Journey into Mystery | Mischief [Comic Submission]

"Do you see it yet?" A voice yelled through the darkness of the cavern, as a black silhouette scampered through the moist gravel. "Come on! Say something! Do you see it yet?!" The voice was louder and more clear, yet it couldn't be determined if its origin came from a male or female. Perhaps it was because it sounded so young that it didn't go through the stages of maturity as of yet. Besides that fact, the black silhouette that was moving through the darkness suddenly came to a stop. Nothing could be seen, but the sound of howling was evident, meaning something had been found within the moist cavern. Picking up a lantern and striking it against the wall a number of times, the owner of the voice finally got a spark the third time making contact. When the flame illuminated the black abyss of the cavern, the figure of a young male could finally be seen. Telling from the rags he wore on his body, and the physical condition he was currently in, he was most likely homeless. As the black haired boy would raise the lantern to get a good look at his surroundings, he'd begin to walk into the dark abyss, following the howling he had heard just minutes before. "Surely you jest if you believe I'd go any further. I'm gracious you invited me along to play this game, but isn't this getting rather silly?" The boy's voice was muffled by the consistent howling. Talking to himself made him feel much better in regards to his subtle fear of the things he couldn't understand. And this moist, dark cavern, was something he truly didn't understand. And as he turned that final corner, almost falling face first into the hard stone under his feet, the light from the lantern would illuminate the fleeting darkness before him.


"Well.." The young Midgardian would speak with a quizzical tone, as his eyes laid witness to what occurred infront of them. "..this is just..odd.." Stabbed within the stone rocks within the cavern was a golden staff that stretched out defiantly. One would need to be born under a rock not to know who this staff belonged too. The question was, how did such an important treasure end up in such an isolated cave? Perched upon the peak of the staff would be a rather large bird that seemed comfortable and in place. It opened its maw and released another howl into the dark abyss, causing the young boy to flinch in place, and cover an ear. "Would you shush? I see the wretched thing with my own two eyes. I wonder if it is possible to sell such a treasure. The masses would snap me asunder if they were to hear word of my actions." To sell the Mad King's staff would be a dangerous and foolish crime. Someone completely sane would never even think of laying a hand on it. Well this small boy wasn't sane. That was apparent when he placed his lantern to the ground and climbed the small hill of rubble to close the distance between him and the staff itself. Finally making it to the powerful rod, the servant would raise his hands slowly towards the golden exterior while his eyes sparkled a pale shade of green. Grasping onto the symbol of power, he felt a massive jolt shoot through his system. It was both horrifying and exhilarating, and before he knew it he felt himself being drawn into the staff in question. His entire frail being was dragged into the golden treasure meant for a king, and in that second the boy, the bird, and the staff...were gone without a trace.

Every cell in the boy's body felt as though it was ripped asunder and his screams did nothing to remedy the pain and peril he was thrust into. Soon he found himself spat out across a stone plated floor. Sweat dripped from his forehead as his skin seemed to tighten around his flesh and bone, making sure he was all still there. The comprehension of what had just occurred hadn't settled in immediately, but before him was the same golden staff he had found in the moist cavern. A pair of gold clad boots stood before him. Overlooking him with a sense of propriety that made him gulp before suddenly looking up. In a burst of green flames, there stood the Mad King himself. King Loki. The man the Midgardians spoke about amongst themselves. The man they believed would send Asgard into the next ragnarok, and ultimately destroy the golden palace Odin built with his own hands. The Mad King extended a hand over the poor boy who was afraid to even breathe. "And this was the one who removed my staff from its perch? A child not even fit to become a man. Disgraceful in the eyes of the King." Even with the Mad King talking down upon him, the boy's lips were wired shut. There was the small chance that he could be allowed to leave the palace with his head still intact. A small chance, but a chance no less. Grasping his golden lit staff with a single hand, Loki would raise the golden symbol to his side. "Do you know who you bow before, child? Acknowledge your King!"


The child in rags slowly raised his head to look upon his King's face. The likeness between the two were uncanny. Even with the green sparks and flames surrounding the young servant, the boy couldn't take his eyes off the man. Loki returned the gaze with his usual stern face before stroking his chin with a hand. "What is your name, child?" The boy in rags took a gulp and finally responded. "I have no name, my King. I apologize for any disrespect I may have caused. Please allow me to show my utmost apologies!" The boy placed his forehead to the gold plated floor once again, and Loki simply laughed at the gesture. More people needed to respect their leader. This would be an interesting relationship between the two, as Loki had just found a new pawn to his schemes.

