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CHAPTER SEVEN – LOYALTIES
(Note! All previous chapters have had some minor editing done to them)
PITHY STATEMENT RELATING TO THIS CHAPTER: "Stab the body and it heals, but injure the heart and the wound lasts a lifetime." – Mineko Iwasaki – Japanese businesswoman, author and former geisha – 1949-Present
Last Updated: 09-21-2021
One small change has rippled throughout this reality. Yet time can be like a river which does not like to be diverted. Even as things change, other actions resist and return. Even if these events are different than before, they are echoes of what was meant to be. The Jotun-born Prince of Asgard took advantage of Hope van Dyne's choice to become a SHIELD agent and the madness her death caused. Loki's actions have altered the path of what was to be. In doing so, many things which were meant to be now are manifesting early. It remains to be seen if this is a change for the better…or for worse.
PRÄLAT-WELLENHÖFER STRAßE 41, HADERN BOROUGH, MUNICH, GERMANY, AUGUST 14th, 2011 – AFTERNOON
Dr. Nikolaus Geist smiled as his acolytes had almost completed inscribing the runic circle onto the floor of the ritual room. A secret room many meters below the basement listed with the property. Seemingly a normal residential building, Number 41 had been a secret hideout for the Thule Society going back to the early years of Hitler's rise to power. Geist had roamed the world looking for magical items to further strengthen the Thule Society but this was probably the closest thing he ever had to a home.
A small vibration in his right wrist caused him to pull a key on a chain similar to a fob-watch. He absent-mindedly inserted the key in a slit in his finely tailored Victorian style suit above where his right nipple used to be. He then wound the key a few time before putting the key back in the waistcoat pocket.
As he did so, Geist realized how normal the action was to him now. And normal was not something which resembled most things in his life. A man who had suffered for his beliefs in the occult while at university. One who had joined the nascent Nazi party and helped Hitler become the Führer. Or his mission in 1938 to try and destabilize the British monarchy which, while a failed attempt, did bring him to the attention of the Thule Society.
In short order, as the world turned to war, Geist had risen in the ranks. His success in finding dark tomes of magic and powerful artifacts pleased not only the Society elders but the Führer himself. Only the Red Skull looked down his nose at Geist…if Johann Schmidt still had a nose to look down on, that is.
Before the war ended, his Project Lazarus had been a partial success. He had been able to not only revive dead Wehrmacht soldiers but also give them unnatural strength and speed. Unfortunately the blasted Captain America and his Howling Commandos interrupted the project and in doing so destroyed the Sumerian mystical artifact needed for the process to work.
Geist was pulled from his thoughts as one of his robed acolytes drew near, a worried look on his face. "Dr. Geist, the guardian daemons are concerned. They sense danger approaching but cannot tell us more."
"Increase our ward strength up one level. Beyond that, just maintain vigilance. Too often the daemons are reacting to what we're doing. As much as the Æsir should welcome us into their fold, such things cannot be guaranteed," Geist said after a moment's reflection. "I take it there has been nothing from the municipal side of things?"
While Germany had so far not seen much in the way of fighting, the city council had moved swiftly to create various ways to alert residents of possible danger.
The acolyte shook his head, "No, Dr. Geist. So far the majority of the rebellion has shifted below the equator. That and I believe the rebels fear Germany might have too many willing to inform on them to the Æsir."
Geist all but cackled at that, "How true given our purpose today. Go now, see to the wards."
The man bowed and left to go upstairs as Geist began to pace, careful to stay away from the runic circle nearing completion. While there was no iron in the metallic parts of his body, Geist was taking no chances of a mishap.
It was ironic that a man so wedded to the mystic arts inhabited such a clock-work body. Yet Geist felt his Swiss-born mother would approve of the craftsmanship of it all. His need to replace so much of his body was less about staving off the effects of age and more to falling afoul of the sorcerers of Karma Taj. Before the end of the war, Geist did not join so many of his fellows in fleeing to Argentina. He chose to remain hidden in Europe where the magic of his ancestors laid fallow and waiting to be rediscovered.
