Marcus's scream ended in a wet gurgle as blood filled his lungs.
Loki yanked the serrated blade free, twisting it one more time for good measure. Marcus's body slumped forward, collapsing over Kalvin's corpse. Father and son, both bleeding out into the same patch of dirt.
Martha's voice cut through the carnage like a knife.
"YOU BASTARD!"
Her scream was raw, primal, the sound of a mother watching her world end. She was still pinned under the rubble, her broken leg trapped, but she strained against it anyway, trying to reach her husband, her son, trying to do anything except watch helplessly.
"YOU KILLED HIM! YOU KILLED MY HUSBAND! MY SON!" Tears streamed down her face, mixing with dirt and blood. "I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU! YOU HEAR ME?! I'LL—"
Loki turned toward her slowly. His face was blank. Bored, almost.
"Too noisy," he said.
His hand moved in a blur. The second sword, the one that had been knocked away earlier, responded to his call. It flew from where it was embedded in the tree and landed in his palm with a meaty smack.
One motion. Smooth. Practiced. The blade left his hand like a missile.
It hit Martha between the eyes.
The serrated edge punched through her skull and buried itself in the beam behind her. Her body jerked once. Twice. Then went still.
Her eyes stayed open. Shocked. Disbelieving. Even in death she looked like she was about to say something.
The younger children's screams reached a fever pitch.
The eight year old girl. The ten year old boy. The six year old, the littlest one who'd asked if Papa had killed people. They all screamed together, a chorus of pure terror and grief.
"MAMA! MAMA! NO NO NO MAMA WAKE UP!"
"PAPA! KALVIN! SOMEBODY HELP!"
"MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP!"
Loki sighed. Actually sighed. Like he was dealing with a minor inconvenience rather than murdering children.
"Still too noisy."
John's brain finally caught up with what was happening. What was about to happen.
"STOP!" He screamed at the children. "BE QUIET! PLEASE BE QUIET! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!"
But they couldn't hear him. Couldn't hear anything over their own screaming and crying. Trapped under rubble, watching their parents die, watching their brother die, their young minds breaking under the weight of too much horror.
The six year old girl, the littlest, her voice rising above the others. "PAPA! PAPA WAKE UP! PLEASE WAKE UP! IT'S MORNING TIME PAPA YOU HAVE TO WAKE UP!"
Loki walked toward them slowly. No urgency. No emotion. Just a god performing pest control.
"Please," John begged, his voice cracking. "They're just kids. They're just—"
"They're making noise."
Loki reached the rubble where the children were trapped. His hand came down on the eight year old girl's head. Not a punch. Not a strike. Just pressure. Steady, increasing pressure.
Her skull caved in with a wet crunch.
The ten year old boy tried to scramble away, but his legs were pinned. "No! No please! I'll be quiet! I'll be good! I'll—"
Loki's foot came down on his throat. Pressed down slowly. The boy's pleas turned to choking sounds, then to nothing. His legs kicked once, twice, then stopped.
The six year old, the last one left, had gone silent. Not from obedience. From shock. She stared at her dead siblings with wide, uncomprehending eyes. Tears ran down her cheeks but no sound came out.
"Better," Loki said.
Then he grabbed her by the head and twisted. Her neck snapped with a sound like a dry branch breaking. Her small body went limp instantly.
Loki dropped her and stepped back, surveying his work. An entire family. Dead. Scattered across the ruins of their home like broken dolls.
John had stopped breathing. Stopped thinking. His brain had simply shut down, unable to process what he'd just witnessed. Five children. Martha. Marcus. Kalvin. All dead. All murdered in the span of minutes.
Loki turned and noticed John for the first time since the fight began. Really noticed him. Studied him with those predatory eyes.
"Ah. The human." He walked over slowly. "I wondered why my brother was harboring a stranger. Though looking at you..." His nose wrinkled. "You're pathetic. Broken. Traumatized beyond repair by the looks of it."
John couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Just knelt there in the rubble, staring at nothing.
Loki reached down and grabbed John by the throat. Lifted him one handed like he weighed nothing. Held him at eye level.
"You're not even worth killing," Loki said, his voice conversational. Clinical. "No threat. No value. Just a sad little creature that my brother took pity on. How disappointing."
He carried John across the clearing, toward the tree line. John's feet dangled uselessly. His hands scrabbled weakly at Loki's grip but the god might as well have been made of iron.
"The beast folk slavers operate in these woods," Loki explained, still in that same conversational tone. Like he was giving a tour. "They capture stragglers, broken humans, the desperate and lost. Sell them in the northern markets. You'll fetch a decent price, I imagine. Young, weak, already accustomed to slavery judging by those scars."
He reached the tree line and pulled his arm back.
"Consider it mercy. You get to live. Though whether living as property is preferable to death..." He shrugged. "Not my concern."
Loki threw John into the forest.
The world became a blur of branches and pain. John's body crashed through underbrush, bounced off a tree trunk, tumbled down a slope. He tried to curl into a ball, protect his head, but momentum took over. Rolling, sliding, hitting things he couldn't see.
Finally he stopped. Lay in a heap at the bottom of a ravine, every part of his body screaming.
Behind him, distant now, he heard Loki's voice one last time.
"Enjoy your new life, human. Try not to die too quickly. It would be a waste of my generosity."
Footsteps. Heavy. Divine. Walking away.
Silence fell.
John lay there, unable to move, staring up at the canopy above. Morning light filtered through the leaves in dappled patterns. Beautiful, really. Peaceful.
His mind showed him images on repeat. Martha with a sword through her skull. The eight year old's head caving in. The six year old's neck snapping. Kalvin bleeding out. Marcus dying while holding his son.
A week ago they'd been alive. Happy. A family.
Now they were corpses.
And John was alone again. Property again. Thrown away by a god who couldn't even be bothered to kill him because he was that worthless.
Somewhere in the distance, he heard sounds. Voices. Multiple creatures moving through the forest with purpose. The beast folk slavers Loki had mentioned, probably. Coming to collect their merchandise.
John closed his eyes.
Maybe they'd kill him quickly.
Maybe they wouldn't.
At this point, he couldn't find the energy to care which.