The boy sat upon the sheets of his bed, holding what appeared to be a crown in his hands. The room he was currently staying in was plated in pure gold, and he couldn't help but be slightly unsettled. Before he could even remember, he had been living on the streets scavenging for food. There were no memories of his parents, or any sort of relative that would claim him. The boy wasn't sure if it was pity, or humor, that caused the Mad King to keep him around the palace. Perhaps it was alittle of both? Today he was to walk before the King and receive a name. A title to be called while serving under the King himself. The boy wasn't sure exactly what this calling would entitle, but he had no choice in the matter. The Mad King's word and rule were absolute and he would need to follow to survive. A knocking was soon heard on the gold plated door to the room, and the boy would shift his eyes to look towards the origin of the sound. "King Loki demands your presence. Come now, Child." The heavy sound of footsteps heard outside the door, would become feint. The small boy would press himself from the bed. On the golden chair beside the door would be a green outfit that resembled the King's own attire. Walking to the outfit, the boy in rags would slide his fingers across the high quality silk and materials. This was the first time he had ever felt such material. Such class at the edge of his finger tips. "The Mad King must have some sort of plan for me. What would he have me do?" A question that would soon be answered. Discarding the rags and replacing his previous clothing for the new attire, the boy would be ready to face his King.


Walking into the throne room, the golden armor clad guards would block the child off. He didn't say a word, he simply stood with his dark eyes shifting away from the stern men. The Mad King would slam the bottom of his golden staff into the floor, signifying the guards to let the young boy through. Stepping aside, the guards would clear a path where the young homeless boy would approach the throne. Standing before his king, he bowed his head to show his utmost respect. "My King, I am most grateful to your hospitality. I believe-" The boy would stop his words as the Mad King lifted a hand. "You're from Midgard, yes child?" The nameless boy would nod his head. "So then you know of what they say about me? Of what they say about the madness of King Loki." The boy slowly nodded once again. "Tell me child. Tell me about your past in Midgard." A brow raised on the King, and the young one stood and finally made contact. "I remember nothing of my past, my King." Loki stroked his chin while looking down towards the child. "What you claim not to know is merely what you've denied. You'll need to recapture those vagrant memories of yours if you are to be of any use, child." The boy pressed his raven locks aside to look towards his king with a quizzical expression. "My King you deserve better company than someone like myself." The boy's dark eyes focused on Loki, as he attempted to comprehend what sort of goals he had in store. "You'd prefer the hot, stinking breath and unyielding attention of a potent, non-reasoning, unfeeling, hell-raiser on the streets of Midgar over a place by your King? I don't think so. And here they call me mad." A small chuckle escaped the God's lips. It was a humorous thought. "If memory serves correctly, you wished to sell my staff for a profit. The King's staff. Now you stand before me claiming such innocence. You're a mischievous little one, aren't you boy? You remind me of myself when I was a child." Was this a compliment from the Mad King himself? The dark haired homeless child would bow his head in respect either way. "Give me your hand." Loki asked bluntly as he extended his own outward, with the palm facing up towards the ceiling. The child was hesitant to grab it, but slowly he'd place his hand onto the others. In that moment he felt the eruption of power tearing through his body at an alarming rate. The feeling could be compared to what was felt the first time he grasped the golden staff in that cave so long ago. As the world seemed to shatter in a green glass, the child staggered to hold his footing. Lifting his arms up to grasp his head, the sound of the King's voice was the only thing heard in his head in what seemed like eternity. In reality, it had only been several seconds. These seconds were the most important seconds in the child's life, because it was what made him into what he was in future tales.

"From this day forward, child, you will be a servant under your King. You shall now go by the title Mischief. I've even imbued a small portion of my power in your body, as long as you serve me well. Now, anything you'd like to say to your King before I give my first order? There's a disturbance I require you to dismiss in the plains." The child. No, Mischief looked at his hands. The power he felt. Was this the power the Mad King had in his possession at all times? The power that would send Asgard into Ragnarok? Mischief clenched his fists and looked up towards his King with a smile. "I live to serve my King. I'll serve as the Mischief before the discord." King Loki raised a brow at the boy's words, stroking his chin with a devious smile. Mischief had a similar devious smile on his face aswell. It seemed as though the King had found the perfect servant by chance. One that wished to sell his staff for profit was now looking to be a nice addition to Loki's power scale. Dismissing the child of Mischief, he'd watch the boy make his way down from the throne with a new confidence brimming about him. He didn't even glance at the guards as he continued on his path with a devious grin upon his face. This was the making of a new God. Though his powers stemmed from another, he was all too real. The God of Mischief. The Agent of Chaos.