While the Red Skull and his lackey Arnim Zola fancied themselves men of science and scoffed at the mystical, Geist knew they weren't averse to using such things if it advanced their cause. In this the very HYDRA logo and mantra came from the mystical. Geist remembered how disdainful Reichsminister Goebbels had been on seeing the logo for the first time. How he complained his office had been using the image of an octopus to represent the long reach of enemies of the state in the form of Communists and Jews. Thus it was a poor symbol for such an important organization of the newly created Reich.
Geist looked up to the HYDRA logo emblazoned over the viewing balcony above the main door. For such a mind, Goebbels didn't seem to appreciate the symbolism of cutting off one head and two more taking its place. The Reichsminister probably would have been horrified the emblem had a deeper, more mystical meaning. A meaning Geist had been surprised the Red Skull had once thought to pursue.
Geist felt a twinge of phantom pain at that thought. He cursed the day he had managed to acquire the plans for a machine Schmidt and Zola had proposed to open a portal to summon the hydra itself using the power of the Tesseract. While the Thule Society had nothing in the way of such machinery, the mathematics were sound and easily converted into a mystical equivalent.
Like Project Lazarus, Geist and his few remaining followers had succeeded at first. They had been able to summon the hydra, the very Shuma-Gorath itself. Unfortunately, as with Project Lazarus, they had been interrupted in their moment of triumph. This time, however, instead of Captain America and his band, Geist and his followers found themselves up against Master Kaecillius and his adepts.
The fact that Geist managed to escape was the only thing which had gone right that day. Although his escape was not without a cost. To this day, Geist was shocked how followers of the pacifistic Ancient One had used the terrible spells they had. He himself had been hit with a sickly yellow spell from Kaecillius which had inexorably began to eat away at his flesh.
It wasn't until the mid-seventies the spell finally waned. Yet in those three decades while Geist worked to rebuild the Thule Society in secret, Geist had had to replace most of his body. Even the organic parts had to be maintained artificially. He was more machine than man. A Swiss clock of a man. Still, Geist knew that it had allowed him to live longer without the dangers of using dark magic to extend his life. So most days he accepted his fate.
A flurry of movement stopped his pacing. Geist turned to see his acolytes had finished their work. "Excellent work, my friends!" Geist said jovially. His head had long been encased in a sealed helmet. The fluid inside distorted his facial expressions so Geist had learned how important it was to give verbal cues.
Geist moved to inspect his people's work. His heavy footsteps echoing in the chamber in the silence. Finally he stopped with the main door framing him and clapped his hands, "Yes. Very good work indeed." He turned to his followers who had grouped together on the far side of the chamber. They all bowed.
Geist made an imperious gesture. "Our reward for our faith in the Aryan ways is nigh. Let us go and get properly dressed for the occasion." The long-unused black HYDRA uniform had been recreated for this day. Geist hoped they would please their Æsir overlords as they were the epitome of style, function and had once caused fear in those who saw them.
A half an hour later, Geist and his followers were back in the ritual room, admiring their uniforms. For Geist it was like coming home again. Finally the long delayed triumph of HYDRA was at hand. Soon not only would the rebels be brought low but the traitors who dared call themselves the heirs to HYDRA would finally pay for their treachery. Geist hoped the rumors of Arnim Zola still being alive in a manner similar to Geist's were true. He would enjoy torturing the Swiss scientists till he begged for death.
Geist knew that the bulk of the Æsir would not stay after Earth was pacified. No, King Loki would have to rely on people like him to keep order. A role the true heirs to HYDRA could provide. In fact, Geist's future goals were to be made viceroy of Earth as he did not expect Loki to be content with just Midgard. Perhaps he might earn a piece of one of the golden apples and be restored away from the mechanism of a man he had become.
His followers lined up and then knelt on one knee, heads bowed. Again, Geist was in front of the main doors. They were ornate and Geist knew they framed him well. Such symbolism was important in mysticism as well as promoting his own superior image to his followers. He lifted up his arms and was about to speak the small speech he'd prepared when a woman's voice from the balcony behind him broke in.
