Author's Note:
This is a slow-burn. I mean slow-burn. This story will include comics, 'Thor', 'Thor: The Dark World', 'Thor: Ragnarok' and the TV Show 'Loki'. This will also include some Norse mythology and it will be explicit in places with gore, sexuality and foul language:)
Worship of the Gods
Our knowledge is a torch of smoky pine
That lights the pathway but one step ahead
Across a void of mystery and dread.
Bid, then, the tender light of faith to shine
By which alone the mortal heart is led
Unto the thinking of the thought divine
World George Santayana, O World
Chapter One: Intertwining
"You should be running," the warg drooled. "But then again, meat tastes better when it's hot and wet." A bead of saliva ran down its bottom jaw, slipping from its lips. The rugged fur curled around its black eyes, both held tight onto the woman before them.
The Goddess and Queen-mother of old Norse, Frigga.
"Frija... Fria... Frea... So many names and stories. Why have you chosen us to torment?"
"You have stolen something which was not yours." Frigga clutched the crystal to her chest. It glowed green between her fingers; the gem of Ljósálfar, a life stone. "For hundreds of years, you have kept it and consumed the power of the Ljósálfar."
"A gem from Mimameidr does not belong to the Ljósálfar. We took it back."
"You are not children of Yggdrasill, the God, Odin, did not bestow you with life as he did Ljósálfar."
"Then why has the great Odin sent his lowly wench to take back his gem stone?"
Frigga's fingers curled tighter around the gem. The grey robes adorned over her strong, muscled form brushed in the wind. Dark leggings, leather boots and a cape escalated with protective silk. A bow carved by her husband on their wedding night strung across her back. Five glass daggers sat comfortably in a beaded belt on her waist.
The warg's eyes flittered across each of her weapons. "Give me the Alkar stone, witch."
The grim curve of Frigga's lips turned as the words dripped from her tongue. "Witch or wench? A goddess in my own right. I could make you cannibalise your own form."
With a sneer, the warg pressed: "then do it."
The magic Frigga possessed was an ancient kind; a pagan science bestowed to her by the yellow enchantresses of Njärd. Yellow sparkling mist seeped out of her veins. She twisted her right hand, testing how powerful her magic was on this foreign world. The energy was strong, stronger beneath the gaze of Odin. From where she stood, she could feel her husband watching her from Asgard. He stood with Heimdall the Doorkeeper.
With a twist of her hand, Frigga shot a spark of magic at one of the creatures behind the leader. Under her optical illusive spell, it curled and shrunk into a fleshy, foul mound of rotting flesh. The warg howled, darting back from their companion.
Unbothered by their fallen brother, the warg stepped forward. "Like you, I have more children to spare. Besides, even the dead don't die in our worlds."
Frigga lashed a hand out, swiping the warg across the face. A thin wound split open a crack riding straight over its snout and left eye. It wailed and rose up onto its hind legs, high into the air.
Frigga stepped back, alarmed by its size. While she stood in the centre of their cavernous den, Heimdall could not bring her back to Asgard. She backed through the tunnel. Wargs filled the darkness before her. She could no longer see the walls sanctuary where the gem was held. The wolven creatures clung to the ceiling, filling every space and waiting for their order to attack.
A warg hounded at her. "Give us the stone. We know Odin has little power here!"
The leader spat, shoving himself past his soldier.
Frigga shoved a hand open, her breath shaky as she tried to shout. "Do not take a step closer, foul beast of the dark! Freyr will destroy you for what you have done."
"We destroyed him. They murdered us for their kingdom. We took it back."
"This world was for the Dökkálfar and the Ljósálfar!" her yellow magic pulsated in her hand. The warg's eyes darted to it, and then back to his soldier who continued to writhe about the ground. "When Lord Freyr returns, he will take back his throne."
"And he will give his life for Alfheim? I don't think so, witch. You gods and deities are too selfish to give your heart to the life stone. Even if you kill us, the Ljósálfar will have at you... you and Freyr and every god for their greed."
Frigga shook her head, continuing to back away. The cool air brushed up her back and the fresh waft of forest filled her nostrils. The Forest of Fortitude was outside of the warg's cave. A dense, vast ocean of trees which was once home to the Fey, creatures who lived alongside the Ljósálfar on this world. The trees had died hundreds of years ago and there was only ash.
"Whose life will you take, your highness?" the warg snarled. "Freyrs? All of the Ljósálfar? Your own? Only life can pay for life. Your own husband made it so."
"I've had quite enough of your foul voice," said Frigga, flexing her fingers. It retreated slightly, eyes dancing with a playful hatred for her.
Many years had passed since anyone had attempted to save the Alkar stone. For several centuries Ljósálfar and wargs were in a constant battle of stealing and saving it. The Ljósálfar had never succeeded in placing it back in the heart of Alfheim and saving their race. But Freyr had sensed an energy signature. He had rushed to a counsel with Odin. Frigga insisted on taking the mission. Her close ties to the Alkar stone dated back hundreds of years.
"Is it true..." the warg's voice dropped as its eyes widened with curious hunger. "That the flesh of a god are softer and speckled with stardust? Is thy blood blue and thy heart beating to the thump of a Celestial's step?"
Frigga took a step back, willing her magic. She exhaled slowly. "The Celestials live in me."
Another warg shoved its way to the front. "Good. I've always wondered if a god tastes primeval."
One hissed: "we should cook her."
"Hold the Alkar with your bare hands, your majesty! That'll toast you right up!"
A ripple of haunting laughter filled the chamber, echoing into the world outside. Frigga stepped into the night.
"We'll split you up!"
Snarling with joy, one barked: "into fours!"
"Eights! Give me the head – bone, mush, bone over a fire!"
Frigga's heart beat against her ribs. She looked up, her eyes widening as the glint of black eyes looked down upon her. Dozens. A splodge of saliva dripped from above onto her boot. A searing hatred filled her. Yellow magic slithered up her arm and swirled inside of her eyes. She looked up at the skies, into the eyes of Heimdall and then into the core of Odin. A wordless incantation began.
Frigga's clutched the life stone tightly. A wave of power channelled across the universe spiritually encapsulated her. She closed her eyes. And then she sensed it. The Alkar stone grew warm in her touch. It was calling out for something to satiate it. Frigga's face twisted. The life stone was hungry.
Her eyes snapped open as Heimdall and Odin's magic lit up the world around her. Burning a hole in the ground with an ancient rune, Frigga's grasp on the stone loosened. She held it tighter, but the stone demanded something else. The wargs began to scream in alarm, clambering through the light and burning themselves out to reach her.
