Prologue
Prologue
Do you know how it happens? Here you are standing at the window in the morning, a fresh breeze stirs your hair, birds are singing somewhere, golden glare of sunshine is playing on the walls of houses, nothing hurts anywhere, it doesn't tingle and doesn't even stick out with unnecessary folds, and your heart is filled with peace and grace ... That's exactly what I had, only with one little clarification.
Every moment I realized more and more clearly that I hate Asgard...
The problem was not even in Asgard, but in the fact that I got ... I got into Loki.
And that wouldn't be much of a problem either, if Loki himself behaved like a god... I mean... GOD! To the very God of Deception! Intrigue! AND MAGIC! What he officially is.
Well, that is, he simply took and gutted my memories, sorted them out, evaluated, weighed and, according to the results, either swallowed me like a doughnut, or threw me into the afterlife. There was one here. I know. No, Loki didn't. Loki did nothing at all. Probably... I don't know. Actually, I don't remember.
Be that as it may, when my consciousness emerged from non-existence, Loki was no longer there. In the body was only me and no God of Deception.
And in itself it would still not be very scary, giving a lot of options, like trying to establish where I am, whose body it is, why the helmet needs these huge horns ... well, and other touching moments of self-identification in the new world and body, with all the necessary stages, such as shock, denial, aggression, bargaining, depression and acceptance. But alas, no one was so merciful to me, and all the memory of the past owner of the body was available completely and completely from the very beginning, being available as my own. Which gave me complete carte blanche for shock and depression, but left no chance for sweet ignorance, any hope and delay.
But even this would not be so critical if I could be aware of myself as Loki, or at least have suspicions that I could be him, like "the memory of a past life returned". A bummer, however, was waiting for me here too, since I perfectly felt where my memories were, and where Loki's memories were, and for a second I did not associate myself with him.
As a result, for several hours now I have been comprehending the depths of the term "ass" using the example of my own position ...
Just two words: Marvel Cinematic Universe.
Yes.
It was her.
It was enough to see my face in the mirror to cast off the last doubts, but even without that, based on the memory of my predecessor, it was her. Big...deep...ass.
The most idiotic reality of all possible versions of the Marvel world. Realism, multiplied by debilizm and elevated to the degree of creative impotence of screenwriters. I was ready to put up with black Nick Fury, I was ready to forgive this world black Mary Jane Watson, I didn't even give a damn about "Aunt May" performed by a lady "slightly over thirty" in "active search", I could even close my eyes to the electromagnet for shrapnel in the chest at the cold fusion reactor, without which this shrapnel "irresistibly" moves to the heart ... through something ... I don't know how the locals work alcoholic playboys, maybe everything really happens in their body, and the shrapnel that gets into the body will move exactly to the heart, no longer threatening anything, and will "defeat the enemy team" only when it "reaches the base". Hell, I even believe that radiation sickness from prolonged contact with a radioactive element will completely and immediately resolve when a battery is inserted into a person on some other radioactive element, after all, we are talking about an American playboy alcoholic, in whose body shrapnel moves to the heart. God knows, I am ready to put up with a wide range of nonsense and professional illiteracy, coupled with indulgence in socially destructive trends, but the Infinity Stones…
Stones, Carl!
Several multi-colored pieces of glass, endowed with phenomenal and irresistible cosmic power ... Which literally every dog in this fucking universe knows about. But in this entire universe, there was only one enterprising "bad guy" who took real steps in order to collect them.
The writers had so many options for a global and terrible threat ... They had Galactus, there was the Apocalypse, there was the Skrull Empire, the Kree Empire, the Phalanx, the Phoenix, the Form-Master ... and about fifty other guys of a similar caliber. And they chose for the role of the Archenemy some miserable titan-loser with three convolutions - and those on his chin.
Tremble, mortals! Thanos with a glove with rhinestones - Archenemy and a threat to the entire universe!
And now I'm in this... this. Over the head.
Moreover, the structure of events is such that in a few years this purple, asexual, bald mutant dwarf will still collect all the bracelets for himself and make the world laugh. And most importantly: it doesn't matter at all how far I will be from the place of events, since, according to the conditions of the task, I can be sprayed at least on the other side of the galaxy, if this nonentity wants it.
I have joy from these prospects, of course, full pants.
