
Suddenly, he felt an acute shift in his body.  His senses heightened, deepened.  The moment the barrier’s low background din faded into nothing, a familiar electricity began to thrum deep in his bones.  
In the space of two seconds, he began to feel alive again.
His bleary eyes slid open.  
He began murmuring an incantation just as one of the healers entered his prison, a kit filled with medical tools clutched in her thin hands.
Pure elation filled him when Loki realized that his magic was under his command once more.  
Commander Berickson’s battle-scarred face twisted in horror as realization struck.
“Get out, woman!”, he growled to the healer, who stood frozen, watching Loki cast with wide, terrified eyes, “We need to lower the-“
They were the last words Loki heard before he fell away from Asgard and passed deep into the underbelly of Yggdrasil’s lesser-traveled pathways.

[xxxxxxx]

The trickster landed lightly upon a field of soft, fragrant grasses.  He expelled the anxious breath he’d been holding and breathed in deeply, sweet, untainted air filling his lungs.  
He had transported himself to a tiny world, set out upon the very fringes of Yggdrasil.  This place was still in its infancy, filled with primitive people and largely overrun by untamed wildlife.  
He had come here often in his younger days, whenever he’d needed to hide away from the rigors of court life.  After all, no one judged him here.  No one laughed at him, or whispered cruel things the moment his back was turned.
He gazed around to take the measure of his surroundings.  There were no settlements in the immediate vicinity, he saw, and no people anywhere, much to his great relief.  Stumbling over to an alien-looking tree, he sank to the ground in pained exhaustion, allowing himself a moment to rest.
He quickly set to healing himself, forcing a deluge of magic into the grievous wound.  His mouth was a scowl of pained concentration as he fused muscle and skin back together, layer by shredded layer.  
As he worked, Loki pondered where he should jump to next.  He knew that he couldn’t linger here for too long.  He had taken care to teleport to a place far from any of Yggdrasil’s main branches, but it didn’t mean that Odin couldn’t track his magical signature, given time.  He had to move, and keep moving.
It took twenty minutes to complete the healing spell.  When he finished, Loki scrutinized his work.  The gash was completely healed, but there was a thick line of raised, pale flesh running the length of his forearm.  
He frowned.  He had hoped to avoid scarring, though he supposed it was a small price to pay for his freedom.
Rising to his feet Loki stretched, and let the reddish glow of the alien sun wash over him.  He’d been locked away for over a year.  Far too long.  Now, liberated at last, he closed his eyes and let himself feel the warmth of the day.  
Giddy laughter bubbled up in his chest.  
The whole universe lay before him.  It was time to start a new life now, one far away from the poisonous influence of the Allfather and his people.    
He viciously forced away lingering regrets, stubborn reminders that he would never see Frigga again, or Thor.  None of that mattered anymore.
Blood-stained lips twisted into a smirk as he began contemplating his next destination.  
None of the nine realms would do.  The Allfather’s cronies would scour those worlds first.  He would have to head somewhere more remote, some distant speck upon the world tree.  
Miora came to mind immediately.  His smirk widened.  Yes, that would be an ideal place to start.  
A small outlying colony of Alfheim’s that existed purely for purposes of exploration and knowledge expansion, he had visited it twice as a representative of Asgard, and recalled its residents being wonderfully accepting of magic-users.  
Loki knew he would have to be careful there.  While he felt no impending threat from the colonists themselves, he reminded himself that Alfheim had close ties to Asgard, and that if he were recognized it could easily get back to Odin.  
He did hate being bothered with disguises, but knew it was a necessary evil, in this case.  
After considering his options for a moment, the trickster shifted his form into that of an elven woman, all sharp curves and high cheekbones and long, lustrous black hair.  He also magicked his bloody prison garb away, replacing it with an elegant, high-necked robe of embroidered red satin and lace.  
Spinning about, he let himself acclimate to the more petite, feminine body.  He would call himself Thea, he thought, a very common name amongst Alfheim’s people, and one of the twelve different words in elven that meant “starlight”.                
Ready to leave now, he made a small gesture, weaving delicate elf-maid’s fingers around and through each other in small, graceful circles.  
At the same time, he spoke a quiet incantation, his high, feminine voice resonating powerfully, commanding Yggdrasil itself to bend to his will.  
There was an almost-inaudible pop in the air, and a telling puff of twisting green smoke.
The trickster disappeared, as if he had never been.            