"Wait!" Frigga began, her voice lost in the wailing and surging portal sounds. Her feet left Alfheim floor and she was soaring through the portal. Odin's voice echoed in her ear, come home.
Frigga cried out as a large body smashed against her, knocking her out of the transport stream. Reds, yellows, oranges and finally green light blinded her. Frigga gasped as the stone fought to escape her grasp. The air was sucked from Frigga's lungs as she landed in a painful heap against stone ground. Her cheek was pressed to the floor. She coughed, the dirt on the floor blowing from her face.
The Alkar Stone lay on the ground in front of her. It shimmered a glittering green, outlandishly alien and bizarre in its place on a mundane, grey cobblestone. Cobblestone, cement and a dirty puddle. Half drenched, a flapping newspaper with its ink splurged and unreadable.
Frigga grunted, pushing herself up. She noted the humanoid features in the newspaper's print. Humanoid, two arms and two legs. The Celestials had made up most of the galaxy's beings this way. Inhaling, Frigga tasted ash and smoke and grit. A smell... she had not indulged in for hundreds of years. Midgardian.
Another smell: rotten, burned flesh. Frigga twisted her head, spotting four dazed wargs struggling to get to their feet. Half-charred by the portal's magic and confused by the celestial transport. Frigga cast a spell over herself. A quick invisibility enchantment as she haphazardly got to her feet. She shoved the cape from her shoulders, taking hold of the bow tightly.
Frigga. Frigga, koma haima. Odin called to her. Come home.
"Nīþ varða, elska," she whispered aloud. Not yet, my love. She could not return home. These creatures were unwanted of Alfheim and they would be a plague on Midgard. Accidents with portal travel happened. Not often, but they changed the fate of many travellers. Most wrongful portal jumps ended in disaster. But Frigga was not ordinary traveller.
"I am a god," Frigga hissed, unmasking her spell. "I am a god and queen and you have spoiled enough of my time with your foulness." The wargs grumbled, starting towards her. She shot a hand out and a fireball of bright yellow burst, shooting towards them. With a cry, they tumbled back, their fur smoking.
"The Ljósálfar will take your life to restore their kingdom!" one of them hissed. "You think they will leave you be? They will take your life in exchange for theirs!"
Frigga shook her head again, slightly dazed from her fall. She lurched forward and grabbed the Alkar stone. "A life for a life," she snapped. "Yes, I know their stories well."
"Then you know how it ends." The leader rose quickly, taking her aback. They launched at her and she narrowly missed the swipe of their claw. A burst of yellow magic escaped her, blinding the warg for a moment as she turned down a street.
This built up city smoked with poisonous smog and rain. A chilly, haunted place which was curiously quiet, despite it being the bustling epicentre of a larger kingdom. Frigga looked around, at the hideous buildings and bags of plastic littering the streets.
Midgard had changed, it was no longer an open, wide and wonderfully natured place. The rivers and streams and mountains used to remind her of Asgard, but now there was a sorrowful emptiness to the world.
Warm in her hands, the Alkar stone sat nestled against her heart. Something here was quenching its thirst. Frigga knew it was not her, she was drained by the portal fall and the journey on Alfheim, but the stone was not pursuing her magic. Turning another corner, horrific stenches filled Frigga's nose. Her sensitive eyes watered. This concrete world, once bursting with Norse magic.
No wonder her sons enjoyed playing their foolish tricks with Midgard. The thought must have made Odin laugh because she sensed the eyes upon her grow softer.
"There is something here, my love," Frigga said to her husband. "What if the stone led me here?"
Clangs, bangs and whistles echoed above. With a sharp look, Frigga stared at the skies and saw moving lights. These Midgardians had progressed. With their loud, flying transport and tall cities. She supposed there was much to occupy her sons' time with exploring the Nine Realms. But for now, she hoped to leave as quickly as possible.
Frigga hurried down a street, listening to the wargs distantly following her. She recharged her strength in their absence. Her boots splashed in the puddles, staining her clothes with dots of mud. It was like the planet was physically sweating its filth away.
Up ahead, streetlights lined the pavement. Frigga jogged through the circular growths of light they created. Her steps echoed loudly. She came to a slow jog, twisting her fingers with her magic.
"They'll use you to power their world, witch!" a voice cracked open the quiet. The four wargs came barrelling down the street. With their height and strength, they reached Frigga too quickly for her to react. They were so closely packed in their pursuit that only once managed to clamp its claws across her front.
She whipped around and stumbled, blinded by pain and shock. With the Alkar tucked away, she threw a hand out and her magic surged randomly in the wargs' direction. A cry of alarm echoed as the swipe met a physical mark.
The pain in her chest grew, distractedly pulling the energy from her magical abilities as she fought to heal. Touching her chest, her fingers came away blue and wet. The skin had been torn deeply, wrenching apart layers of flesh and muscle. She looked up at the skies for Odin and found their eyes were blinded.
"We've lived with that gem for so long," a voice cried. "You think it hasn't given us the power to take life as easily as it is given?"
Frigga stumbled on, her senses overwhelmed. Many vibrations chanelled through her. From Midgard, to Asgard, to the Alkar stone against her chest. A deep, bygone magic was at play and she had not learned the rules of its game yet.
Frigga curled her fingers into a fist. She started running again, somewhat awkwardly with exhaustion. Her tightly-bunned hair ran loose, streaming behind her in knots. The rune beads scattered across the street and the braids unravelled. Her husband had been the one to bless her with such magic only hours ago. Now, she could not even hear him.
Was he calling for a meeting with Freyr already? Freyr and his prophesying Völva, a decrepit half-creature who sat beside the elves and foretold the future. At Freyr's side always sat that peculiar advisor who Frigga could not recall the name of. All of this was calling towards something; a war or battle of ages. One Frigga wished to live to see unfold.
"I can hear your heart beating!" a warg cried. Frigga gritted her teeth, furious she was taunted like a prized fox awaiting its hounds.
Perhaps Odin was thunderous and furious. When they were younger, oh they they fought together. They were warriors in their own right, but together were they truly magnificent. Thousands of years had passed since then, but they were a strong pair and could not bare to be apart for too long in their elder-hood.
Frigga whispered an ancient lovers call, her eyes filling with tears at the thought of her husband and king.
This realm was a forest of stone; so loud and harsh to touch. Her foot connected with a glass object which she promptly kicked and smashed. Frigga looked down and spotted another bottle. She dove and hurtled it behind her. The bottle smashed loudly across the nozzle of a warg. It splintered with the help of a little magic and cast a thousand pines of glass into its skin. With further push, a grunt and twist of her fingers, the glass sunk deeply into the warg.
