Fenrir arched his back, bringing the full power of his muscular body to bear. Muscles strained, coils dug into flesh. Fenrir’s jaw was clenched tight, every iota of his being focused on pushing Gleipnir's boundaries, both physically and with the force of his will.
There was a tearing sound, and Fenrir had so extended his muscles to their breaking point that he was not sure if the tearing was from Gleipnir or his own taut sinew. A toss of his shoulders and neck created a release of tension, and the once-coiled lengths of the fetter snapped.
Standing up fully for the first time in ages, feet firmly planted on the rock that would have been his grave, he let loose with a howl that shook the earth. Far away in Asgard, the gods stirred uneasily in their halls, anxious with the thoughts of what this baleful sound portended.
The cycle had continued for ages; moments of suffering and brief periods of reprieve where he would heal just enough to survive and regenerate for the next onslaught of venom, forever denied the merciful relief of death. But it was nearly over, and every drop had now become tolerable, if only by the smallest margin.
Sigyn could feel it as well. Her face, long the portrait of sorrow and betrayal, had become a mask of trepidation and anticipation. She felt the tremors, heard the howling, but was unsure of the meaning.
Loki’s regret at his wife’s treatment was always in the back of his mind. But even more than regret, the rage he felt at the Aesir for including her in his torment was insatiable. Her inclusion only proved their desire to destroy all that he had touched. But now he would be able to return the insults and injuries.
The continued rumblings sent dust and small chips of rock falling throughout the cavern. He could see the snake just above Sigyn’s bowl, and he thought he felt an uncertainty in the creature. It was not much, but it was enough to indicate that the snake, too, realized that its infinite purpose might be coming to an end.
His energy had been continually drained by Frey's bonds, but their power had faded. It was gradual at first, but Fenrir’s release had sent waves of chaos that had disrupted the spell. Slowly he felt the buildup of chaos inside him, desperate for release.
The bowl was nearly full with venom, and soon Sigyn would withdraw and allow the assault to renew. But he would no longer be victim, unable to prevent the pain the serpent delivered. He could not shift his form, but he was able to send a small tendril toward the snake. In the instant before Sigyn released the bowl, he wrapped it around the snake’s neck and willed it to constrict.
He could see the indentation from the invisible tendril cutting into the snake’s neck, strangling the creature. The venom did not completely stop, but the smaller amount that drizzled onto him was bearable and did not distract him from his purpose. He forced the tendril to squeeze harder, to dig deeper into the snake's neck.
The slow drizzle of venom stopped, and the snake slumped down, hanging lifeless from where it was embedded in the rock. Loki laid his head back and closed his eyes, savoring the respite that had been denied him for ages.
When he opened his eyes, he saw Sigyn standing over him with a worried and anxious expression on her face. She still held the bowl, clinging to it as a symbol of her purpose. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, perhaps remembering Odin’s command for her silence, but still unsure if such a command held now. Always dutiful, she remained silent and stared at Loki imploringly, desperate and frightened to know what would happen next.
He did not speak, instead focusing on the bonds that held him immobile. With each passing second he could feel his strength returning, and he could feel the magic draining from them. The disruption caused by his son’s breaking free had allowed him to finally be released.
He tensed his muscles and pulled on the chains, feeling their taut resistance. Curling his fingers into fists, he closed his eyes and concentrated, forcing all of his energy to the bonds that held him. He slowly pulled, arms and legs becoming like steel as he brought the full force of his rapidly returning strength to bear. The bonds stubbornly held, but he continued pulling, steadily and with unrelenting force, using both his own strength and the energy within him. Sinews ached and his arms and legs were strained to their limits, but the chains could no longer withstand the pressure. They broke on both sides at the same time, the release of his bondage sending waves of satisfaction throughout his entire body.
Sigyn dropped the bowl, sending hollow echoes throughout the chamber, then she put her head in her hands and wept. Loki did not fool himself that he could ease her pain. It was far past the time for begging forgiveness, for him as well as for all others. Atonement could no longer be achieved; the crimes were too severe, the injuries too deep. Now was the time for revenge.
He got down from the rock and stood at her side for a moment, putting one hand on her cheek gently, as if he were still her husband in anything but name. She brought her hands down and stared at him, communicating something with her silence. Forgiveness for her own imagined crime? Mercy for the Aesir? As for the first, there was no crime; the guilt for her role in this was his. As for the second, there was no mercy in his heart for those who had brought evil unto themselves by their own twisted and perverse actions.
He turned and left the cave, leaving her for the final time.
Jormungand had been thrown violently and had hit the surface of the water with great force, the pain of contact stunning him, but the freezing waters had quickly revived him and made him appreciate the full horror of his situation. He had writhed as he sank into the depths, a desperate attempt to reach the surface and fill his lungs with air. His ineffective movements soon slowed and he closed his eyes, consigning himself to his fate.
Eventually his eyes opened, and he was confused. He was not dead. He no longer took in deep drafts of air and felt life swell his chest. Water was everywhere—both outside of him and inside. It conveyed motions and disturbances of all the living things that swam or pulsed or breathed around him. He was changing, slowly becoming part of the tapestry of this underwater world.
As his body adjusted more and more to this environment, he saw that larger creatures were more likely to survive, and so he grew larger, effortlessly extending himself and taking on a sinuous shape that enabled him to navigate the murky depths. He found that this shape also allowed him to burrow into the ocean bed, wriggling down just under the surface and waiting there silently for any prey that might pass by.