[xxxxxxx]

Five blissful months passed.
The elves had always welcomed strangers into their midst, and so Loki was not surprised that the colonists exhibited little suspicion at his sudden appearance amongst them.
The trickster was grateful.  After living so long amongst a people who despised him and thought him weak, it was refreshing to find himself rubbing elbows with scholars and mages and intellectuals.  
He could have happily remained in Miora for the rest of his life, but he knew he had to move on, lest Odin discover his presence.
Loki transported his meager belongings into a pocket dimension.  Then, he took one last glance around his small abode, to reassure himself that he’d left no evidence behind.
Midgard was next.  He’d seek out a large city there, some place where he’d easily be able to blend into the crowds.
He tried on a few faces, finally settling on the visage of an elderly, dark-skinned gentleman with a shock of white hair, a portly physique, and a slight but noticeable limp.  
Satisfied that he was unrecognizable he teleported away, coming to rest in an abandoned alleyway that smelled of urine and garbage.  It was night time.
He adapted the strained gait of an old man and made his way towards the adjoining street, eager to find a bite to eat and some place to lodge for the night.
He fought back a smirk.  Odin would never find him here.

[xxxxxxx]

[2 Years Later]

Thirteen worlds, and thirteen identities, later, found Loki piloting a stolen Ravager craft into the gaping mouth of Knowhere.  Known far and wide for its lawlessness and its criminal population, this place was notorious for the anarchic state its residents lived in.  
It should serve as the perfect hiding spot.  
He had never been here, either as a sheltered prince or a wanted criminal, and he had to admit that he was excited to see if the wilder stories proved to be true.  
Frustratingly, Odin had yet to let up in his hunt.  Despite Loki’s efforts to evade him, there had been a very close call several months back.  The trickster had spotted a small contingent of Aesir soldiers, trying to appear inconspicuous as they pushed their way through a marketplace crowd on Nidavellir.
He had immediately teleported away, but he was left unsettled, wondering if he’d been spotted despite his dwarven facade.  
The long trip out to this place had allowed him time to recover from the consistent strain on his magic.   He now wore the face of a bulky, overgrown troll, certain that the intimidating form would keep most of Knowhere’s residents at arm’s length.
As he flew his small craft through Knowhere’s immense inner cavity, he found himself awestruck by its sheer size.  There was an unceasing buzz of whirling activity all around him as thousands of pedestrians milled about below, past cobbled-together shopfronts and seedy-looking drinking establishments.  Vehicles of all makes, sizes, and origins whizzed past him, some of them barely avoiding collisions with other, slower aircraft.  
A slow smile began to spread across Loki’s trollish features.  
This place suited him perfectly.  He would fit right in here.

[xxxxxxx]