Bone-mush-bone, as it once said.
Muttering an incantation, Frigga compelled any freelance, materialistic object to rise from the ground. Glass, dirt and litter flew into the air and contorted into a solid, strong mass. It hurtled through the air and exploded across the face of another warg.
A grim smirk nearly reached her lips. Oh, how the witches would be proud of her. Frigga hurried around another corner, giddy with ethereal reckoning. Only to be halted when she attempted to regain control of her powers. A strange, spiritual barrier held on tight to her. Frigga's hand flew to her chest; to the Alkar. Of course, it would drain her magic until it was restored to its rightful place.
With a hiss, Frigga went to her bow and unsheathed an arrow. Her strong muscles contorted and twisted, shifting to fit the vitality necessary for such weaponry. She pulled the string back and released an arrow down the alley as a warg appeared at its end. It was quick to jump and leap across the wall, clambering up and up until it was straight above her.
With a brutal inhale, it snorted and then yacked a foul splash of spit at her. It splattered across her cheeks, the largest mound of it hitting her thigh. From the moment, the saliva touched her flesh, the agony of its burning poison erupted across her.
Crying out, Frigga dropped her second arrow and stumbled backwards. She swiped at her face and neck, pulling at the skin. Her hands were then all over her thigh, desperately clawing to remove the spit. And then her palms were searing and agonising.
Dazed, Frigga started running and lashing at her burning skin. She floundered down the street in a mess of panicking, yellow-streaked magic. Enchantments shot about her carelessly, bouncing from the stone walls until one smacked a warg in the chest. Its bones burst from its body. The flesh suit crumpled in a foul, sluggish heap.
Frigga was half-blinded and delirious as she tripped out onto a larger street. A bright, long bridge extended across a wide river. In the distance, the city was illuminated by white light. A tall clocktower grew in the sky, with a white face painted with bizarre Midgardian symbols. Frigga tripped towards it, lost in staring at that marvellously illuminated tower.
She did not see the two white lights coming towards her, until the darks of her pupils were bright with their reflection.
Under the dull lights of Westminster Bridge, a black Vauxhall Cavalier appeared. Its headlights blaring through the London smog. The driver fumbled with her bag on the passenger side. She dug out a gaudy crespinette and tossed it into the backseat.
"I need to give that back to Madeleine..." she muttered. Next from the bag, she pulled an empty packet of cigarettes which she glanced at disappointedly. "Heavenly Father, do not be using my eyes as a seeing-stone to my sins." A pocket-book of philosophy, tattered and read-through too thoroughly for it to ever be resold. "I may need you later," she said. "But not now. Now... it is me and thee." With a delighted cry, she yanked out a cassette tape and shoved it into the player.
Upon hearing the first few bars of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, she enticed herself with the warmth of her car and the melody. With an attempt to hum the tune coherently, she could only laugh and be thankful only two could hear: herself and God. Think of it as a private concert, Heavenly Father, she thought. A delicate grin on her lips.
"Besides," she said aloud, speaking to the space around her as friend. "A little classical indulgence is good for expanding creative thought. Or as the curator likes to say: 'woman who think too much end up with a head full of ache' and I would like to say to him: get fucked you old bint." She widened her eyes and glanced upwards. "But I would never say such a thing, Heavenly Father. You know that by now."
The woman ran her finger along the steering wheel as the symphony sang with a long high note. "I'll show that old bint there's more to my character. When he sees my name printed in that journal next week... God, I'd kill to see the pride drain from that bloody face of his."
Lost in thought, the woman focused intensely on the academic paper she was currently completing for the American Journal of Philosophy. It was to be published soon, and she had not told the British Museum she was putting forth her debate on Kant's Transcendental Idealism. "Now, Heavenly Father, its not completely lying to the man. He just would not understanding that Kant's argument on human judgement is one of what makes a human's cognition sensible. Is a man sensible if he knows less of the workings of the universe? Or is one more sensible if they know more about time and space?"
She raised her brows, waiting in the peaceful melody of Beethoven. One the soft call of piano and flute responded. "Well, thats quite what I thought. Sensibility has to relation to the wider strangeness of time and space and I'll tell that foolish, misogynistic crook just where he can stick my published... What is that?" Her eyes widened and the plump blush of her cheeks disappeared.
A strange, bedraggled woman stumbled to the other side of road. The driver stared at her, too focused on the peculiar sight. Another being appeared in front of her. A great, hulking shadow.
The driver yelped and yanked on her steering wheel. The creature basked in the white light of her headlights, exposing bright eye and torn flesh and teeth as long as her fingers. And then the car slammed into its front, splitting through the bumper and engine.
Back and forth, the woman's body was thrown against her seatbelt and her belongings were flung about her car. She smacked against the steering wheel hard, only to be blasted back by the protective pillow bursting out of it.
The air was pushed out of her lungs in a painful heave of shock and vomit. A symphony of grinding, hissing and growling cut through London.
Then it was quiet, except for Beethoven and the driver gasping for breath in her seat. She collapsed against the door and fumbled for the handle. Heavenly Father! she burst, her thought blistering her cognitive balance out of alignment. Through the sting, there was a jumbled stream of thoughts in her head. It's going to explode. I'm going to burn to death. I need to grab the door handle, and I need to get out.
"Get out. Get out," she whimpered and slid out of the door, onto her hands and knees. It felt as if the world was spinning. Which, it technically was, but the ground underfoot was turning quicker than that of its master. She vomited, making a strange gargling sound.
When the second heave came, she forced it back with some strength. Wiping her chin, she shivered and rolled backwards onto the tarmac. It did not feel as if she were sat upright. Her nausea washed over her, the taste of acid in her mouth and potato stew from a recent dinner. Glancing at the rancid appearance of it all over the ground, she shivered.
"God, that dinner was too expensive to waste!" she bewildered.
Rolling back as she looked up at two shapes darting about the road, in and out of the streetlights. Beneath the bright moonlight, their strange dance of swiping and prancing out of each other's wipe had her momentarily captivated. She squeezed her eyes tight enough for it to hurt.
"Dear God, dear God, pardon me for the evil I have done," she said, her voice shaky. Pardon me for the evil I have done this day. Have I hit a drunk? Am I the intoxicated one? No, I have not drank in so long. Not since Eucharist last week, and even that was with bread.
God, what is this?
Only when she wound her fingers around her Apostle's Creed, the sacred jewellery wrapped around her wrist she since was a child, did she realise this was real.