He was challenged as his size increased. Larger creatures attempted to consume him. They saw prey that was smaller, when he had been smaller, and considered that he might make a quick and easy meal. Some escaped him before they themselves were eaten. Most did not.
He was not aware of his enormous size compared to those who had cast him into the water. All he knew was that he was larger than anything he encountered, that he often made meals of creatures who themselves dwarfed most others. He was the unspoken lord of this place, and so he ceased growing, no longer finding it necessary.
He vaguely remembered the time before, but it was quickly fading. There were others his size, and some who were larger. He had felt an attachment to them, a bond that he could not describe. And there was a hollowness inside him now that they were gone. He did not have the ability to wonder about it, and so it simply lingered inside him, which made the familiar presence that suddenly contacted him so welcome.
It struck him while he was near sleep, his belly full with the boneless body of a large creature with many arms. Curious, he slowly swam upwards to seek out the source of this strange presence.
Sensing the unstoppable mass, thousands of smaller creatures moved from his path. He swam just under the surface of the water, his wake sending breakers crashing onto shores far distant. When he finally broke the surface, tall waves violently overturned several boats that had been unfortunate enough to be nearby.
As he drew closer, the sense of familiarity grew stronger. He began to see images behind his eyes of things he faintly remembered, and he desired to feel more. He saw one who he immediately identified with the presence, one he had not seen for so long that he had nearly forgotten what it looked like.
He began to realize that this presence was sent to him by the creature in his memory, and even more, that the creature sought him out, called to him.
He increased his pace, sending ever larger waves with each flick of his long tail. He could not know that the waves grew large enough to drown entire seaside villages, but it would not have mattered. The only thing that mattered to him now was reuniting with this one. And as the call became clearer and clearer, he was driven by one repeating idea. He had no language, but his primitive brain understood the concept well enough.
The image of his father loomed in his consciousness, and he would find him no matter what stood in his way.
Hel saw the three approach, and despite the immense size of the snake, the only one she truly considered was the weakest one. She knew him, although their time together had been so brief as to be almost non-existent. And the memory itself was even more faint. It was a lifetime ago that she had seen him, although that lifetime had taken stranger turns than he would understand. Still, there was a bond that could not be denied, and she was eager to see him again.
He did not understand how she could be both his daughter and the Mistress of Niflheim, but it did not matter. It would be enough to offer him what he sought. Even if he did not wish to see the truth, he would accept her words, or at least appear to do so for the sake of expediency. As powerful as his two sons were, he would still need more to conquer Asgard. He would have the support of Jotunheim, and she would grant him the unending armies of Niflheim, as well, but there was a final element that he needed, one that only she could grant.
She crossed to the window and watched them approach. The dead gathered around them to watch their progress to her hall. They had only a bare understanding of what they observed, but the giant serpent carrying the wolf and the fallen god were enough to distract their attention from the dull misery of their deathly states. It was an event, at least, something different in a realm where nothing different ever happened, where each dark day was as miserable and bland as the one that preceded it. And even though they were dead, they still harbored a residual humanity that made them achingly aware of their wretched existence.
She noted the dead hanging back, making themselves only barely visible to the three visitors. It would be enough to unsettle most who came to Niflheim, but it was likely lost on these three. The serpent was too dim to understand that this was a place to fear, the wolf was too filled with rage and raw power to fear anything, and the small one had already visited this place at her own invitation and would not be easily shaken. She smiled to herself, noting that any being wielding the power of the Midgard Serpent and the Fenris Wolf would likely fear little.
The door to the chamber opened, its movement so slow that it seemed to take hours to create a crevice large enough for her servant to walk through. When he finally did, his movements were only barely detectable; it would appear to any but Hel that he was simply standing still. And yet she could see each movement he made, each step, each twitch of muscle. When, after days, he reached her side with his message, she nodded once and then dismissed him. He took slightly longer to turn and leave the room. It suddenly occurred to her that time was passing quite differently for her approaching visitors outside the hall; such was the way of Niflheim, as Loki would soon discover.
She was satisfied with the message that the guest she had summoned had arrived. He would be waiting nearby, and she would see him soon enough. But now it was time to meet with Loki and discuss his request. It had been too long since she had seen her father.
There was a sense of familiarity in her presence. Even before Loki had crossed through the iron gates, he was reminded of the vision she had sent him. He did not think that he had truly been in Niflheim that previous time, but he knew this place nonetheless. And he knew her, as well.
She was as ancient as any of the gods, perhaps even more so. When the first being took breath and thus began its journey to its ultimate fate, she was there, waiting to bring it into the dark regions of Niflheim.
There were some who thought of her as evil, but most accepted her as simply another aspect of the Nine Worlds. There was no life without death. She and her realm completed the balance of the Nine Worlds. Still, although most could accept the eventuality of passing over into her realm, none wished to actually meet her.
She was much as he had expected, but also different. Radiantly and darkly beautiful from the waist up, he could only guess at what lay below since she sat on her throne and was covered with a long, black gown that fell to the floor. Aside from her looks, however, she was suffused with the pure chaos that he held at his own core.
She greeted him, the sound of wind blowing through a forest of dead trees. “Welcome, father.”
He narrowed his eyes at the greeting. “You were murdered by Balder as an infant. And yet not only are you alive, but you have been ruler of this place since the time of Ymir. How can you be my daughter and still Hel, the Mistress of Niflheim?”
Hel smiled knowingly, betraying her ancient nature. Her eyes held secrets, he thought, much like Odin’s.