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We can watch the world devoured in its pain
It's his figure the first image that catches his eyes while he is still looking around with mild curiosity, trying to understand where his mind has wandered after he tried to escape his imprisoned body.
He recognizes him as a mortal even before he realizes that his astral projection has arrived to Midgard. It is a different Midgard than the one he had the pleasure to bring chaos to for a few days, though: it's darker and colder, more lonely, surrounded by snow and by the debris of a palace fallen into pieces.
A wall full of screens is the only thing that breaks the silence and the stillness of that place: sounds full of terror, destroyed buildings, cries and screams, and people talking with trembling voices.
“Are you watching the ruins of your reign?” he asks the stranger.
The mortal turns around to face him with a swirl of his cape, ready to fight, a glimpse of a vain courage that hasn't been stained by any hesitations.
“I am watching the sacrifices that were necessary to keep it whole. Who are you?”
There is blood around his mouth, and Loki can see recent bruises on his chin and cheekbones, wounds that appear less deep than the one that the mortal's expression is not able to conceal. He seems a king of Midgard of an ancient era, a tiara in place of a crown and a purple, darker than blood cape that covers the proud figure of a man who has just suffered a defeat without falling on his knees.
Loki smiles.
“A god.”
“Gods don't exist. Only illusions do.”
“Then maybe I am one of them.”
He steps forward, catching the slight surprise on the mortal's expression when the Midgardian realizes he can see the wall through his body, because an astral projection is only a reflection, it doesn't have flesh or blood that would give it tangibleness.
The man doesn't pull back, though, and the lack of fear in his gaze makes Loki want to show him that nothing could ever prevent him to erase the mortal's existence if only he desired so.
“I am not your enemy,” he tells him instead, looking at the determined line of his mouth.
A warrior, even if a pathetic mortal. But an interesting mortal nonetheless, interesting enough that he hasn't truly lied.
“No enemies would ever admit they are out loud.”
Loki's lips almost draw a smile.
“True. And still, I have no interest in ending your existence, at the moment. My name is Loki. Loki No-One-Son. What is yours, mortal?”
There's one moment of hesitation, before the mortal relaxes, giving Loki the impression that the young man has just decided to consider him not as a threat, but as someone to study.
“People called me Ozymandias, once.” He has death in his eyes and Loki goes closer, entranced by what he can see in his face, what makes the mortal so similar to himself.
He lifts one hand, pointing at the ruins that are shown on the screens.
“Did you destroy your world?”
“On the contrary, I saved it.”
“And from which kind of threat?”
This time, it's the mortal's turn to reveal a shade of both superiority and bitterness in the curve of his lips.
“From itself.”
Loki feels a bit of amusement while he's studying the strange man a front of him, a man who acted like a god even if he was a mere mortal.
“And by what right did you claim such power?”
The man's gaze doesn't falter, nor does he lower it. Only a deep exhaustion appears behind the shadows that live in the blue of his eyes.
“Humanity needs a guide, or it would destroy itself. It needs someone who understands, who has the courage and the awareness to make the necessary sacrifices.”
He's surprised to hear such words from the mouth of a simple mortal, a truth that no one but him dared to say. What the rest of the people doesn't understand, what Thor and his foolish friends have always ignored, what not even Odin has had the courage to admit. When Loki has been the only one to understand it, the only one to choose the one way to save Asgard from an arrogant, childish prince – traitor , they told him, and no one ever tried to understand his actions.
“And no one ever understands,” he murmurs, more to himself than to the mortal.
On the man's face, Loki finds the same surprise he feels: the unexpected realization that in front of him there is someone who really understands.
“Why did you restrict yourself with the conquering of this Realm alone?”, he asks sharply.
The man studies him with the eyes of an immortal, eyes which contain too many shadows and too much understanding for a mere Midgardian. And for a moment Loki wants to gouge his eyes out and replace them with two bloodied hole, and he wants to see them opening in pleasure and adoration, having them focused on himself, blue and deep and the perfect mirror for his own madness, and see them filled with his face alone, because this mortal is too similar to himself to not become his.
“It is not the conquering that interests me. I only desire to bring peace.”
“And is it not the same?”
For the first few moments, it's the silence that answers him. Then, the man hints a smile that doesn't brighten his expression.
“I guess it is.”
Loki stretches one hand towards him, seeing through his own palm the glass shards and the snowflakes that the cover the floor, while he offers the mortal a gift that he has never thought he would share with anyone.
“Would you like to conquer the universe with me, Ozymandias?”