"I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth..." she muttered. "Am I..." a killer. She rocked forwards, listening to Beethoven's blistering final notes and the scuffle of movement on the road.
An overwhelming wave of dread and anxiety made her want to throw up again. She could not cope with someone's blood being on her hands, and now she had sealed her fate by getting out of the car. They have seen her face, there is no way of lying or getting away. To even think of running away...
"Born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate..." she fumbled. How cowardly. She cursed herself for even imagining speeding off into London and disappearing. Oh, it would be plastered on British Tabloids: London Evening Standard, Illustrated London, The Daily Telegraph: BODY LEFT BRUTALLY BATTERED IN HIT-AND-RUN.
She would be the star of an awful alliterative newspaper headline.
Her eyes opened and landed on the largest of the two shadows. That was when cold, mind-numbing fear consumed her. The oxygen disappeared from her lungs. Turning her head to the side, she squeezed her eyes together and inhaled.
Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
She had to look again, even though something deep within screamed not to. The growls were so cruel and fierce that it froze her bones. Crystallised, consumed yet curios of the horrific, ungodly sight before her.
Overly rounded and chiselled like a prehistoric bear, the animal skulked on four legs. The muscle beneath its tattered fur shifted and contorted with each step. The skin sat tightly stretched over its body, like it had grown too fast and too furiously for it to control.
Its long snout and mouth opened, streaming with wet spit, flashing a lopsided jaw lined with long teeth. One side of its body was bloody and brutalised, fleshy in some places and exposing white bone on the joints.
The woman realised she had hit that creature with her car.
The creature was in a relentless battle with a red-haired woman, the one the driver considered to be drunk. That gloriously, beautiful red hair could not be forgotten. Dressed in a grey shawl, leggings and hunting boots, she appeared like something out of an ancient fairytale. Yellow mist swirled in snakes around her, darting out and jabbing at the creature. A dark, wet patch bloomed from her chest.
Her hair must've been styled in a high bun once, several streams had been yanked out and hung loose over her frame. Still, she dove around the creature as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
To believe, the driver thought her singing of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata was going to be the most absurd part of her drive home.
The red-haired woman grabbed her long bow and released an arrow immediately. She then clutched at the fabrics of her chest as if searching for something.
The driver felt mesmerised, but also dangling on the edge of an anxiety attack as she watched them. The control on her breathing loosened.
"He descended into hell..." she began her prayer again, holding her Creed to her lips. "On the third day He rose again from the dead..."
There was something unearthly about their dance. And something... angelic. With Beethoven echoing from the car, the woman began to believe this was what Hell and Heaven looked like when they battled one another.
ith a pirouette, the red-head darted beneath the creature's jaw and slid along the tarmac, jabbing a dagger into his underbelly. It yelped and snapped at her, but she was too quick. In a flurry, she had disappeared behind him and clambered onto his back like a creature herself.
Against the blackness of the night sky, her red hair looked as if it truly were on fire. The woman jammed her weapon into its spine and was promptly thrown aside when the creature roared and bucked her off.
The driver desperately wanted to help the woman. She felt as if there was something to prove now: a courage or ferociousness.
Gathering those emotions was harder than initially thought. How could a complete mundane even find the strength to take on a beast? This was the stuff of nightmares. Tears pricked her eyes, she attempted to begin her prayer again, but the thoughts and the words failed her.
A scream echoed around her. With a swipe, the bear ripped at the woman's chest and sent her falling backwards. She lost grip of her bow when she smacked her head off the pavement. The woman attempted to turn onto her front and crawl, but its jaws clamped into her hair.
She was wrenched upwards and shaken like a ragdoll, her limbs flailing madly. It reminded the watcher of one of the museum's exhibits. Lions and crocodiles killed their pray by clamping down hard and shaking their head until the poor thing was dead or confused enough to be consumed. But this woman had decided not to be the pray on this night.
She jammed a hand back, shooting a dart of bright yellow mist into the creature's eye. It dropped her and then she was stumbling wildly towards the driver. She panicked and shouted: "wait! Wait, that thing is still–!" The great beast grabbed the hair of the woman again.
The driver put her hand over her mouth, so she wouldn't scream. Instead of moving, her thoughts shot to her academic essay. Realism. Looking at objects at either reality or as a concept. Was this a concept?
"Well, I suppose a spectrum of realism could be applied here..." she blubbered madly.
The redhead let out a blood-curdling scream. She was grappling behind her in a failing attempt to scratch the beast's nozzle. The woman promptly stopped babbling about philosophy. "Okay," she said. "Heavenly Father, I call upon you today." For your divine guidance and help. Shakily, she rose to her feet and swayed for a moment. "My strength and my shield." My God. "My strength and my shield."
Gentle, calming waves washed over her, taking the sickness away. The sea took away the nausea. His waters eroded her fear. She turned and looked past her car, at the railing she'd dented. She yanked one of the rods free and swung it out, grasping it between her hands.
"My heart has trusted in Him," she recited. "Him and all that is real." All that is real. Maybe this creature wasn't real at all. Then again, according to Richard Swinburne's Principle of Credulity, if someone stated something was present, then it had to be true. So, why not a great mythological beast?
In that mad moment, that was enough. With a sharp inhale, the driver hoisted her weapon in the air and sprinted forward. Now focused on the red-head on the floor, the beast didn't notice her at all. A thousand thoughts ran through her; of murder, death and betrayal.
Oh, how she wished to be an Apostle's Creed. How neatly and warmly it was tucked away inside of her sleeve like a creature in its coccoon.
Swinging the pole hard, the splintered end hit the beast's eye with a squelch. The bear released the woman and cowered backwards. It slumped with its head bowed.
The red-haired lady had let out a cry when she fell into a heap.
Horrified, the driver looked at the metal bar lodged in the creature's skull. She swallowed fresh vomit and hurried forward. Taking hold of the red-head by her arms, she hoisted her to her feet; much to the displeasure of her burning limbs.
The woman gasped and heaved down the driver's ear. Under her hands, the driver felt sweat and blood coming from the gown. Glancing around frantically, the brunette fought to ignore the burn that came with holding the weight of another. Where to go? How far would we get?
The beast would be back soon. Hobbling over to the other side of the road, she looked at her car for ideas. With steam billowing out the front, brick and rubble around and the stench of petrol it offered no solution. The driver pitied her vehicle, it had done her good.
"Uh, maybe… a phone… a phone-box!" the driver cried. She looked around quickly and spotted a red, shining beacon of hope on the other side of the bridge.
