The arc of Mjolnir sails uninterrupted, and the few seconds it takes for Thor's strength to counteract its trail forward and reign it back in towards himself, Loki has darted behind him. Quick as ever, his brother is breathing angry words against the back of his neck, knuckles scraping at the sides to pull the chain taunt against Thor's throat. He doesn't need to breathe as an Asgardian, could easily withstand such an assault even unable to defend himself, but that realisation cuts deeper than if Loki had actually been able to procure a suitable weapon.
This isn't a fair fight, and even if Loki were able to arm himself properly it wouldn't be. It can't be, not without his brother's magic, and Thor is being a fool to lie to himself that it matters to give this useless show of mercy. He's rearing back already, hands gripping the chain and thrashing back and forth, Mjolnir gripped up against his jaw because he refuses to put her down.
She can make this end swifter than his bare fists can.
As Thor jerks his torso back and to the side, he catches the fuzzy outline of what is unmistakeably their king in the rain, watching - Thor can nearly feel the hurt pouring off of him, and he's not sure if the larger part is from knowing he's put a son to death, or realising just what it's doing to his other son to carry out the sentence.
He looks away and instead flips around in Loki's grasp, his large body not clumsy but naturally a little unwiedly, and their armored forms touch, bash against each other in his haste. There's the briefest of moments, as Thor pushes forward with his legs and grips Loki's shoulders, that he can pretend he's tackling his younger brother to the ground while they're at play as children.
Any moment now, Loki will disappear and this will be revealed to be a double, a mere trick, and they'll laugh about it as Thor runs himself ragged trying to find the real one.
But they hit the muddy ground hard, with a squelch of puddles and crumbling, wet earth and Thor still has a grip on this older brother-turned-madman who may or may not have been redeemable, had their culture been the sort to give third chances.
you mad bro?
This isn't a fair fight, and even if Loki were able to arm himself properly it wouldn't be. It can't be, not without his brother's magic, and Thor is being a fool to lie to himself that it matters to give this useless show of mercy. He's rearing back already, hands gripping the chain and thrashing back and forth, Mjolnir gripped up against his jaw because he refuses to put her down.
She can make this end swifter than his bare fists can.
As Thor jerks his torso back and to the side, he catches the fuzzy outline of what is unmistakeably their king in the rain, watching - Thor can nearly feel the hurt pouring off of him, and he's not sure if the larger part is from knowing he's put a son to death, or realising just what it's doing to his other son to carry out the sentence.
He looks away and instead flips around in Loki's grasp, his large body not clumsy but naturally a little unwiedly, and their armored forms touch, bash against each other in his haste. There's the briefest of moments, as Thor pushes forward with his legs and grips Loki's shoulders, that he can pretend he's tackling his younger brother to the ground while they're at play as children.
Any moment now, Loki will disappear and this will be revealed to be a double, a mere trick, and they'll laugh about it as Thor runs himself ragged trying to find the real one.
But they hit the muddy ground hard, with a squelch of puddles and crumbling, wet earth and Thor still has a grip on this older brother-turned-madman who may or may not have been redeemable, had their culture been the sort to give third chances.