Freya stood before Martha in a bright and golden hall. Behind her hovered what appeared to be a massive throng of angels. Martha kneeled in front of the beautiful and terrifying godess pledging to be the mother to all brave men and women who die fighting. She pledged to uphold the best and truest ideals and promised that she would defy any dishonorable order given to her, and that she would fight fiercely for all of the innocent lives in all the nine realms. She would swear off any hatreds or biases she held, for in the eyes of the great mother there were only two types of beings. Those of malice, cruelty and darkness, and those of honor, courage, and love.
Freya held a sword high into the air that shined with a golden light, she tapped Martha on each shoulder, and from behind them sprouted white and glorious wings. She could feel the weight of them but more importantly, the strength of them.
Freya bid her to stand and announced to all that she would be Viking. She would be Berserker. She would be Righteous fury and deadly discipline. She would be Valkyrie.
As Martha stood, her thick red hair fell back behind her shoulders and touched her wings. She spread them to their full length and they were massive. They were just a tad further than twice her arms reach, and she could bend and flex the muscles that ran along them. She pounded downward and the strength of her wings caught the wind and sent her floating into the air. She realized that there was an intuitive magic to them as she was able to stay afloat without flapping or straining.
She willed herself back to the ground and folded her wings. Once they were completely folded and relaxed they melded to her clothing appeared as a hooded cloak of white swan feathers. She stood a full three feet shorter than the great goddess, Queen of the Valkyries but her chest filled with pride.
"Martha, Valkyrie of Asgard, warrior, uniter of the houses of Valhalla and Fensilar, wolf breaker, oath keeper, and most of all mother. I grant you the boon of vengeance. Go now and slay the demon who took you from your daughter."
Freya touched Martha's forehead with her sword and she found herself standing at the foot of the bifrost bridge. Heimdall opened the gates for her and shouted, "Fight well! Show no mercy!"
As she steeped through the threshold of the bridge, she found herself standing in her old living room. The place was disheveled and smelled a bit like mildew and old beer. There was a bare spot on the wall where a massive T.V. used to be mounted. It seemed that everything that had remotely held any value was gone. There was a bag of a white substance sitting on the table in front of the couch with a needle sitting next to it. There were rubber tubes and a tarnished bent spoon and a small lighter.
"Oh Harold... you always had the worst taste in friends," Martha said to herself. She heard a clattering and turned towards the sound. Harold's feet were poking out from behind the entryway of the kitchen. There was thumping and slapping sounds, and what sounded like a whisper. Martha sensed immediate and terrible danger and spun around behind her. Lounging on the couch now, was a tall and incredible looking man. She recognized his powerful green eyes and his devilish smirk.
"Oh Loki! You've decided to join us." Sneered Martha. "Shall we?"
"Oh no dear, he's all yours. I hate to admit it, but without my magic, you're far more formidable than me in a straight up confrontation."
"You have no magic?"
"One of the small prices I had to pay in order to get this visit, no time to explain, go see to your husband."
Martha smiled and turned to the kitchen. When she saw the disgusting man atop his own daughter she pulled her hammer from her belt. She willed it to shine as bright as the sun and to light up the room with hope. The metal sing a high pitched tune as it built with righteous power. She leaned forward to make eye contact with Addison and said, "Mom is coming; everything is going to be okay." Her little girl faded from consciousness and Martha thought it was all for the better. What was coming next was not for her eyes.
Harold turned startled at the sound and the sudden light saw only the pure white blinding glare of the hammer.
Martha flicked off the light of the hammer in an instant and the hammer hummed with strength. The man looked helpless as he felt around trying to find purchase. She tilted her head to crack her neck, then dropped the hammer on his foot.
"Ah bloody fuckin' 'ell!" shouted Harold. He tried to pull his foot away but it was crushed and completely stuck. He reached down and grabbed the handle and pulled but it was immovable.
"If you had an ounce of love for your little girl, you could free yourself. But you love only yourself. You will hurt anyone to get the smallest bit of gain, and you have squandered everything I had to give her after my death. You took my inheritance, you took my life, and you took my future with my daughter. Now you pay for everything." Martha said.
Harold rubbed his eyes, blinking, his vision slowly returning to him. He saw in front of him a hardened, confident, and fearless version of his lost wife. "I killed you once, and I'll do it again. You're just a woman. You're weaker. You're more emotional. You ain't got no sense." Responded Harold.