"W-Wait," a soft voice murmured, "the… The …"
"The what? What is it?" the driver asked quickly. Her eyes darted around and fell upon the object dropped on top of a drain at the edge of the road. "That thing? Is that what you mean?"
Nodding, the red-haired woman closed her eyes and squeezed her lips together. The driver leaned closer, sensing whispered words on the edge of the red-haired mouth. "Please, get it. It will save us," her voice came dismantled.
After a unsure nod, the driver hobbled faster and fought to be as gentle as possible when lowering the lady down. The driver's back groaned and the whiplash would be terrible come morning, but she helped the redhead to sit down, putting at least a weak barrier between her and the monster that was stirring.
Chewing the inside of her lip, the driver hurried into the middle of the road and grabbed the object. She stumbled backwards, landing hard against the kerb. She sensed the grand woman sat behind her, barely conscious. There was a movement next to her hip which made her heart jump. The green jewel was buzzing, vibrating like nothing the driver had ever seen before. There was an air of enticing awe emitting from the stone.
Ripping a roar, the monster screamed, and the driver dared not look in case her heart gave out. Vibrating faster, the jewel almost bounced towards her.
Heavenly Father, is this a sign?
Grabbing the stone, she lifted it and felt it began buzzing madly. The material felt hot. The glow glinted off of her Rosary beads which had, once again, reappeared.
In a terrifying run, the monster hurtled towards her and knocked her flat onto her back. Her skull collided with the pavement, and she twisted violently. The thing was on top of her and it stunk.
Fierce teeth clamped around her leg. She let out a scream, dropping the stone as he body was yanked backward. An agony, unholy and alien, filled her. It overwhelmed the prayer on her lips as she continued to screech.
The redhead behind her grabbed at her hair and took out a thin dagger. With great difficulty, she aimed and threw it into the eye of the monster. It released the driver and stumbled back with a whine.
The driver collapsed against the concrete, spitting out blood from the inside of her cheek. Her shaking hand could scarcely attempt to comfort her leg. She lifted her head to look back with a tearful gaze.
The bear shook its head and prepared to come for her once more.
The driver called the Lord's name, he was her only companion to remember. With few friends and no family; she wished she had another to say goodbye to. Her eyes flickered back to her wrist where her Rosary hung. Beside her was the green crystal.
The creature travelled in slow motion this time, jaws wide, eyes as dark as night. And with little rationality, the driver thrust her hand outwards and grabbed the stone. It was pressed up tightly against her Rosary as she held it aloft and compelled every inch of pleading, begging and mercy from within.
It began to vibrate so quickly that it stung her hand. A white light erupted from the stone.
The driver began screaming. Like an atomic bomb had been released, light burst from her hand and flooded London.
A burning sensation tingled her body as she squeezed her eyes together.
Once, in a philosophy book, she'd read that a man had been praying in a church when a bright light appeared in his hands. It exploded and blinded him, but now blind, he saw the beauty of God and went on to preach about the wonders of his Lord.
This red-hot feeling must've been what it felt like. For several moments, she felt too frightened to scream against the light, but then it was over.
Darkness settled over her. In that blindness, the driver called out: "Heavenly Father? Are you...? Is that...?"Gagging, she opened her eyes and began to gasp for air. There was something akin to a hiccup and sob in her throat as she attempted to climb to her feet.
The monster had been thrown backwards. He lay crumpled, half-hanging over the stone barrier with its tongue lolling from its mouth.
A searing pain burst from her thigh, which made it exceptionally painful as she pushed her weight up and tried to stand. The agony became too much, and she collapsed in a heap of sweat against the kerb again. Hot blood streaked her skin, soaking her jeans.
The red-haired woman stared at her. "Midgardian, you... you used the Alkar," she said wistfully.
"W-What? Oh, yeah. Here," the driver replied breathlessly and handed it to the redhead. The woman's palm was surprisingly cool to touch, nor clammy like the driver's. Now closer, she looked at her beauty. With long hair and an abundance of jewels on her gown, she looked like she belonged at a ball instead of mid-London. The woman coughed. When she withdrew her hand, there was blood.
"Your name, child," she croaked and lowered it. "Give me your name."
"It's, uh, it's Ellie."
The woman struggled to turn her head. "Your true name," she said. "I sense lies."
Ellie glanced at her. "Eurelia Adamson."
"I am Frigga."
It sounded Norwegian, perhaps it was custom to dress in such a manner as well. The woman had an elegance about her, even covered in blood and dirt. Claw marks along the satin material of her garments made Ellie look across the bridge at the monster. She very much doubted that was Norwegian. For now, it was unconscious.
"It is a warg," Frigga said. Ellie looked at her, slightly alarmed. "It is a guardian of one of the Nine Realms; of Nilfheim. But that one and the others are from Alfheim. From whence do you hail?"
Ellie's frown deepened upon hearing intellectual dialect, words not used by modern tongue. "H-Hail? Where am I from? Greenwich."
"Green Witch? Which Witch is this? Who is your ruler? Sweyn? Eric?"
"No, no. No, I am from England. Greenwich is a place in this city, in London? In England," she struggled to explain. "In Europe," she added. From the look on Frigga's face, half of her information was not understood. "On Earth," Ellie said.
The woman's eyes lost some weariness. "Hm... Midgard. How peculiar."
There was a heartbeat of awkward silence. A cultural difference was startlingly obvious. Clearly Frigga knew what was happening and Ellie craved an answer. "So, where are you from?"
"I am Queen of Asgard; Ruler of Asgardian Gods and fair-folk." Frigga didn't mention her name again, so Ellie assumed her official title was 'your Highness' most of the time. Having never met the Queen of England either, using formal language made her nervous. What a pathetic thing to be nervous about. There's a dead bear-dog in front of me, for Christ's sake!
"I guess I should call you Your Highness, then. Sorry, uh, if I offended you during our little battle."
"It is my preferred title, yes," Frigga said with a slight grunt. "However, given the circumstances of our meeting, I was not upset by your tone."
"Another good thing going for us tonight then. Nearly died, but we're getting along..."
Frigga let out a gasp and bent over. One hand grasped her leg and the other her chest. With deep breaths, she struggled to control her pain and wracked a whimper. Ellie placed a hand on the Queen's shoulder. "What can I do? I need to call an ambulance for you."
"No," Frigga hissed and contorted her body again.
"You need to see a doctor!"
Frigga's hand was losing it grip on her bleeding chest. Ellie watched blood pool through the crack of her fingers. "I…" the word died on the royal's lips.