The Warrior's Three. Powerful allies of the Asgardian God named Thor. Here Mischief was, leading them out to the plains to do the Mad King Loki's bidding. The devious grin upon the young god's face made the three warriors snarl. Ever since Thor's disappearance during King Loki's rule, they had been serving directly under the new King himself. It was easy to tell they weren't pleased with King Loki's method of ruling. The final straw was crossed when he placed the young God of Mischief in charge of their trio. The three warriors were well known through Asgard. The first was Volstagg, the heaviest of the three. Those who only knew him by rumor were convinced he only ate such large amounts of food to remedy the nagging shrew of a wife. He'd gladly dismiss such claims and tell the entire truth. He ate large amounts because he enjoyed it! Even in the most depressing times his hunger was mistaken as apathy to the current situation. Next of the dangerous trio would be Hogun the Grim. Unlike most Asgardians, he is not of Aesir blood. He's known to be silent, but hides a fiery rage behind his quiet exterior. With Hridgandr, his trust mace in hand, many fear Hogun the Grim in vicious combat. Last but not least, there was Fandral the Dashing. They refer to him as the "best with a blade" and he's proven this title time and time again. Not only is his blade sharp, but his tongue aswell! Women swoon over the dashing male and he knows this all too well. For Mischief to be put in charge of such a famous trio did not only stroke his ego, but his complete and utter arrogance aswell.

"With haste, Warriors Three. I plan on being done with this small folly before we lose the sun. Or do you wish to share words with our King?" Mischief confident stride kept him a few meters infront of the pack, not looking back a second to acknowledge them with his grace. Hogun the Grim gave a disgruntled moan to the current situation. For someone so silent, this was a big deal according to his fellow warriors. "Would one think it was foul if I wish to be slain to escape to Valhalla, than hear another word from this little twit?" Fandral the Dashing spoke with harsh words in earshot of the God of Mischief. The boy paid him no mind, and simply kept forward. "I'd hold your tongue if you wish to keep it by the next dawn, Fandral the Manwhore." Volstagg found laughter from the boy's words which was quickly silenced by an elbow strike from Fandral himself. Soon words fell to silence, as the team of four came to a sudden stop behind brush. "Shh, it's up ahead. I can smell that disgusting beast from fields away." The young god would kneel and the Warriors three would follow. Raising a hand, Mischief would use telekinesis to shift the brush and reveal what appeared to be a tie'son, which would be Asgard's version of an over sized warthog and armadillo fused together. "There it is. Terrifying if I do say so myself. Imagine being mauled by such a devious creature!..Imagine letting it loose through the streets of Midgard. Oh that'd be a sight to see!" The crooked smiling boy would snicker to himself as the warriors looked at each other, and rolled their eyes in unison. Fandral the Dashing would take the first step forward, and use his arm to shove Mischief out into the field where the beast would immediately spot him. "You're our leader, correct God of Mischief? Then show us why you lead the Warriors Three." Mischief turned back with a look of anger, and a slight hint of fear. Turning back around, he'd see the beast stamping its foot against the mulch, readying a charge. Staggering his stance, the young god would prepare for the worst. "You think this beast can stand against the God of Mischief? Hah! I'll snap it asunder with a flick of my-" Boom, the boy was hit head on by the monstrosity, sending him flying through the air and onto his back in a group of bushes. Shaking his head attempting to reclaim his sense, he would take note of the beast coming in for another round of smashing. Raising a hand on instinct, the young god would send a repulsion of telekinetic energy that would push the beast back and into a tree. Looking at his hand, the look of fear was replaced with confidence. "Yes, I will make this beast serve my rule." The Warriors Three looked towards each other once again. The boy didn't rule anything, so what exactly was he going to be making the beast serve? It made no sense, but they continued to watch the show out of both laughs and curiosity.


Taking the beast by the horns, Mischief had now found himself riding its back like a foolish mortal riding a bull. Raising a hand and holding on with his other, he'd be bucked back and forth as he laughed. His childish side was showing for once. The Warriors Three would spring from the brush, using various weaponry to keep the beast tied down and subdued. Mischief continued to sit on its back with a smile on his face, and the large Volstagg would give him a pat on the back. "Not bad for a kid! I'd say you have potential like no other! Now lets get this beast back to the castle for a feast we'll never forget! My brothers, it'll be like we've died and gone to Valhalla!" The warrior laughed as he drug the bound beast by the neck with pure strength. Mischief followed close behind, looking up at the sky with a smile. This life was much more exciting then what he was usually caught doing. Scavenging for food on the streets just to survive. Getting the praise of the Warriors Three was perhaps one of the greatest moments of the young god's short life.