Once he found a suitable docking port for his ship, Loki made his way towards one of the many nearby bars.  He would have a drink or two, then ask the bartender if they knew where he might find suitable lodgings.
He chose a drinking hole on the corner of two bisecting avenues.  There was nothing to set this establishment apart from its nearby fellows beyond the fact that it boasted four sturdy walls and a front door.  Most businesses in this section of town were nothing more than glorified tents, after all, reams of dirty cloth held up by poles driven into the ground.    
Loki lumbered towards the building, noting with satisfaction that people tended to avert their gazes or move back as he approached.  He had chosen his disguise well.
As he grew closer, he saw that there was a name painted on the front wall in a messy, almost childish scribble: The Corner Bar.
Well they hadn’t put much effort into naming the place, the trickster thought bemusedly.
He pushed the creaky door open wide, and was immediately assaulted by the unappetizing reek of sweat, alcohol, and rotting food.  Forcing a scowl of disgust off of his face, he shut the door behind him and made his way through the nearly-empty room to the bar.
“Ale”, he grunted to the bored-looking Calurnian serving drinks.
“Money first”, came the reply, “It’s five credits.”  He held out a furry hand, palm up, and stared at Loki expectantly.
The trickster handed the credits over without comment.  The barkeep pocketed them, then filled a clear stein to its brim with some discolored liquid that in no way resembled ale.  As he slid it across to Loki, its contents sloshed out over the brim and soaked the bar’s sticky surface.
Once the server walked away, Loki picked it up and sniffed experimentally.  He frowned, placing it back down.  The strange-colored beverage smelled disgusting.
He decided to move things along, now that he had no intentions of consuming the fare offered here.
With deliberate motions, Loki reached into his coin purse and pulled out a small pile of credits, placing them down upon the filthy bar top.  The barkeep, suddenly eager to serve, returned without delay.
“Can I get you something else?”, the man asked, golden cat-eyes darting down to the money laid out so enticingly before him.
“Yeah, I need some information”, Loki said, copying the undignified rumbles he’d heard other trolls speak with in the past, “Y’know if there are any rooms being rented around here?”
The Calurnian snatched up the money.  “Yes, I know of a few.  The closest is right down the road from here, actually.  Guy’s name is Ventioun, and last I heard he was renting his upper floor out.  Turn right when you walk out of here, then go down a block and a half.  He has the only two-story building in the area.”  
Loki rose to his feet.  “Thanks, guy.”
He exited the foul-smelling bar and walked out onto the bustling street.
He never noticed the shadowy figure in the bar’s back corner, staring intently at his back as he left.

[xxxxxxx]

The week passed uneventfully.  Loki fit right in with the rough-and-tumble residents of Knowhere, enjoying the anonymity this place afforded him.  No one ever questioned him here, or even afforded him a second glance.  
And there was no sign of Odin’s men, no barfly chatter of Asgardian soldiers pushing their way through the teeming crowds.
Loki began to entertain the impossible hope that he had, perhaps, finally outmaneuvered the Allfather.
Grinning at the thought, he lumbered down the packed avenue, his pace unhurried.  
He’d spoken to his landlord that morning, an elderly Yrd whose hunched frailty detracted from the intimidating appearance he’d surely boasted when he was younger.  The old man informed him that there was a marketplace nearby where he could buy a range of items, from basic necessities to exotic trinkets.  Having nothing else to do, Loki decided to visit it today to stock up on his dwindling supplies.
Before leaving his room this morning, the trickster had counted out the contents of his purse, which he kept safely hidden away in a pocket dimension.  His savings were alarmingly low.  He’d have to find a source of income, and soon.    
Shrugging off his financial worries for now, he moved towards the shops, too-sharp troll eyes scanning the displays for items of interest.
It was then that he noticed.  
A dark-clad figure was shadowing him at a distance, pretending to finger a display full of dull knives as he watched the trickster’s progress with worrisome intensity.
Loki tensed, before forcing himself to visibly relax.  How had the Allfather’s spies managed to find him so quickly?
With controlled casualness, Loki feigned disinterest in the items he’d been perusing and moved on.  He needed to lose himself amongst the crowd, but such a feat would be impossible with his current appearance.  
Turning a corner, he ducked behind the nearest stall and quickly changed forms, taking the face and body of a wiry humanoid male in dirty worker’s overalls.  Ducking out onto the street again, Loki shuffled away, keeping his head down and forcing his feet into a weary plod as if he were just returning home from a long day toiling in one of the mines.
He did not turn to look, but he could feel the hunter’s gaze burning into the back of his neck.  
Loki ignored his growing anxiety, continuing his journey into unfamiliar territory, mindlessly following the flow of the crowd.  His mind was spinning, churning, trying desperately to come up with a plan.
He could not simply teleport himself away, as he had done in the past.  This place was far-distant from Yggdrasil’s main branches, and his magic was already taxed from constantly maintaining a glamour over his true features.  Perhaps he’d be able to use a portal in a few days’ time, but not now.  He’d have to find another solution.
His thoughts were interrupted when he suddenly felt a burst of magic nearby, rolling over his sweat-dampened skin like a cold wind.  Alarmed, he turned his head to spot the dark figure.  
The slim, black-clad man was standing right beside him, the bottom part of his face concealed by a cloth mask.  Startled, Loki recoiled.  
There was another burst of magic, this time directed straight at him.
He tried to react, to shield himself or to attack in turn, but it was too late.
His muscles began slackening until he could no longer stand upright.   His knees buckled, and he plummeted towards the hard ground.  
A pair of arms caught him around his mid-section and bore him up.  He was roughly heaved over a lean, sculpted shoulder.
Loki winced as foreign spells pushed their way under his skin, preventing movement or speech.  He hung limply and stared at the ground, trying desperately to regain some control over his limbs.
Another wave of magic fell over him without warning.  
Before he knew what was happening, he fell into a dark, heavy sleep.    