Without hesitating, Ellie dragged herself behind Frigga and pulled the woman with brute force to her. Using pained wrists, Ellie yanked her tank top out from beneath her jumper and wrapped it around Frigga's front.
With it tied tightly, the Queen gasped and panted. Ellie offered a gentle shushing when Frigga began to sweat; becoming slightly incoherent.
"The Alkar must... to Freyr... Ljósálfar..."
"Please let me call an ambulance for you, Frigga," Ellie begged. There was no answer. "We have to get out of here." Ellie sucked in a breath, thinking about their options if Frigga was too weak to be left alone. Everything ached, especially her leg and soon the pain would fade and she would die.
Ellie lifted her wrist to her mouth and whispered into her rosary. With the end of her Rosary, she called to the Holy Queen. "O Mother, O sweet Virgin Mary, show Frigga your kindness." Ellie dissolved her trauma and exhaled, looking upon the lady in her arms. "Fine. I will drag you."
Frigga glanced at the Rosary dangling above her. "Please. Don't. We have to wait."
"Wait? Wait for what? Morning? We'll be run over ourselves. London traffic stops for no one."
"Please, wait," Frigga managed to choke. Ellie watched her wide eyes.
They heard a distant roar. Looking up, they found a final monster hurtling towards them both. It was at the end of the road, running down the middle with a determined look.
Ellie struggled to draw breath. She leaned over Frigga and grabbed the rock, rattling it like a toy. Nothing happened. It was cold to touch.
Ellie hissed, "fucking hell! Why won't you work? Work!"
"Eurelia…" Frigga's voice came quietly. Hearing her formal name sent a shiver up her spine but the Queen's tone was so distant it could only fill her with gloom.
Hot tears streaked her cheeks.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The warg began running towards them. It was monstrously tumultuous, even the ground quivered before it.
Ellie swore, throwing the jewel at it and grabbing Frigga. She pulled her to her chest, not caring if she tugged at the wounds; only wanting comfort – loving comfort before death.
In their white-knuckled grasp, Ellie found the Queen smelt of sandalwood. Did they have such trees in Frigga's homeland? Oh, how beautiful the forests of tantalum must've smelt compared to that of Earth. Perhaps Frigga's was full of magic and witchery. As Ellie began to rock back and forth, she imagined running through a forest with sandalwood leaves falling from the sky.
"Please, God," she whined. "Heavenly Protector, please save us. Save me and my soul will be yours."
Light cascaded her like a tsunamic wave. Through her eyelids, she saw white and then there was more silence that ever before. This must be death.
"Enough, foul creature." The voice that spoke was ice-cold and clear as fresh spring water. Her throat ached to respond – so they would speak again. The pain was from swearing so fiercely, but it felt as if it was dry from begging.
Blinking through the haze, Ellie saw a dark mountain in front of her.
It was difficult to focus on the figure. But there was green; deep green like a forest on their cape. Was it a cape? It was hard looking; as if made of thick leather.
In that bizarre moment of clarity, she watched the world as a surreal dream. The figure rose a limb, one of their arms, and the warg released a roar. Ellie blinked again, trying to focus on the blue wisps that spread into the air. In ribbons, the coloured air rose and suddenly darted at the creature. It wrapped around its body like a dozen snakes and began to tighten.
With a look full of dark fury, the beast's jaws unhinged like a snake, his tongue dropped out as it cruelled: "Aknuk El Vira mismantos knitos eferma litos varom merda."
"Acrimony," the man said mockingly.
Ellie shuddered and clutched Frigga tighter, but it was impossible to ignore the shooting pain in her wrists.
The man's voice demanded something, she couldn't be sure what, but it was accented with a twinge of received pronunciation; too far removed to be British, but something else entirely.
The beast snapped its jaws at the smoke tentacles, which did nothing.
Beams of azure evaded the fur of the monster. It hurt to watch, the light gave off an angelic glow despite the cruelty of its actions. The threads looped around the creature's strong legs, then his throat and found their way into its open mouth. Its magic humming was silenced with a gargle and suddenly, the cords began to shrink.
"The Alkar," Frigga said. Despaired, Ellie looked at the jewel she had foolishly thrown. It was just past the man, in the middle of the road once again. She hadn't thrown it far and yet it felt like a thousand miles lay ahead of her.
Ellie raised a trembling hand and pushed damp strands of hair from her face. She struggled to stand but did so with sweat pouring out of every pore. The man's outstretched hand twisted, summoning power upon the warg.
Staggering forwards, Ellie was blind to danger and went to grab the jewel.
"The girl!" Frigga rasped. The man whipped his body around faster than light. He shoved Ellie hard and she was knocked several feet away, landing in a painful heap.
The beast's claw caught his front, swiping downwards across his neck and chest. With a cry, he fell back and had little time before the creature clamped its teeth on his boot and dragged him forwards.
"Loki!" Frigga said desperately behind Ellie, "do not touch one of Odinsons!" There was a powerful gust of wind from behind her and it picked up strength, becoming a dust-cloud which smacked against the beast's face. The warg released Loki with a sharp whine.
Ellie looked back at Frigga and watched the woman slump forward; defeated. Her arm was outstretched.
Loki hissed a string of curses in a language foreign to Ellie. He twisted, grunting as he pushed himself to his feet. When his eyes caught sight of Frigga, there was a flash of anger.
The warg rumbled, getting to his feet again. Loki whipped around in time to meet it. His fingers moved like he was playing an invisible instrument. Green shimmers emerged from his palms.
The warg lunged for Loki, mouth wide. Ellie nearly choked when Loki used his glowing hands to stop the mouth of the monster. He moved his legs to handle the beast better and shook with strength.
Ellie looked around quickly because she knew Loki couldn't deal with the warg alone. Despite his power, he wasn't immortal. He couldn't be.
Heavenly Father, give me courage. Give me your wisdom. Behind Ellie, the remnants of a broken rail lay sprawled at odd angles. Her car had done a good job of destroying public property.
With a strangled noise coming from her throat, Ellie pushed herself up and made her way to the car. She leant on the bonnet and yanked a pipe free. An array of grunts and growls made her fear for her life a tiny bit more.
Shaking, she exhaled slowly and fought to hold the new-founded weapon. Her sweat made the metal feel loose. She took hold of it with two hands once again. Nearing the battle, Loki struggled beneath the warg's jaw, holding it open with both hands. Ellie could not guess how strong he was to do so.
Their eyes met briefly. His were dark and wide. A thousand questions and answers were said before he scrunched his face up and clenched his teeth together. Hands bleeding, he held and pushed on those fierce canines.
