He reached home, exhausted both mentally and physically, but the beggar's smile had calmed his mind slightly. He hoped his grandfather, watching from the sky, wouldn't want to see his grandson like this. His house was dingy and smelly, neglected because he'd been too busy with his project to clean. He remembered the incense the beggar had given him and lit it to improve the atmosphere. "Am I hallucinating?" he thought, as a talking cat suddenly stood before him.
"What do you want, mortal?" the cat asked dully.
"What can you give me as a cat?" he replied skeptically.
"Haha! Mortal, I am Loki's pet. Now tell me, don't waste my time!" the cat snapped.
"Okay, then make me super rich, super handsome, and successful!" he declared.
"Since you've made your wish, now it's time to play!" With a flick of its paw, the cat summoned a roulette wheel with five options: lollipop, candy, thunder, fire, whale. The cat spun the wheel. The pointer seemed destined for thunder but stopped on candy. A purple candy materialized in his hand.
"Hahaha, you're lucky to get the dope candy! My task is finished, so I'm leaving. One small piece of advice—eat it before it melts," the cat said before vanishing.
Such a magical cat ! gave me this trash!" he cursed, but still popped the candy into his mouth. It melted away, tasting strangely sweet. "Did I get Spider-Man abilities?" he wondered, trying to shoot webs from his wrist, but nothing came out. He attempted to lift the sofa, only to wince from back pain. Maybe the power was mental, he thought. He focused on a book, but nothing happened. "Last chance," he muttered, frustrated, grabbing a noodle cup and concentrating on it. "Abracadabra!" he shouted. Nothing. "Shit! That was a scam!" he yelled, furiously smashing the cup on the floor. But he froze in shock—there, beside the broken cup, was another identical noodle cup, as if it had multiplied by two.
High atop a jagged cliff, where the wind howled like a chorus of restless spirits, a beggar sat wrapped in a tattered coat. His silhouette blended into the craggy mountain, his eyes fixed on the sprawling valley below, where mist curled like ghostly fingers over the treetops. The view was breathtaking, a tapestry of greens and golds under a sky bruised with the purples and oranges of dusk. The beggar's lips curled into a faint smile, not of peace but of amusement, as if the world itself were a private joke. This was no ordinary beggar. Beneath the weathered cloth and grime was Loki, the trickster god, stripped of his divine powers but not his cunning.
A sudden gust carried a shimmer of light, and an archangel descended, its wings glowing like molten gold against the fading sun. Its presence was commanding, its voice sharp as a blade. "Loki," it said, "do not sow chaos here. Even Odin's decree binds you now, powerless as you are."
Loki's laugh was low, mocking, as he leaned back against a rock, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Chaos? Me?" He gestured to his ragged coat, his dirt-streaked face. "Do I look capable of such grand endeavors, oh mighty servant of the heavens?" His tone dripped with sarcasm, each word a needle meant to prick the archangel's solemnity.
The archangel's gaze narrowed, its light pulsing faintly. "Do not test the balance of this world. You are watched." With a final flash, it ascended, dissolving into a beam of light that pierced the clouds and vanished.
Loki's grin widened as he muttered to himself, "Always so dramatic." He reached into his coat, pulling out a small, chipped flask, and took a sip of something that smelled faintly of sour wine. The wind whipped around him, tugging at his hair, but he seemed unbothered, his mind elsewhere.
A soft thud broke his reverie. The talking cat, the same one that had granted the mortal's wish earlier, materialized beside him, its fur sleek and black as midnight. It perched on a nearby rock, its green eyes glowing with a mix of curiosity and exasperation. "I don't understand," the cat said, its voice dry as desert sand. "Why give that mortal anything? "
Loki tilted his head, his grin softening into something almost wistful. "You're too young to understand, pet," he said, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. "This is the angels' territory, you see. They don't care if a mortal like me—ha, mortal now—freezes to death on this cliff or starves in the streets. But that man…" He paused, his gaze drifting back to the valley, as if seeing the moment again. "That man, weighed down by his own pain, his own miserable life, still stopped to give me food. Bread, of all things. Stale, but given freely." Loki's fingers brushed the edge of his coat where a crust of that bread still lingered, tucked away like a keepsake.
The cat flicked its tail, unimpressed. "So, what? You're turning into a good guy now? You, Loki, god of mischief?" It snorted, its whiskers twitching. "I can't believe it."
Loki's laugh was sharp, cutting through the wind. "Good? Me? Never." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his eyes gleaming with that familiar spark of defiance. "The archangel warned me not to disrupt the balance of this world, even powerless as I am. Threatened me, can you imagine? Me, Loki, cowed by their sanctimonious light." He spat the last word like it tasted foul. "I hate being threatened. So, I thought, why not let a little chaos bloom? Not by my hand, of course—oh, no, that would be too obvious. But through him. That mortal.