[xxxxxxx]

It felt as if he’d been slumbering for an age.  It seemed eons had passed, the stars burning down to embers only to be born again, brighter.
He couldn’t remember why he had fallen asleep in the first place.  There were only the vaguest of impressions to fill any gaps in his memory.  A thin man dressed in black danced on the edges of his recollection.  There was a troll as well, large and ugly, with a dark tuft of hair protruding from its grayish skull.
These were strange thoughts, but ultimately unimportant.  He was sure that it would all come back to him later.  
Feeling well-rested Loki arched his back, lazily stretching his long limbs like a contented feline.  He blinked his eyes open, allowing his vision to adjust to the dim light.
The first thing he noticed was that his wrists had been clamped into a pair of heavy, rune-inscribed cuffs.  Frowning, he scanned the markings etched into their surface, quickly determining that they were magic dampeners.  Further inspection revealed no obvious means of removing them.    
He sat up, taking note of his bizarre surroundings for the first time.  
He had been placed upon a metal table in the middle of a cavernous room that was filled to the brim with lighted cages, all stacked haphazardly on top of each other.  There were hundreds of the small enclosures, disappearing into the distance for as far as the eye could see.  Each cell contained some variety of exotic creature or oddity.    
The trickster stared at the strange menagerie around him, amazed and horrified all at once.  There was an albino dark elf.  A frost giant, fire giant hybrid.  A mortal with large wings sprouting from his back.  
The cages’ inhabitants stared off into nothing, their mouths slack, their eyes dead.
Realization settled heavily in his gut as he suddenly remembered the black-clad stranger who’d attacked him in the street.  His abductor had been a mage, and a powerful one, to take Loki by surprise like that.  He’d known exactly how to strike in order to take him down.  It was a troubling thought.
“Prince Loki Odinson of Asgard, I presume?”, a heavily-accented voice sounded from the darkness.  Startled, Loki instinctually reached for his throwing knives, only to find they were missing.    
He twisted around to face whoever had addressed him, his legs dangling off the side of the table.  
There was a pale man with a thick mop of unruly white hair leaning against the wall, regarding the trickster through a pair of strange-looking goggles.  He was wrapped in a heavy fur, despite the warmth of the room.
“I… believe you have the wrong man”, Loki cautiously replied.  
“I cannot fault you for exhibiting such prudent caution, though I assure you it is unnecessary here.  I already know who you are.  I have been to Asgard’s court, and have had a number of dealings with your father.”  The odd man put a hand to his heart and bowed low from the waist, in a mocking show of respect.  Loki scowled.  “My name is Taneleer Tivan, and I am at your service, young prince.”  
The trickster noticed some of the imprisoned creatures shuddering imperceptibly, as if a cold wind had blown through their enclosures.    
“If you are truly at my service, Taneleer Tivan, then perhaps you might show me to an exit, and remove these while you’re at it.”  He held up his cuffed wrists.  “I am a busy man, after all.”
