Loki flew over the craggy terrain, heedless - or uncaring - of the danger inherent there. His breath came fast, panting from far more than the exertion of running. When he had come down from that high of fury he'd been riding, he'd crashed hard - pulling away from his nameless victim, he'd fled without a word, not from fear of retribution but from the guilt and horror that choked him. He hadn't stopped running since he'd left the crypt, but he couldn't run away from himself.
What he'd done... he was worse than Hati, worse than his father. He'd known the magnitude of the evil he was doing, and he'd done it willingly. He was supposed to be better than that - but he'd proven he was not.
His long legs finally gave out and Loki collapsed, trembling and sick to his stomach, beneath the branches of a scraggly evergreen. Alone - good. He deserved to be alone. Deserved it... deserved worse. A monster.