I have joy from these prospects, of course, full pants. But there were enough other reasons for laughter, even take my current environment. First of all, I was Loki. And that was bad. Not because the whole of Asgard considered this worthy person, to put it mildly, not a very decent gentleman, no, the trouble was that he was listed as the son of Odin and Frigga. I can relate to these personalities and the gods of Asgard of this reality in general, but I understand one fact absolutely clearly: these two will set me on fire in a moment. I repeat: I do not feel like Loki, in the sense of the former Loki. I have already come to terms with the fact that I am in his body and this is now my name, but I am not him. We have a different character, different priorities, a completely different view of the world. I don't give a damn about the throne of Asgard, I don't give a damn about Thor, and I don't give a damn about his parents, but the one I took had the opposite. And this discrepancy will be noticed by anyone who knows the former Loki well. And this is almost everything. Asgardians live for thousands of years, life here moves very slowly and changes even less - all facial expressions, gestures, non-verbal signals of neighbors during such a time are memorized by heart even by the most stupid and narrow-minded. So I can't get in the eye of Odin and Frigga if I don't want my life to become very eventful but short. I don't believe a penny in the kindness of this honorary "all-father of the year", because if he turned his own son into a mere mortal and then threw him to Earth without food, water and livelihood, and sentenced his adopted son to death for the whole of Asgard, then what he will do with the other world invader of Loki's body, I don't want to check on my own skin. Especially in light of the fact that his physiognomy is one to one with Hannibal Lecter, only slightly retouched by a fine beard and an eye patch.
Fortunately, the former Loki well protected his chambers from the views of all the Heimdalls and other Odins, who are able to see and hear what is happening, regardless of the walls, distances and boundaries of the worlds, otherwise the situation would have been completely critical for me. Fortunately, I also knew the methods of self-passive concealment and could well apply it, which I did as soon as I figured out what had happened, but this did not cancel the main difficulty - I had to leave Asgard immediately, but ... I simply did not know where to go.
Nevermind the Rainbow Bridge, Loki could walk between the worlds in shadow paths, and I already made sure I could feel the several nearby entrances to them, which were most often used by the God of Deception, but still remained "where?" The worlds closest to Asgard did not fit, although I knew them quite well thanks to my inherited memory. Earth? I could come up, but now a full star will begin there, and I don't want to take part in it either. I didn't know exactly what the date was, but the coronation of Thor, which started everything in the film, has already been set and will take place in the near future. Loki was furious because of this and had already decided to disrupt the event by secretly leading the frost giants to Asgard. Well, at least he "decided" and not "made", and that's bread. However, this means that there is already an Iron Man on Earth with a twenty-first century in the yard, and this is the Avengers initiative, all sorts of Hydras, chitauri invasions and other bullshit.
No, I was not afraid to get into it. What kind of fear can we talk about when you wake up in the body of God, not only remembering exactly how you came to such a life, but, for reasons of symmetry and dimension, reasonably suspecting that in a past life you safely threw off your hooves? I literally learned in practice that existence does not end with death, and the local Asgardians not only believed in Valhalla, they knew that it existed. So the dismantling of local people did not frighten me, especially with the powers and skills of Loki. I just didn't want to get into them. I did not see an incentive for myself. Here in general. There weren't even pretty girls in this world that it would be worth fluffing their tails to save them… Or something like that.
Natalie Portman was cute when she played Padmé in the first film of the new Star Wars trilogy, but then she grew up, and makeup stopped emphasizing natural beauty, turning into a means of preserving it on the frames. And this is not something for which it is worth tearing your ass and risking your head.
Gwyneth Paltrow... look, I remember the name of the actress who played Iron Man's assistant, Loki's brain is a useful thing. Now, Gwyneth Paltrow...she may have been good in a couple of shots, but otherwise she's a nondescript mouse.
Scarlett Johansson, aka Black Widow... burn alive. Just burn alive. Not only does she have the same problems in appearance as the previous ones * (1), if not worse, because the bitchy expression on her face asks for ninety percent of screen time, she also sold her homeland to the damned Yankees. And if we talk purely about the character, then this really needs to be dumped into a vat of acid, trite to cleanse the human gene pool.
Oh yes, there is also Sif, the heroic warrior maiden and friend of Thor. Here again I want to cry out to the female half of the Hollywood cast: when will you fools already learn how to remove moles from your face? Or at least make them up, playing representatives of some perfect "high" races, like gods, elves and banal superhumans, whose legend suggests the perfection of appearance and the absence of primitive defects on the skin? Do you even know how disgusting the discomfort in the head feels when, on the one hand, you know exactly and clearly that the aces are gods who do not suffer from worldly diseases, obviously gifted in everything related to physical perfection, who do not have violations in the gene code, malignant and benign formations, age spots, acne, warts, and so on, and then ... you see a mole on the face of a purebred Asinya? And that's kind of the norm. And this has never bothered anyone. But you suddenly noticed and caught cognitive dissonance. And worse than that - there are plenty of such aces in Loki's memory, but no one cares, nothing bothers anyone. But because you, the director and make-up artists are morons who created a moronic reality. Oh yeah, and Sif is a top notch feminist. Just the same icon of the movement, if only this movement knew about it.