"Well this is a very welcome surprise. I came her expecting to bust up some potential collaborators. Now I get to do that and kick some HYDRA arse as well. I'm almost overwhelmed with the nostalgia of it all."
As his followers leapt to their feet, Geist whirled and looked up to see an amazon of a woman in a dark armor mix of Kevlar and chainmail. While her helmet obscured most of her face, the Union Jack on the shield she carried left no doubt who she was. Unlike the former, normal men who had carried the title, this newest incarnation was a Super-Soldier in every sense of the word. She had already made quite the splash fighting the Æsir.
Geist waved to his followers to stand-by, "Captain Britain, how rude of you to come calling unannounced. Here I thought the English prided themselves on such social niceties."
Captain Britain shrugged and in doing so moved the sword she had leaning up against her shoulder to embed it in the stone ledge of the balcony. "Manners are for those that deserve it. Besides, I still owe you for that broken arm."
There was a loud click as his heart skipped a beat and his cybernetics corrected for it. "I don't know what you mean. I would have recalled fighting one such as you before."
Captain Britain laughed at that, "Ah but you and I did have our little spat. You don't remember Vienna in 1948? You should as I shot you in your shoulder before you slunk away like the Nazi coward you are."
"Agent Carter!" Geist hissed out.
"In the very fleshed out flesh!" Carter said, humor evident in her voice.
The clicks continued as Geist's heart was racing. Agent Carter had been a thorn in his side for over twenty years after the war. She had indeed shot him back in 1948. Luckily this was before his encounter with Kaecillius as wounds sped up the curse the sorcerer had used on him. How was she here now and looking like a gender-flipped Captain America?
In the end, it didn't matter Geist realized, "Well Frau Carter, the Norns are kind to me today. I shall succeed where all the other units of HYDRA have failed. I shall also take great pleasure in repaying you for that injury. My followers are probably quite eager to help in this, yes?"
A cry of "Hail HYDRA" rang out.
Captain Britain just laughed, "You folks just never change, do you? Ah well, Steve is going to be sorry he missed this."
Geist and his followers were shocked that in a blink of an eye, Captain Britain had gone from a standing still, relaxed and seemingly just having a chat to vaulting over the balcony and landing on one knee in the midst of them. Screams rang out as she swiped her sword and shield in a spinning arc as she leapt off the floor.
Geist hadn't gotten to where he was by allowing himself to be shocked for long. He quickly drew his two mystic daggers and jumped into the fray. He needed to get his people some room to let them recover and begin spellcasting.
Unfortunately for Geist, the ritual chamber wasn't that large and his people still tried to stay away from the runic circle. This allowed Captain Britain to keep closely engaged. Even as she fended off a vicious attack from Geist, his old British foe decapitated two more of his followers. As their blades met, Geist felt fear begin to creep in as Captain Britain defended herself from him and yet managed to use her thrown shield to knock out the last two of his people. Most of those were already dead or soon would be after having a limb cut off.
While Agent Carter hadn't been a pacifist, Geist's experience was she'd always try to capture rather than kill. The dead at his feet was therefore a shock. Sadly for him, this shock slowed down his enhanced speed enough that a swift blow from her sword cut off both of his arms at the elbows. Before he could cry out in surprise, she had literally cut him off at the knees.
Geist fell onto his back like a helpless turtle. Luckily his clock-work limbs felt no pain so the loss of them was not painful. This was cold comfort as Captain Britain loomed over him.
"Well Nikolaus, it seems this is where we part ways. I doubt two heads will grow in the place of yours," Captain Britain said almost kindly.
"Wait! You can't just murder me! I'm helpless!" Geist all but shouted. "I have rights as a prisoner of war!"
Captain Britain laughed with tangible bitterness, "Oh now you want to play by the accepted Rules of War? Funny how your types always ignore them till you need them."
She put a boot on his chest and leaned down towards him, "Did you know much about my late husband, Nikolaus? We worked so hard to keep him and the rest of my children away from my work."
