Loki’s Vendetta: The Fall of Baldur
Ah, Baldur. The shining light of the gods, the one they all adored, the golden boy who couldn’t be touched, couldn't be harmed. Well, guess who did the harming? That’s right—me. You didn’t think I’d let that smug, perfect little mortal god slide, did you?
Baldur’s death—now that was an absolute masterpiece. The gods had been going on and on about how he was invulnerable, the shining beacon of peace, the one who could do no wrong. Oh, please. You know what happens when you get too perfect, don’t you? People start to hate you. I mean, who wouldn’t be just a little bit annoyed by the perfect golden boy? Always praised, always adored. He was the star of Asgard, and the rest of us were just… well, the rest of us.
Now, let’s talk about how I got my revenge. You think I’m the sort to go around stabbing people in the back? No, no, that’s too simple. I needed something far more deliciously chaotic. Baldur had a weakness, but the gods were too wrapped up in their own little paradise to notice it. There was an ancient prophecy that said Baldur would die—every god in Asgard knew about it. They were so sure that Baldur’s fate was sealed, they took every single precaution to protect him from harm. They made him invulnerable to everything on Earth, except one thing.
Do you know what that one thing was? Mistletoe. Ridiculous, isn’t it? All that strength, all that magic, and they overlooked the tiniest little plant in all of Midgard.
You’re probably wondering, “How did you know about that?” Well, I always know. Always. And you think I was going to let something as minor as mistletoe slide? No. I took that knowledge and ran with it.
I didn’t just tell the gods about Baldur’s vulnerability. Oh no, that would have been far too easy. Instead, I tricked Höðr, Baldur’s blind brother, into throwing a spear made of mistletoe at him. And to make it all even more delightful, I guided Höðr’s hand, ensuring that Baldur—beloved Baldur—would take that spear to his chest.
When Baldur fell, the entire realm trembled. The gods, so sure of their invincibility, were shaken to their core. The death of Baldur wasn’t just a personal victory; it was a statement. No one—not even the so-called gods of Asgard—could escape fate. Not even perfect Baldur.
The best part? The gods immediately realized that they couldn’t stop Baldur’s death. They tried everything—sacrifices, prayers, even sending Hermod to Hel to bring him back. But nothing worked. I had already taken that little spark of perfection, extinguished it, and watched the gods flounder in their failure. And what was their response to it all? They tried to kill me, of course. The usual.
But what could they do? They’d learned the hard way—nothing is ever truly safe from me. Not even their precious, perfect Baldur.
So, you see, I didn’t just kill Baldur for fun. No. I did it because they all thought they were invincible. They thought they could live without consequences. And what better way to remind them that there’s always a price to pay than by ripping away their most beloved?
What can I say? When you’re as brilliant as me, vengeance is just another form of art.
🖋️✨📜🖤
