The Romp

It had been long since he started his wandering around the lands. After seeing sights he could not remove from his mind. So much blood. So many dead.

Looking to his hands, now he could only see dirt. The stains of red clouded for now. In his mind everyday he replayed events. Could one man.. No. He was no longer a man, really do so much damage in desperation?

“How could he?” he whimpered as tears clouded in his eyes. He knew he was no better. By now it was evident he had become a monster. His skin had grown pale and his eyes darkened. Even Sif, and the friendly faces he once knew couldn’t convince him to stay. For once in his life, he considered himself very much alone. But what of Loki? The man at the centre of that. Horror.

A shiver down his spine as he coughed a little, bringing one hand to his face. It had been long since he drank. Dragging his feet he stumbled falling face first into the dirt. Tears begin to stream down his face as he pushes himself up.

“How could you do it? Why?!” He shouted as he steadied himself onto his knees. Hunching over he let out a cry before beginning to push himself back up. Looking around he found himself back upon the entrance to the place of origin. Although it had been so long he could still smell blood.

Each of his wanderings seemed to lead him here and now. In desperation he seemed to want vengeance. Once he had towered above as a hero and now he stood a pathetic mess. Covered in dirt, his clothes now rags. It was time to confront that which ailed him. If only he knew where to find him.