Geist could only shake his head. After Agent Carter's work in SHIELD kept her more and more from the field, she had dropped off Geist's radar. The Thule Society wasn't in the revenge business so he'd never even contemplated trying to find Carter's family and kill them.
Her helmet masked much of her facial expression, but Captain Britain's eyes were cold as the Fimbulwinter ice. "Well his father met his wife while doing consulate work in Poland. Even though her family had long ties to the old Prussian aristocracy, it didn't matter when you Nazis showed up. To them the fact they were more ethnically German than Polish didn't matter. They were Jews and that was all that counted. My mother-in-law became the last of her family."
"I had nothing to do with that! Mein Gott! The Thule Society embraced such magicks as the Kabbalah. We didn't care about religion!" Geist cried out desperately.
"Ah but you certainly didn't care for those with dirty blood. Or about the intellectuals, homosexuals, Romani and communists, now did you?" Captain Britain sneered. "They all got sent to the camps. Besides, when it comes to genocide, guilt by association is a given."
Captain Britain stood back and took her boot off Geist's chest. "It amazes me that after all your crimes, after all the crimes you were party to, you expect to be treated decently. I tell you, were Captain America here, he'd be about to do the same. We both learned in the War that some people are not redeemable. You certainly spent the last 60 years proving that."
Before Geist could plead further, her sword came down and impaled him in the chest. "You'll take a bit to die. I imagine the wait might be like what those in your death camps must have endured as the gas flooded their chamber."
Geist tried to curse but his systems were beginning to seize up.
Captain Britain took out a device and typed in a command before looking back down at him. "Plus, I just realized that you dying, on your back like you are, is hardly a glorious death in battle. I'm sure you would have like that, right? To ascend to Valhalla in glory? Sorry, old chap, no feasting with heroes for the likes of you."
Geist was able to spit out a truly vile curse in his native German before death took him.
XxXxX
THRONE ROOM, BIRNIN ZANA, WAKANDA, AUGUST 22nd, 2011 – AFTERNOON
T'Challa found his cousin in throne room. N'Jadaka was staring out the window, his arms behind him as if he was at parade rest. He knew his cousin was still angry with his father. T'Challa was still angry as well. In fact his mother and sister were also on that bandwagon. All of them hadn't a clue of what had truly happened that night long ago in Oakland. Now, they were all appalled by it.
"Are you here to tell me I'm not allowed in this room, cousin?" N'Jadaka said without turning about.
T'Challa came up and stood next to his cousin. "Not at all. For all that he is my king as well as my father, I do not stand with him on this. We should have been raised as brothers."
N'Jadaka turned to him with a slight smile, "I don't know about that. Then I'd have to had put up with your bratty sister for years."
T'Challa laughed at that. Shuri's quirky ways seemed to amuse his cousin. This amusement was like fuel on a fire as Shuri seemed to go out of her way to try to get a rise out of their new-found cousin."
N'Jadaka slight smile turned predatory, "Of course if I had been here, I might have shown the lovely Nakia what a real man is like!"
T'Challa didn't take the bait and merely glared at his cousin. "Come, cousin. Your skills as Killmonger may be needed. The Queen's people have detected some odd readings in orbit. They believe it may be ships of some type. From possible orbits, it is likely they are headed for Wakanda."
N'Jadaka smiled like a wolf, "Good. I've wanted to test out my Leopard suit in a real fight." He looked pensive for a bit. 'As much as it was good to see my father again, are you sure you're not going to get hit up for treason or something? I'm thinking your Dad might not appreciate you allowing me to get a crack at the heart-shaped herb."
T'Challa made a dismissive gesture, "If he does, then I will deal with it. Besides, it was not my decision alone. Both my mother and Shuri agreed. Plus, as you said when you came to us, you need the proper tools to fight our enemies. Without the power of the heart-shaped herb, the suits would be less effective. Come; put it out of your mind."
N'Jadaka seemed to accept this, "To Shuri's lair then?"