And you know what's the most disgusting thing about local girls? The most disgusting thing is that all of the ones I listed and another two dozen left behind the scenes are fucking Strong Independent Women. That is, not those who are strong and independent in fact, but those who tirelessly yell about it every minute of screen time. Some other characters only flicker in the background, and they are completely ugly, and those who are shoved into the foreground in this damned degenerate universe are not the kind of women who want to love. These are women who you want to take ... no, not in bed, but simply in your arms ... and throw them out the window! Because "fuck"! Because those are the only problems. Everywhere. At work, in friends, in the family: they are always a source of problems and hassle. Fuck those. That's just the fuck!
Of course, I feel a bit like an attic on wheels, trying to analyze real people from a picture from the films, but the problem is that all of Loki's memory gives me reason for this. It just so happens that I was rewatching the Thor and his brother movies not too long ago, and, damn it, everything matches up. To the smallest detail! And it's scary, no joke.
I hate Asgard. I hate this universe. I hate Marvel filmmakers!
But I am here. And I, campaign, still blame the Earth. Because in general, it doesn't matter where to blame, because in a few years this whole universe will be leveled by Thanos in a glove with rhinestones, and on Earth at least there is the Internet and potatoes. There are no potatoes on Asgard. Locals prefer game and fruits, and I like fried potatoes. It's better to die with fried potatoes than without them. Well, it seems to me in my not too adequate state of hysterical depression. And there can also be normal cute girls on Earth ... but it's better not to count on it, this is the Marvel Cinematic Universe, they managed to mess up even adamantium, turning it from an indestructible metal into a piece of shit that can be cut with a heated stick.
However, despite not the most rosy analysis of the situation, it could not be said that all the time from the moment of awakening I was engaged only in falling into depression. My main occupation was getting used to a new ... let's call it biochemistry. The memory and reflexes of Loki were with me, but the memory of life in the human body was also with me, and I responsibly declare that it is significantly different from life in the body of a jotun, which in fact was the Asgardian God of Magic. My predecessor did not yet know this, but I was aware that he was not the son of Odin, but the son of Laufey, the king of the frost giants. Perhaps, a half-breed, that would explain the difference in size and appearance, but these are minor details. The bottom line was that the body of an ice giant was perceived differently than the body of a person. More senses: there is a sense of magic, space, the world under your feet. And also those feelings that are familiar and familiar to a person are much more perfect, sharper. I can count the number of flower buds in a flower bed located three kilometers from the palace, I can hear the ringing footsteps of sentinel boots in the courtyard six floors below, I can pick out all the shades of aromas hovering in the air, identifying each of the tree species blooming in the garden. And all this does not interfere, does not even attract attention.
But the most important, of course, is the magical skills of the past owner of the body. Magic in Asgard was called all areas of creative knowledge that went beyond the craft. Here they did not make a division into mystical and natural science, probably because for the aces the mystical edge of the world was as close as the physical one. In the realm of Odin, full-fledged technomagic reigned, where high technologies of the level of artificial intelligence, antigravity and nanomachines existed in close symbiosis with classical magic, as it is understood on Earth. True, there were no fireballs and any ice arrows in the magical tradition of Asgard, for such things there were enchanted weapons, although masterpieces like the Mjolnir hammer or the Gungnir spear were not often found among them.
In general, while the brain experienced not the best moments from awareness of the surrounding reality, the hands and other body were engaged in checking reflexes and practical knowledge, making sure that everything from Loki's arsenal was available to me. The results of the check were pleasing: I could create any illusions, including those material enough to strike the enemy during the battle, I could fully change my own physical form, turning into a giant snake, I could use telekinesis and transfer objects "in" and "out" of the subspace pocket, as well as many other little things, I think there will be no problems with the magic of the mind - my predecessor was also a master in it.