Men cheered, women shrilled! The feast within the massive walls of the palace was one of glory! It led the people to forget that the Mad King Loki was slowly leading Asgard into Ragnarok. An event that would cause the deaths of many Asgardians and bring about the fall of the kingdom. Mischief would be hoisted up upon Volstagg's shoulder as a toast would be raised in the young God's honor. A wide smile was on the child's face, as he grabbed the massive leg from a baked bird that resembled the Earth realm's turkey. Taking a bite into the massive leg that was two times bigger than his head, he would lift it up into the air with the cheers. Nothing seemed like it would ruin this day, nor the feast. Well, all would be wrong, as the large golden clad doors would be forced open suddenly. All fell silent as they looked towards the heavenly glow illuminating the dining hall, coming from the open pathway. Standing in the light was the golden locked God of Thunder. Thor. A ghost from the past. Rumor had it he had fallen in the battle against the Frost Giants. The battle that sent Odin's health into a spike. The battle that put Loki in his current position as King. The warm turned to chill, as Thor's mighty frame broken into the golden hall with a stern expression on his face. "I wish to share words with the "Would be" King. Where is my brother?" The God demanded, and Mischief looked upon him with wide eyes. Without waiting, he'd press himself off Volstagg's shoulder and land on the ground. Taking off with a full out sprint towards the King's throne room, he could hear the mighty footsteps of Thor close behind him. Extending a hand, he'd send a repulsion of telekinetic force that would cause the double doors to shoot open. Jumping in the air, and catching himself with his own mind, he'd being to fly while looking behind him. Like he thought, Thor was on his tail with his hammer faced forward and giving him the gift of flight. Making throwing motions, Mischief made the attempt to send balls of telekinetic force to slow down the god's advance towards the throne room. To his dissatisfaction, Thor crashed through them without any problem, causing the young god to turn and shoot off into the throne room. He'd close the doors right behind him, putting a telekinetic lock onto them, and landing with a thud on the ground infront of his king. Loki, with a devious grin upon his face, would look upon his servant. "My King! He's-" The sound of thunder crackled behind the large golden doors, as a powerful force began to chip away at them. "Thor has returned!" As the last words escaped his lips, the doors shot forth and sent a powerful shockwave towards the child, sending him flying back past the king and into a wall. Loki stood from the throne with his staff in hand. His eyes gave a green glow as he stepped down the golden steps and towards his brother. "A gift from the grave. My brother lives, only to see me end him once again!" He cackled before firing a blast from the end of his staff and sending the God of Thunder flying through a wall and out of the room. Following behind him, the Mad King disappeared in a greenish hue. This would be the last image the boy would see before slowly fading into unconsciousness.


Awakening some time later, Mischief would slowly press himself from the ground. On his back were various debris, but with a telekinetic shockwave, they were sent flying in various directions. Coughing thanks to the smoke and rubble, he'd notice the entire room a complete mess, almost as though an violent storm tore it asunder. Running towards the hole created from Thor's body, Mischief would take flight into the Asgardian skies. Looking below, he'd see the palace in flames and various thunder and lightning clashes in the distance. Was this Ragnarok that he heard so much about? His attention would be stolen by the powerful blows of combat shaking the foundation of the plains. In the distance one could see the Mighty God of Thunder duelling with his own brother, the God of Discord. Thor would rip a boulder from the ground below, using it as a battering ram to slam the Mad King into the sky with a mighty blow. The boulder shattered on impact, showcasing just how durable the god was.


The battle took off into the skies of Asgard once again, as each blow sent out shockwaves that rocked the very foundation of the kingdom. Even Mischief was forced to land, as the shockwaves were sending him spiralling through the sky. "This is getting out of hand! I am a glutton for chaos, but these two are going too far. Sibling rivalry has never been more violent." The young God of Mischief watch the destruction of his new home by the hands of two Gods with no equal. Placing the tips of his fingers together, the young God would take a seat on a ragged piece of rock with destructing transpiring behind him. He was given powers by the Mad King to be in his royal guard. Yet he feared battling the God of Thunder himself. What was he to do? Like the sound of thunder, what appeared like a star would come shooting down from the sky and into the destroyed plains just outside of Asgard. Behind it was the mighty Thor following close behind it. It seemed like the battle of reaching its end, and in a desperate need to serve his king, the young Mischief would shoot off from the jagged piece of rock and begin to fly towards the scene.


When arriving to the scene, Mischief would see Thor standing over his beaten brother. The young God of Mischief froze in his tracks, as his mouth opened agape at the scene. "Brother, stop this madness now! Lay down your arms!" Thor seemed to be pleading with the Mad King Loki, and the king only responded with laughs in his brother's face. Sneaking up behind him, Mischief would dive forward attempted to telekinetically tackle Thor to the ground for his King. In this moment, Thor turned to catch the boy with ease. "DO NOT INTERFERE!" In this small opening, the God of Discord would let out a cackle before disappearing into a rift and escaping the scene.


Tossing the boy to the ground in anger, Thor held his hammer to his face with a stern expression. Mischief could only sit there, looking up towards the God with slightly fearful eyes. "I-" "Silence! Because of you, Loki has escaped. You will share words with my father once he awakes. He will judge you himself, and give you a punishment for your actions!" The God of Thunder spoke down on the child, and Mischief broke eye contact to spit to the side. Little did he know this judgement would lead to his banishment from Asgard. And would start him on his journey of revenge..