T'Challa nodded and made a gesture towards the door. The two men made their way to the main labs, giving the Wakandan salute to the various guards along the way. On entering the lab, they found that Colonel Rhodes and Sam Wilson were there as well. They both were already in their suits.
The cousins admired the additions to Sam's Falcon suit Shuri had created. "Looking good there Sam," N'Jadaka said easily.
Sam nodded before sighing, "I just wish the Princess here had had more luck. I was totally bummed to learn this suit and the one Riley died in are as much of an artifact as Cap's shield."
Shuri looked up from where she was leaning over the shoulder of a tech monitoring a screen, "Luck is not needed. All I need is time. I'll crack it and be able to recreate the necessary alloy."
Rhodey smirked and teased, "What? You mean vibranium can't do everything? I'm shocked. Truly I am."
Shuri merely stuck a tongue out and gestured for her brother and cousin to follow. She led them to a unit holding up two suits. "I've finished the updates that I can. Until I can get the nanotech to work properly, this is the best I can do for now."
T'Challa raised an eyebrow, "Best you can do? You forget, dear sister, I designed the Black Panther suit myself.
Shuri merely rolled her eyes at this, "Yes you did…and it had terrible flaws. 'Oh dear, I am running low on power! Let me swap out these batteries in combat!"
N'Jadaka laughed at the look T'Challa gave her sister. "Hate to say it cuz, she's right. Still, you've got to admit that kinetic absorption and redirect feature is great."
T'Challa sighed, "If only it could work more times. I still worry about an overload if its hit too hard."
Shuri threw up her hands, "We can only do what we can do with the tools we have. The nanotech should also help smooth out that feature. That and it will do away with the need for a separate helmet."
"Well I, for one, can't wait to try mine on," N'Jadaka said. "I like the leopard camo print. You were able to add the pigment change feature, right?"
Shuri scoffed, "Of course! I'm not an idiot like Hammer or Vanko." She turned to her brother, "Yours has it as well. You may be the Black Panther but I'm betting you'd rather be the White Panther if fighting somewhere with snow."
A cry of "Princess!" rang out right before the general alarm when up. This was followed by a powerful thrum as the city's defensive shield went from passive to active.
The three hurried over to the tech who had called them. "What do we have?" T'Challa asked calmly.
The tech pointed to a fleet of images which had not been on the scanner before, "They must have some cloaking tech."
Another tech called out, "Fly-by visuals from the International Space Station imply they are combat assault type craft."
Shuri drew a line with her finger from where the ships were towards Wakanda. "Like I suspected, they are coming here unless they are trying to trick us."
N'Jadaka shook his head, "No. We are the game-changer. If Wakanda goes down, we lose our one safe base along with all the high tech stuff here. Plus, I don't want to think what these Asgardians could do with vibranium."
"Well we better roll out one hell of a welcome carpet then," Rhodes said firmly.
T'Challa nodded, "I agree." He turned to another tech, "Send out the general alert. Inform M'Baku of this at once. Since he is willing to offer up the warriors of the Jabari to help defend Wakanda, I will take him up on it."
The main screen changed from the projected course of the enemy to that of Queen Ramonda. "With the King away in Europe, it falls to us to defend the Kingdom. What do you need?"
T'Challa gave a slight bow, "Mother, give me leave to call up all our forces. Unless things change, we have enough time to prepare."
The Queen nodded, "I shall command it so. I will take command of the Royal Guard and prepare for the city's defense. I am counting on you three to break them before they can dare enter the city."
"You know it, Auntie! We'll get it done even if we have to free-style it," N'Jadaka said with a breezy smile.
Shuri gave her cousin a dark look but the Queen merely gave a nod and the screen returned to the map. T'Challa turned to Rhodes. "My friend, marshal the non-Wakandan troops. I believe they are best used in a more aggressive defensive posture rather than staying with my mother to guard the city."
Rhodes nodded, "I agree." He turned to Sam, "Let's get on it."
As both men hustled out, T'Challa turned to his cousin, "Let us find out is Shuri's boasts can be backed up in battle."
