DEATH ANGEL
by Atana
CHAPTER 1: CRY FOR HELP
The sound began to bother Queen Hela Lokisdottir after the first day or two.
It was a persistent and painful continuous keening; a cry for help from someone or something from the domain of Death, and it hurt both the ears and the heart of the former Norse death goddess. On the third day she mentioned it to her consort Ullr, formerly Winter King of Asgard.
"Someone is in trouble and it is literally driving me mad," she told him, concern etched into her half-dead, half-alive face. "I know we have a trip planned to see the Bardarbunga volcanic eruption in Iceland, dearest one, but I feel compelled to locate and help whatever creature calls me."
Ullr, once god of the hunt of the Northern Lands, sighed. "By all means go, my dear. I have a yen to visit Breckenridge, Colorado to attend my own festival – and while it will pain me to miss you, the parades will cheer me. I will await you there."
The diminutive former death goddess kissed him – they had been together for the last thousand years, ever since the teachings of Jesus Christ scattered the worship of the pagan gods to the four winds – and pulled on her travel cloak, being careful to cover her withered left side.
"I will miss you too," she replied, and hobbled out the palatial front door of Elvidnir and out into the world of the present.
Niflheim, the Norse land of the dead, was sparsely occupied these days. Occasionally, a modern pagan would make his or her lonely way there, but there was very little business of the realm to occupy Hela. She and Ullr roamed the Nine Worlds, certainly, but her underground kingdom always called her back home.
Once outside the confines of the death land, Hela tilted her head back, closing her eyes and homing in on the mournful cry that drew her so relentlessly. Since time and space offered little obstacle for her, she let the steady keening draw her like a beacon.
She soon found herself standing on a desolate seacoast. She looked down and viewed hundreds of long basalt columns that had formed on the side of the headland, marching into the sea like tall stone soldiers. Desolate or not, the land also hosted two additional people. One was a pregnant young woman with one of those annoying modern haircuts that irritated Hela so.
Why couldn't women leave their hair long as they did in her day? She shook her head as if to clear it of cobwebs. What a thing to think about when the woman probably needed her!
She looked at the other person. He was a tall, massively-built humanoid, red in color, with circles on his head and a club like arm made from what looked like some kind of stone. He also had a tail, which made her catch her breath.
Surely, this creature is not of Midgard, she thought. But is it he who needs my help?
The queen of death shrugged off her hood and hobbled up to them as they stood examining the corpse of a crippled creature whose body had been supported by an overturned wooden cart. Hela's nose twitched; he had been dead for several days.
The large red man turned and looked at the goddess. "What the hell –?" he said.
Hela bowed. "I am pleased that you recognize me," she replied.
The woman next to him stared at her, then stared at him, and then laughed in recognition. "Red, it's Hela – Norse goddess of the dead. I studied the old myths in school. She appears half-dead and half-alive, and is the daughter of Loki."
Hela winced. "My father is no source of pride to me," she replied. "I have come all this way because someone is calling for help. Is it one of you, mayhap?"
Hellboy – for that was his name – shook his head. "It is neither of us. Have you shown up for this poor fellow here? He's the goblin who gave us entrance to the dead land of Bethmoora some time ago."
"No, it is not for a goblin that a queen comes reaping," Hela replied, a little miffed. Who was this red creature? She knew little of angels or demons, for neither existed in the Nine Worlds of Norse myth, and thus did not recognize who the large red man might be. She was entirely tuned into the children in the young woman's belly, however, and pointed at them.
"Boy and a girl," Hela said crisply. The woman beamed, and then clapped her hands.
"Thanks for ruining the surprise, lady," Hellboy grumbled. "Anyway, we don't need any help. We're seeking another audience with the Angel of Death who rules this dead city."
Hela winced suddenly, raising her hands to her ears. "The noise is maddening! Someone is in terrible trouble and is crying for me," she replied. "I wonder if it is your – angel?"
"I hope not," answered the young woman, who introduced herself as Elizabeth Sherman and the man as Hellboy. "She shared a disturbing prophesy with us and I need her to explain it in more detail. It was awful, really – something about my Red here bringing about the end of the world."
Hela shrugged. "I do not believe in prophecies. I was supposed to die at the last great battle of Ragnarok, yet here I stand. Prophecies may or may not come to pass, after all," she said. "They are not immutable." She looked around. "Where is this death land, then?"
The big red man bent over the goblin cart and began rummaging around. "I found it," he said triumphantly, standing back up holding a whistle. He put it to his lips and blew twice.
Suddenly, the ground began to rumble. Hela – apprehensive – immediately levitated. Within moments, giant glacial erratics buried halfway in the ground began to assemble themselves into a humanoid shape. "Is it some sort of frost giant?" the goddess thought to herself, observing that the man and woman with her were unafraid of the land movement. She then spoke to it in the language of Jotunheim, but received no reply. "Perhaps not," Hela ruminated. "Today is my day for meeting new kinds of mystical creatures."
Within moments, the three passed through the portal and into the dead city of Bethmoora.