I haven't written for either of these characters before but I just LOVED Angela: Asgard's Assassin and Angela: Queen of Hel so much I couldn't pass up the opportunity to give it a swing.
Thor and related characters © Marvel Comcis
story © RenaRoo
The Never Ending
My stories always end as they begin, and that is what must be accepted before you can truly appreciate the words — written or otherwise — of a fallen angel of Heven, of a magician whose responsibilities are more bard than mage, and of a woman whose heart is forever in the possession not of lands or realms but of a warrior whose lust for battle is as long and as endless as the lengths of her tails and tales.
Sera, once of Heven's known grace, is only as reliable of a source as my beloved's name is worthy of honor. Though, if you do not honor Angela, once Aldrif Odinsdottir, once the Wingless One, once the Hunt-Mistress, then what relevance has my name or has my word to you is curious indeed.
A vow once was made between myself and Angela, to love each other for as long as there is one another to love, and it was the first of our orders of business upon arriving to Manhattan, city within a city within New York within a New York, as those of Midgard do lack some proper creativity when it comes to their titles. The second was that of conquering what Leah, scion of Hela and introducer of iced cream, called an Ikea. It was conquered, most indeed, the head merchant seemingly content with accepting our offer of cold in exchange for a room of living.
With such things in order, and with Midgardians seemingly easily satisfied with offerings in gold or silver, one would assume that the chapter of the tales of Angela and Sera might fight their end on a new note. One of intimacy and installation of a most curious specific type of cable that was insisted upon by lord of the land of Room 786. But those who would make such assumptions of my tale are not paying attention still.
As I wrote before, my stories always end as they begin. And Angela and I began our story as one who fights and one who tells. Which is why this story cannot come to an end.
For when the one who signifies himself as a Sorcerer Supreme enters our dwelling of Room 786 uninvited and in the midst of dearest Leah teaching former Queen of Hel how to use a peculiar device known as a phone, it is suddenly a story most unusual. As I am asked to fight and my beloved Angela, so short of words, cannot be reduced to tales.
Doctor Strange lives up to his name. Midgardian, Sorcerer Supreme, and one who carries a most unusual style of hair. Nothing I would have ever allowed myself to be seen with even when in Heven I was misjudged as the improper sex. But his request is so unusual and unexpected that even Angela in all of her collectiveness, raised her eyebrow and saved to herself.
"You mean to say, Sorcerer Supreme, that there is a fight for all the realms and it is not my sword you ask for but my heart?" she demands angrily.
No matter the number of times which I am referred to with such flattery, I find my chest warmed with the notion. My Angela still finds me as much her heart as I find her mine. That is indeed a rarity in all the realms between Midgard and Heven which we have seen.
"To be clear, I'm asking nothing of you, just of your wife," Doctor Strange makes the mistake of saying, only to have Angela's sword drawn and pointed toward his throat.
"What you ask of one of us you ask of us both," I clarify, using my tongue for Angela dutifully as always.
"This one thing would be known if you had done the simplest of research," dearest Leah says sitting upon an Ikea throne as she looks in amusement toward the doctor most strange. "What hope doth have even the Sorcerer most Supreme where my Queen Hela fails in separating Asgard's Assassin from her wife?"
"There is no offense meant here, and certainly no call to violence," Strange reiterates.
"You dare to come into Room 786 without invite and tell me what times call for violence after you ask for my heart to fight a battle unknown to us both?" Angela demands, voice vicious and vivacious. A tenor which is always a mage's pleasure to recount when it is delivered in her defense.
"If you are a Sorcerer Supreme, Doctor, what use could I have as a simple mage to you?" I ask, genuinely unsure of the answer that could be given. "Surely I cannot be more knowledgeable of the outer realms than someone who frequents them. I am more helpful in that of conquering Ikea. I am told my tastes for decor are inspired."
"The most inspired," Angela says dangerously.
"My quarters have not a trace of pink within them," Leah informs the doctor. "It is as if Sera's eye has looked into the desires of my very soul and known what battleaxe should be hung over any dresser."
"You have experience in realms that I do not," Strange explains, stranger still. "My magic interferes with it, but I do not know it. I endanger the balance of magic in this realm when I fight it without proper understanding. And since you have magic from the same realm as this, your help is needed—"
"We share a realm with the creature?" I ask shortly. "What sort of beast could it be if you claim it's from Heven? The Tenth Realm has only as of recent been given any connections outside of the void and Odin's cursed ire."
Strange raises an impressive brow. "It is a two story tall flaming beast with six wings and the emaciated body of a corpse that claims itself as a Seraphim."
Surprise hits both my heart and myself. We glance to one another then back toward the Sorcerer.
"We may have knowledge of such things," Angela agrees, putting her sword away.
"You are right, your magic could only cause disruption for your realm," I agree. "But you are incorrect in believe my magic alone can return a Seraphim to the Tenth Realm! That would require it wishing to return on its own, and face the wrath of the Queen of Angels for having left to begin with."
"Then you must help me to do just that," the doctor insists.
"What we must do is of our own determination," Angela argues back.
"O, by Hel," Leah says, looking up from her phone. She turns it to face myself and Angela. "The Seraphim makes its stand in what Midgard calls Time Square."
"The lack of imagination in this realm, it is pitiable," I sigh.
"Sera, our attentions are required on this matter after all," Angela announces, standing tall, hand on her sword's hilt as she looks toward the doctor. "We will come and save the Time Square by returning the Seraphim to Heven."
"Angela, why the change?" I ask, knowing faithfully that there must be reasoning to everything Angela does.
"I require a test of my skills," Angela replies. "And, in truth, I have been shown by Odinson's replacement, the Lady Thor, a place within the Square which dispenses chocolate most delectable. It has been my plans for a week come now to take you and buy you all you wish with as much gold as this Hersheys accepts."
"I love you," I say proudly, looking into the face of my Angela.
"You are my heart, Sera, now it's time for our new fight to begin," she answers.
And it is, by far, the most poetic that my beloved has ever been.