"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!!!" Loki surged forth screaming from the fifth circle of hell where he had stopped, marching with his face covered in blood: "DAMN YOU, LOKI, I WILL—"
"Shut up," said Scáthach, starting to leave the arena. "If you touch him, I'll kill you." She continued to leave. "Just get this charade started."
Loki swallowed hard: "Damn it, being the god of mischief sucks. I wish I were a God of War so I'd have the strength to send this bitch packing—" He didn't even finish the sentence before a divine spear pierced him, not to kill him, but merely to remind him.
The spear pierced Loki.
The tip emerged from his back with enough force to explode the inside of the divine body. Intestines were hurled out like grotesque fragments of something that should never be seen.
Divine blood spurted through the air, staining the arena floor and the first rows of the stands with an impossible red.
Loki lay there… Impaled.