But several hours had already passed since awakening, and no matter how extensive the arsenal of the one who received the title of the God of Magic was, I applied and double-checked everything that I could use alone, it already looked stupid to drag out time - it was time to get out of this world. Unfortunately, I could take little with me, only Loki's personal belongings, a number of artifacts from his collection, and several hundred books on magic that were kept in his chambers. He read all these books and, in principle, there was no use in them, although here you can strain yourself, because where else can I get literature on magic? The artifacts were almost useless and rather carried cultural and nostalgic value, reminiscent of campaigns in the Nine Worlds and victories over all sorts of troll shamans and other creatures dabbled in magic that live inside Asgard's sphere of interest. As for personal belongings… He always had several artifact suits that could easily transfer the transformation to suit certain needs in his subspace pocket, the same applied to his favorite daggers, which he preferred to other weapons, and the God of Deception didn't have any special things. In this regard, Loki was no different from any other healthy man, being very unpretentious and ascetic. Of course, I would like to grab something from the treasury, but Odin is watching it very carefully and will notice the penetration, and I am not such a greedy kleptomaniac as to risk my life for the sake of a beautiful little thing.
But what I am ready and even must do is to catch up with the fog and try to protect myself from possible consequences. I think that a well-written farewell note will fit a little worse than the canonical contact with the Casket of Winter in front of Odin, so let's take a piece of paper from the table and recall the Asgardian script...
It was a little harder to do than to say. In a past life, thoughts were rarely born so easily in the head and formed into harmonious phrases for transferring them to paper or a monitor screen, but here composing a letter did not cause the slightest effort, probably, the rich practice of this brain in coming up with excuses on the go affected, although what's the difference? It turned out, in my opinion, a little dry and bilious, but ... it's probably better that way.
"I found out who I am. And who was my real father. "You are both born kings" - I remember this phrase well, Odin. Although I don't know how to feel about it right now. And who was I in your eyes. Son? Or just a tool, a profitable hostage? I have a lot to think about, so I'm leaving Asgard. If you really consider yourself my father, then please do not look for me. When the time is right, I will return myself.
Also pass my congratulations to Thor - in the light of new information, I understand that the throne could never be mine. New information generally explains a lot in my life. However, it would be petty to be offended precisely on this occasion and 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 wishes. Loki, son of Laufey. Rightful heir of Jotunheim."
Glancing over the table on which I left the farewell note, and after it the chambers, to which, very likely, I will never return, I went out the door. I wonder who will find this message? Although... in any case, Odin will be "fun". I was drawn to a villainous laugh, being the "God of Mischief" put its own touches ... But back to the question. If one of the guards tries to visit me, then the fact that the Allfather hid the son of his main enemy in himself will very quickly become public, and a notable "sediment" will arise. In addition, in such a case, I definitely should not be afraid of those who want to return the prodigal son of the Aesir - on the contrary, they will be glad that the "Jotun spawn" left the walls of Asgard, at the same time, no one will do stupid things, such as trying to kill me - Odin still called Loki a son and will not appreciate such encroachment on a representative of his kind, to put it mildly. If Thor finds the note, breaking into his brother's chambers with a question why he didn't come to the most solemn moment in his life and bow to the new king, then it will be about the same thing - this not very smart God never knew how to keep his mouth shut, how to drink and tell his friends. And they will spread the "good news", except that the news will come to Odin faster and much more expressively. In the same unlikely case, if the All-Father himself descends, then the old man will be a little unpleasant, perhaps even hurt, but that's all - he will either tell Thor everything in private, very urgently asking him not to spread it, or even say something like "I sent Loki with an extremely important and urgent matter." Be that as it may, but I really hoped that such a move would either completely save me from the obsessive supervision of "relatives", or, at least, give me some head start.
As I thought about it, I myself did not notice how I reached the right corridor. The Path of Shadows began here. Loki was thinking of bringing the giants from Jotunheim along it, but it will serve me as a road to other places. It may be more difficult to get to Earth by this route, but "harder" does not mean "impossible." Having breathed in the air of the "small homeland" for the last time, I tore open the space with an effort of will, opening the passage to the realm of eternal twilight. And took a step forward.
Shadow passages are not the most pleasant thing, even being a master of magic, having a natural talent for the subtle sciences in general and their dark direction in particular, sliding on the wrong side of the world was not a pleasant experience, it is not surprising that, having the opportunity to use the Rainbow Bridge alternative, that Loki preferred to use it. I didn't have that alternative, so I had to grit my teeth and move on through the grimacing and dancing metric, where three dimensions flowed into just two, and then immediately became an eight-dimensional space ... only to return to almost normal four- and five-dimensional. And even though I had the experience of passing such paths in my memory, it was I who encountered this for the first time, and therefore, leaving in some snowy forest, lit only by the light of stars and distant lights of the freeway, I breathed a sigh of relief. Got it! Now I need to make sure that I am still safely hidden from the eyes of all interested parties, and you can already go out to people.
Notes:
* (1) If someone's aesthetic tastes do not coincide with the tastes of the hero, then keep in mind - he is now frankly gone. Quietly rustling with slate, the roof goes three hundred, and all that.