“Oh, I do not doubt it.”  Taneleer pushed off the wall and took a few steps towards Loki, his eyes never leaving the young prince’s face.  “Evading the Allfather’s legendary Einherjars is busy work, after all.  It’s a marvel that you have found any rest at all, these past years.”
Loki narrowed his eyes.  “And what would you know about that?”
Taneleer gave a careless shrug.  “Nothing, really.  Only what I hear.”
The trickster jumped down off of the table, glaring in challenge.  “I hope you do not mean to threaten me”, he spoke softly, “That would not end well for you.”
Another shrug.  “No threats.  Not from me.”  Loki could not see the man’s eyes through those strange tinted goggles, but he had a feeling he was being closely appraised.  “Though you should understand, young prince, that you are in grave danger from the greedy masses milling around like cattle outside of my door.  They would tear you apart with their bare hands if they thought your head was worth something to someone.”
“I see nothing to differentiate them from you, at this point.”
“As you say”, he conceded the point with a nod of his head, “Regardless, let me prove my good will to you.  I would like to offer you sanctuary here.  You should know that none ever enter this place without my approval.  You would be safe.  Sheltered.”
Loki threw a sidelong glance at a nearby cage.  “I think not.  I can see quite clearly the type of ‘shelter’ you provide.”            
Tivan smirked at the trickster’s wit.  Turning about, he started to walk away, strolling down the room’s wide center aisle with unhurried, casual ease.  “Come, Prince Loki, allow me to show you around.  There is much to see, and very little time to do so.  I must return to my work, you understand.”
The trickster remained where he was, glaring at the man’s back.  “Absolutely not.”  He summoned every speck of princely indignation that he could, given the circumstances.  “You will release me immediately, and you will refrain from revealing my presence here -“  
Tivan turned around, the sweeping movement powerful and deadly quick.  
Loki tensed, unnerved.  His captor moved like a seasoned warrior.  
“Let me remind you, Prince Loki, I am not one of your subjects”, he said evenly, “As such, I do not bow to your demands.  Your concerns are valid, and will be answered in good time.  But for now, you will follow me this way.  I promise, you will understand why you are here soon enough.”
Loki’s patience snapped.  “You have no right to keep me here against my will”, he said, taking a challenging step forward, “And if you are truly familiar with me, then you should know that I do not need my magic to kill you.”
Tivan sighed, as if in disappointment.  He directed his gaze over Loki’s shoulder, to one of the many shadowy conclaves in this place.  “Asha, come.”
The slender, masked figure who had brought Loki here slunk out of the darkness.  He was putting off wave upon wave of powerful magic.  
“I would prefer that you come with me of your own accord, Prince Loki”, Taneleer said in a reasonable-sounding tone, “I’d like to avoid any reliance upon my servant’s… methods, which are effective, but admittedly dangerous and ill-advised.”
Loki flinched as a tendril of stinging magical energy caressed the back of his neck, as if to punctuate Tivan’s warning.    
The trickster was smart enough to know when he’d been outmatched.  Never removing his gaze from Taneleer’s magical crony, he replied, “Very well, then.  Lead on.”
The strange man gestured to the center aisle between the cages again.  “This way.”
Loki nodded warily, and followed.