Ellie lifted the pipe and didn't give chance to think about murder. Jamming it into the warg's skull, her weapon vibrated as it cut through fur, skin, tissue, bone and brain. The warg howled, releasing Loki.
Ellie pulled the bar free and smashed it into the warg's eyeball in a heartbeat. It squelched and she released the weapon. The warg stumbled sideways, yelping like a dog and raising a paw to its face.
"Oh. Fuck," Ellie blubbered. It was a slap to the face when she realised how cruel she had been.
Loki clenched his right fist and blue burst from it which, once again, became snakes and clamped aorund the warg's skull. There was a momentary silence and then bones cracked.
Brain, flesh and blood burst from the magic ropes; splattering Loki and Ellie.
She lurched and vomited. It took several moments for her to compose herself but when she looked up, she found the two mythical beings were on their feet and hobbling towards an alleyway on the other side of the bridge.
Wildly looking back at her steaming car, the warg and the two beings, she decided mundane answers were not enough.
Ellie followed the pair, feeling minute against the tall buildings London. As she did so, rain began to patter the ground around her. It was thin and sleeting.
The blazing lights of the city shone upon her doddering figure until she rounded the corner to an alley and was blessed with darkness.
Slumped against the muggy wall, was Loki and Frigga. His head was tilted upwards, the crown pushed against the brick as he inhaled and exhaled with peculiar clarity.
Ellie shot a final look at the illuminated city and entered the path.
"What is your name?" the man demanded, his voice was laced with pain. Ellie neared him, but his gaze was glued to Frigga's face. Loki's fingers traced her hair, cheeks and jaw. Blue light snaked from him, soaking into Frigga's skin like water to cloth.
Ellie verbally stumbled, "excuse me?"
"Tell me your name, Midgardian. I request you speak."
She opened and closed her mouth, struggling to make sense of how their ideologies differed so greatly. Shivering beneath the streetlamp light, she fought to breathe in and out her nose. After a moment, she said, "my name is Ellie, Your Highness."
"Ellie?"
"Well, I, uh, it's Eurelia. But it's far too formal. My birth parents must've been larpers... or medieval-enthusiasts. Which is probably the same thing, I mean they left me on the doorstep..."
"Enough," the man replied dryly. "Who are you to my mother? What query does the Queen hold to you?"
"I..."
"Qlfuss..." he said. "Sit down. I'd rather go without answers than tend to your wounds, Midgardian."
Weariness overtook her as she collapsed beside Loki, her breathing heavy. Up close, his pristine skin glistened with perspiration. As pale as the page of a newly printed book, he should've been ghastly. Even his salient jaw and high cheekbones should have been startling, reminding Ellie of a god-like figure she'd read about so many times.
It was painful to pull her eyes away. Frigga and Loki's frightful beauty was unearthly.
Ellie swallowed. "I was driving," she said, replaying the flashes and bangs of the last 30 minutes. "And this – this monster appeared out of nowhere. I crashed the car and saw Frigga fighting it. I tried to help her and that green thing caused a bomb or something, I don't know, it killed the monster, the one hanging over the side of the bridge."
"Alkar. The Life Stone? What do you mean?" he snapped, still examining Frigga.
"Well, I touched it. I grabbed it and it just… it exploded. Look, shouldn't we be getting your Mum to a hospital? There's blood everywhere! You're hurt as well."
"Silence." His voice cut through the air like a splinter of ice and it hurt Ellie more than the ache in her body.
"Excuse me?" she said, afronted.
He scarcely shot her another glance. If anything, her speech was out-of-term to him and his annoyance was rising. "Heimdall will help us soon," he snapped.
"What?" Ellie blubbered. "We look like we've stepped foot inside a blender. I'm freezing my tits off and will probably be dead in an hour because my resting heart rate feels like I've got John Bonham drumming it."
Loki's face turned. Now was not the time for humour. There was deep revulsion in her rescuer's eyes, he looked at her like dirt. Ellie clamped her mouth shut. She leaned back ever so slightly and waited in reticence, her fingers ghosting the bloody wounds of her leg. The pain felt like an ebb, which meant terrible news.
"This silence irritates me," Loki said through the cold. In the starlit September weather, Ellie suppressed her shiver. "Continue with your idle speech, it is much more bearable than the foul screech that is nearby."
His eyes darted into the distance. They were near London Airport and the motorway which led to it. Sure enough, the zoom of traffic was present as well as the noise of a plane taking off. Ellie followed it with her gaze. Bloody hell, I wish I were on that thing instead. "You saved my life. Thank you," she said.
"You are more fortunate than you could imagine. You Midgardians with your stomping around and indecisiveness. If it were not for my Mother, I would not have saved you."
"So, what, you regret that you did?" Ellie asked lightly. He gave her a short look which told her the answer.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Ellie did not reply. Instead, she looked down at the woman and tried to untangle where she had come from. It was obvious they followed some sort of group, a cult perhaps.
"If we're going to be here a while, then you might as well talk. Surely, your voice will please you better than mine does, your Highness."
Immediately, she realised her spiteful tongue had gotten her in more trouble. He was unaccustomed to being spoken in such a way, his eyes narrowed. "Lidet er om den mans vrede, som ingen vurder."
Ellie bit her lip and shook her head as tears burned her eyes. She could not understand his mind, and now his dialect made her smaller than she already felt. It was obvious it had been something cruel.
"What did you say?" she asked quietly. He remained calculated, staring out at the alley wall. "Was that Danish? Or a mixture of dialects?"
"Enough. These mundane questions are grating me."
Crying was not a response she needed now. Ellie swallowed and eyed him. "Begging your pardon, Your Highness, but I'm a Philosophy graduate. It's my job to ask questions. And you did ask me to talk."
Ellie sighed when he continued to stiffen.
Loki pulled Frigga closer to him.
In retaliation, Ellie shuffled too. Despite being thought of inferior, she wasn't going to be made to feel uncaring. She had no doubt that as soon as this help of his came, she'd be left quivering in the drain and it would be over her cold hands that, that would happen. They must have been sat for nearly half an hour and it was still raining so she would be accompanying them to potential shelter.
The cold had comforted the pain in her leg. Hypothermia was setting in and fast. It must've set in a while ago; Ellie could no longer feel her toes. Looking to the man beside her, she noted the rain that soaked his hair and robes as well. Her eyes travelled down the drip of water sliding along his cheekbone, over a red scrape and dropping off his chin.