"I might have been physically weaker, but I was always stronger. My emotions are the passion that gives me that strength. And I have sense enough to know that when we're done, Hel will be waiting."
With that Harold swung at Martha. His giant fist struck air as Martha slipped to the side and sent her smaller fist driving straight for his ribs. There was an audible crack and Harold bellowed in pain. His other hand swung a blind haymaker towards her and she ducked under punching him in the gut. Her smaller tighter fist was liking being poked in the belly with the small end of a baseball bat. It forced him to wheeze out air and struggle for breath.
Quickly realizing that she was too quick on her feet for him to strike, he grabbed at her and managed to fill his fist with a handful of her hair. He dragged her head to a favorable position and started to punch her in the face. She covered up using the full length of her forearms and elbows to protect her head. His powerful punches still rattled her a bit as they connected, but they were softened by her guard enough to keep him from doing any real harm. She planted one foot against his gut, and arched her back and began to push against him. She grunted in pain as she felt a tearing across her scalp.
After a ripping sound and a sharp burning sensation she found herself free of the grip. Harold was holding a handful of detached hair now reaching for her but his foot was still trapped under the hammer. Martha stepped back a bit and Loki stepped into the room handing her something bright green. "First thing I learned when fighting my brother? Always keep a hair tie handy." Martha tied up her hair and looked the large man up and down. She glanced at Loki, "Lose the hammer?" she said. "Lose the hammer," Loki confirmed, "You only get to do this once, you might as well enjoy it."
Martha stretched out her hand and the hammer came to her. She set it on top of Harold's heroine in the living room grinding it to nothing. Harold looked at her and charged. As she came towards him she placed her hands on his shoulders and shot her hips and feet backwards, driving his momentum into the ground. She kept her weight on his back and kneed him in the side of his head. He quickly turned onto his back and whilst still knocked prone grabbed the leg she was standing on. She immediately stomped on the hand snapping his thumb. Harold growled in pain and tried to roll to standing. As he got his feet under him Martha pounced on his bent back and wrapped her arm around his neck preventing him from standing. She began to squeeze his neck tightening her grip and denying him sweet precious oxygen. He drove forward, making her run backwards with his weight, and she nimbly stepped up and over the coffee table, the couch and even partially walked up the wall backwards making him bear even more of her weight.
When he felt the center of gravity shift upward, Harold leaned back hard flipping her over him, causing them both to land on the floor head to head on their backs. Martha was instantly back on her feet and showed no sign of pain. He began a serious of tricky punches with his huge heavy hands, but as soon as he started she stepped back and kicked him sharply on the side of the knee. He began again and was met with the same response. The front of her shin was hitting the side of his, and while he had meat to cushion the blow, her shin bones were taking it straight on. He realized that despite her taking the raw end of the deal, she still showed no pain. She grab the shoulders of his shirt and began kicking him over and over again in the leg. He tried to step backwards to create to much distance, but it just exposed the other leg. He couldn't wrap his head around how she was wearing him down. He struggled desperately against her grip and tried to shove her away. He started slamming onto her forearms trying to break her hold. Every time he punched them and hammered down upon them he felt the bones cutting into his knuckles or palms or wrists. He even used his head as a last ditch effort, and felt as their foreheads collided that he was getting dizzier and weaker by the second.
She kept at it until his legs began to fail him. His arms exhausted and battered began to droop. His forehead cut and bleeding as was Martha's. He fell to his knees and panted wheezing for air. Martha walked around behind him and grabbed his jaw and the back of his head.
"I'm stronger... I'm stronger... men are stronger... how could you..." Harold asked bewildered.
"Women have more pain tolerance." said Martha with a sneer. She quickly jerked her hands to the sides and Harold's head turned a few degrees more than his neck could tolerate. He sputtered rasping breaths as he was paralyzed and slowly drowning in the blood dripping down his throat from his own bloody nose.
Martha picked up her daughter and carried her to her bed. She tucked her covers around her and kissed her on the forehead. She smiled serenely and squeezed her daughter's hand as tears ran down her face. Light began to fill the room and Martha knew her job was done. She wanted more time, there was so much she wanted to say, so many things she wanted to give her daughter and teach her. Ultimately though, she was grateful for this moment. To be able to tuck her baby girl into bed just one more time. She faded out of Midgard and back to Freya's hall.
"She's not out of the woods yet..." said one of the Valkyries as Martha appeared.
"What do you mean?" asked Martha.
"Her father has debts to pay..."