[xxxxxxx]

He was getting a headache.  The horrible, slow-building type of headache that nested itself firmly between the eyes and lingered stubbornly for hours.
Loki blamed his captor.  Tivan had spent hours walking Loki past cell after cell, explaining in detail where each specimen had come from and why they were of interest to his collection.  All the while, Asha followed behind, a vigilant guard to his master.
They came to a stop before yet another cage, where a young female elf with long, stringy blonde hair crouched in the corner, staring at nothing.    
“Here we have a female elvi-lisciona, known commonly as a ‘light elf’.  She is of particular interest to me because she has a set of mutated reproductive glands.”  The she-elf did not seem to notice that she was being discussed.  She continued watching the ground with dull, half-lidded eyes.  “Her ovaries and uterus bear particular resemblance to the reproductive organs of a human being, leading me to believe that there may have been cross-breeding in her family line at one point or another.”  
Loki put a hand to his forehead.  He was feeling ill from the cuffs’ drain on his magic, weak and slightly nauseous, and was having trouble focusing on Tivan’s droning explanations.  “It can also be noted”, the man continued, oblivious to his captive’s plight, “that only these particular organs have been affected by the inter-species mingling, an oddity in itself-”
“Is there a point to all this?”, Loki tersely interrupted.  Asha audibly shifted behind him, stepping forward into his peripheral vision.  It was an obvious warning, one which the trickster chose to ignore.
“A point?”, Tivan repeated, seemingly confused.
“Yes, a point”, Loki spat, losing his patience, “Why are you bothering to show me around your depraved zoo?”
“Not a zoo, young prince”, he chided, correcting him, “A controlled study of living, breathing anomalies.”
“You may call it whatever you wish, but it will not change the fact that this is perversion in its highest form.  Look at her!”, he stabbed a finger in the elf’s direction, “She is an empty shell, trapped in a display box for your amusement.  Better that you had killed her.”
“And what a waste that would have been”, he scoffed, “Honestly, the very idea that-“
Loki attacked before Tivan could finish his sentence.  
Trying to catch him off his guard, the trickster lunged forward, a whirling dervish of long limbs and controlled grace.  
Before he could strike, however, the man moved, ducking out of the way with infuriating speed.  Loki only managed to catch the flesh of his cheek under a thumbnail as he dodged the blow.  
Taking up a defensive stance, he spotted a thin line of blood dripping down Tivan’s chiseled jawline into the high collar of his garish fur.  
A cruel smirk twisted his pale lips.  At least he had managed to draw first blood.  
Suddenly, a painful shock struck him in the small of his back, roughly knocking him to the floor.  He tried unsuccessfully to rise to his feet, unable to suppress a breathy whimper.  
He cursed his own incompetence.  How could he have forgotten the manservant at his back?
Taneleer was very still, and quiet.  He wiped at the blood upon his face, gazing down at the prone trickster.
“Asha, Prince Loki is too overwrought to absorb anything further”, he addressed his servant, but kept his gaze steady on his prisoner, “Please bring him to his chamber.  We’ll continue tomorrow.”
Without another word he turned and walked away, worrying at the cut on his cheek.
Loki stared after him, troubled.
“You will come with me now, Prince Loki”, Asha rasped, drawing his attention.  The mage’s voice showed the gritty roughness of ill use.  
Loki watched him closely, assessing, cataloguing.  He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of face lay underneath that mask.
Limping slightly, he let Taneleer’s strange servant lead him back through the sea of cages, knowing that it would be ill-advised to make another escape attempt at the moment.  
As they walked, there was only the constant, low thrumming of the power generator and his own quiet shuffling footsteps on the uneven ground.  It was notably discordant in the tomb-like atmosphere of this place.
“Walk”, Asha said when his pace slowed.  The simple order rang as a threat, in Loki’s ears.  
Refusing to be intimidated by the looming presence at his back, he squared his shoulders and did as he was told.
They walked for an interminable amount of time, moving away from the cages and past the area where Loki had first awoken.  Asha never said a word, unless it was to urge his prisoner along.
Finally they came to a stop in a short, narrow hallway.  The area was lit by weak electric sconces that flickered in a maddening staccato, serving to create more shadow than illumination.  
He was led towards the last room on the right.  Asha opened the creaking metal door and gestured inside.  
Loki glanced at the cell, which was tiny and dark and devoid of anything but a piss-pot and a decrepit-looking cot.  He returned his incredulous gaze to the masked servant.
“I must admit, I have lived in a number of shit-holes since my emancipation from Asgard”, he spoke in a wry tone of voice, “Though this disgusting hovel appears to be worse than any of them.  Well done, my friend.  You truly know how to show a guest proper hospitality.”
“Step inside, Prince Loki”, Asha said, unaffected by the goading remarks.  Loki could not stop himself from recoiling as he felt the man’s invasive magic crawling warningly over his skin.    
The trickster shot him a corrosive glare.  
Aware that he currently had no other choice, he entered the cell.  Turning about, he opened his mouth to spit a scathing insult at his masked captor.
The door slammed shut in his face, trapping him in a cold, empty blackness that resembled the Void all too closely.