The gaze went to Frigga. "She won't survive if we continue to sit out here." Ellie said boldly. The woman's dress was soaked, blood pooled from beneath the man's palm. It looked horrifying with the water to dilute it further.
Loki flexed his fingers and a gentle green glow pulsed into Frigga's dress. Immediately, her frown was an inch smoother. "I do not need to discuss her state, nor my intentions," Loki said.
Disturbed by the science-fiction reality she was witnessing, Ellie took little notice of his voice. "I have my car keys. I can drive her to a hospital. I mean, you're hurt too. They can help us."
"Midgardian medicine will not help."
Midgard. The word was familiar to Ellie. She'd heard it before on a documentary once. For all the strength in her confused brain, she couldn't remember what it was exactly. "We shouldn't be out in the open then," she said. "Sitting in this rot isn't going to help Harry find us, is it?"
"Heimdall."
"Henry. Harry. Hannah," she said childishly, her teeth beginning to chatter. Loki stood up silently, despite his own wounds, he didn't grunt like she did. Ellie wavered, using the wall to help her up.
The strange man had already lifted Frigga up and was disappearing out of the alley without another word. Ellie went after them. From behind, Loki's hobble was more obvious. His thickly-made outfit could not hide the rips in his skin. Leather rubbed the slices unapologetically and soon Loki would be outwardly suffering.
Ellie took hold of Frigga's other arm, swooping into view.
"Why are you doing this?" Loki demanded cruelly. She snapped her eyes to him, suddenly feeling tired of his consistent need to argue. Anyway, at the rate she was going, she needed to save her lungs. He pressed, "you will answer, child."
"Child?" She said breathlessly. "Somehow, I saved this woman's life. Me. You may have saved mine, but by chance it was me that ended up here tonight. Usually I take the train to work, but today I drove and you should be grateful. So, just shut your entitled mouth and let me help," she ended up spitting. Her fingertips were freezing, and her body was numb. If he were to falter, she'd fall and smash into a thousand pieces on the floor. Then she remembered: "Your Highness."
The atmosphere was tense again. Ellie felt a sense of relief, saying what needed to be said cleared out her clogged mind. A handy trait she'd learned from the Sisters. Those bastards would be proud.
"So, are we, are heading to some underground cult cave? Or a headquarters?"
"Neither. We must reach an area Heimdall can see."
Ellie looked up at the windows around her. There was just darkness. This Heimdall guy must live close by.
"What's his address? London is confusing enough as it is in the daytime."
"Yggdrasil."
Ellie swallowed, her head felt like it was packed with cotton balls. "Bit exotic for a British street name…" she murmured. "I mean I live down Crumpet Street, for God's sake.
Thankfully, the dry conversation had become more civilised. It was the cloud of exhaustion that hung over them both, emitted from the Alkár that Loki possessed. The prince could feel it pressed to his chest, pulsing against his heart.
Ellie glanced at Loki. He was immensely pale, the sweat on his face glistened under the streetlamps. Frigga's weight wasn't causing his discomfort.
"Are you okay?" she asked. Loki twisted his face, scrunching his nose and lips together tightly.
He led her out of the alleyway, into an open road lined with terraced houses. Violently grunting, he tripped and they were all forced to a stop. Ellie's wide eyes travelled down his face and saw the soaked torso. She said his name, her voice quivering, but he couldn't muster a reply.
Frigga's body weight did not match her stature. She felt like a block of stone, as did Loki. Ellie felt the strength leave her as she held onto Frigga with one arm and attempted to reach her son with the other.
"Oh shit. Loki," Ellie gasped. "Are you, are you alright?"
Cowering over, one hand grasped his chest and the breaths became raspy. After several moments, he exhaled a huff and re-joined Ellie.
Frigga's immense weight left her. However, Loki looked several times worse than before. His eyes were sunken and dark, his lips ghostly pink. To Ellie, these two were deep in some Satanic shit.
"W-We're nearly there," she quivered. Loki's head snapped sideways, his lips pursed and spitting the next few words "how could you possible understand where we need to go? How could you fathom the-?"
Ellie's fingers dug into Frigga's waist. Her arms were on fire, her vision was becoming blurry and this stranger had the audacity… "It's just a saying!" she snapped. "I'm trying to be, I don't know, comforting? Get off my dick!"
"Hmph," Loki griped.
Frigga's feet dragged over the cobblestones, her ruined boots catching every now and then. As they reached the end of the road, Ellie's vision began to blur.
"Tell me which way. If we stop, I'll collapse," she begged breathlessly.
"We must travel left," he sounded stern, but Ellie could hear supressed agony in his voice. His foot was causing more trouble than he let on.
Loki looked up, his deep eyes boring into the night sky. Travelling through the galaxies, the stars and ethereal cities.
Upon entering a Square, Loki stopped and continued to stare upwards. The Square was an open space, large and extravagant with a water fountain in the middle. Made of stone and ancient cobble, Ellie wished they'd stopped near the bench beside the feature.
Ellie looked to Loki, who was muttering again. He murmured Heimdall's name and several others; enchantments. Heimdall was what? A God? A helicopter?
"Loki, what are you doing?" she begged, searching for a slither of what he saw. As she peered into the endless oblivion of night, she searched for own God, for his great hand sliding through the curtain of stars and saving them.
"Heimdall, open the bifrost!" Loki gasped.
Eurelia's vision twisted, doubled, and she knew she was going to die. Blood, or car headlights. Would the car hit her fast enough to knock her out straight away?
Light burned her entire figure, blinding her as if she'd been sleeping in a black room and the curtains had been flung open.
The whiteness turned yellow, red, blue and green.
Ellie struggled to take another breath or find something to hold onto except for Frigga. They were both definitely dead; entering heaven together.
Yet, all stairways must come to an end. Feeling as if she'd been thrown from the cylinder of light, she tripped and sagged against the floor, a golden floor, which turned into a sea of safety.
Ellie felt dizzy. Her skull buzzed. Wrapping her arms around the woman tighter she watched through quickly blurring eyes as dark figures descended upon her. Overwhelmed, the only thought on her mind was: did I take Beethoven's video tape out?
References:
- Yggdrasil - the mythical tree which connects the nine worlds.
- Ginnungagap - the void in the universe before air, Earth and all living things.
- "Lidet er om den mans vrede, som ingen vurder." - If you cannot bite, never show your teeth.
- Alkar stone – Icelandic for Elves.
- Aknuk El Vira mismantos knitos eferma litos varom merda – is an ancient latin spell for dark impowerment. I know Wargs usually can't speak but I like the idea of them being communicative.
please review, let me know what you think of the beginning of this adventure
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