As N'Jadaka moved towards his suit, Shuri suddenly reached out and took her brother's arm. She looked to see if anyone was listening before going on softly, "Brother, wait. I haven't wanted to say anything because I'm not sure if my calculations are correct. But I think I have a way to send a small explosive using the Tesseract back up the Bifrost if it comes."
T'Challa's face for once showed his emotions clearly, "How sure are you of this, Shuri?"
Shuri shrugged, "Better than 50% chance? My point is I know everyone will work to defeat the enemy but I wanted to tell you this. I know you are a believer in building a bridge for a fleeing foe. In this case, however, if we can take out their ships and strand them here…"
"…then they might call for the Bifrost, yes I see," T'Challa said with a thoughtful nod. "I will try, Shuri. Still, that they are coming in ships means they are probably mercenaries. I concur with Fury and the Captain that it is the obvious answer to Loki's manpower problem. We know such warriors for hire are common in the Nine Realms of theirs. They might not rate extraction via the Bifrost."
Shuri shrugged again, "We can only pray to the Panther God that they would rather not hand us a slaughter if we win the upper hand."
T'Challa clapped a hand on Shuri's shoulders, "Good work, sister. If you succeed in this, you may single-handedly help turn the tide of this war."
OoOoO
Scrapper-142 looked down from the slight crest she was on at the assembled forces arrayed behind the glittering shield. The hovercar she was in was a top of the line model from one of the many Kree munition companies. Still, she'd give up drinking for an entire month if only she could be astride Vindgöngumaður [vin-gone-go-maj] once again. She rarely allowed herself to think of her past life. It was too painful. When she was sober, she still felt the loss of her lover Kára. Yet she felt the loss of her steed the most keenly of all, regardless of how sober or not she was.
She shook her head to dispel such memories. She had two jobs to do. Both she was getting paid for. As painful as it was to be so near to her old home, she would take Loki's money. Little did the would-be king know how much she would make in capturing the heroes she had been briefed on. The Grandmaster would be beside himself with such new warriors for his Contest of Champions. Scrapper-142 smiled to herself. The look of utter loathing she could imagine on Topaz's face would almost be worth more than the bounty she'd be paid.
Still, there was the little matter of a nasty energy shield to get through before she could start counting credits. She turned to her lieutenant, a dour looking Kree deserter, "Tar'Shal, let's start the bombardment. Once we get that going, send out the drones to start attacking every village in the area. They will have to come out or leave their people playing at being savages to die."
Without an acknowledgement, the blue-skinned man began to speak into his wrist communicator and began to give orders.
She turned to her field captains, "Let's set up the widest perimeter we can around the dome without risk of them dropping it and dashing out and punching through."
They all saluted and got to work. Soon her mercenary force made up of the likes of Kronians, Chitauri, Badoon, Contraxians and even some Luphomoids refugees who had turned to mercenary work after Thanos decimated their planet. All along with the many races which resembled the Midgardians. They were a far cry from the Æsir forces she'd been a part of long ago, but she was confident they could accomplish this mission.
Her foes were only Midgardians after all.
OoOoO
"Remind me again that we're the primitives from a backwater world again," N'Jadaka said almost to himself.
T'Challa chuffed at that, "Indeed. Mercenaries or not, they act like if they can entice us to drop the shield than our fate is sealed.
M'Baku leaned against his spear and shook his head in wonder. "While we don't have as much in the way of artillery as most armies, it's not like we don't have long range weapons. They are practically begging to be killed bunched up like that."
With his helmet still retracted, Rhodes gave M'Baku a flat look, "Your forces are just as bunched up."
"Bah! With the vibranium in our cloaks, it would take a sustained bombardment before we were in danger. I can't see any such protection that their infantry carries." M'Baku said dismissively.
"They don't seem to be much into using vehicles either," N'Jadaka said. "Who would have thought that we meet aliens and we'd all be fighting with melee weapons?"
"Speak for yourself," Sam said with a smile, "I fully intend to shoot as many of these bastards as I can."
A tone on T'Challa's wrist chimed. He took up the Kimoyo bead which activated to show his mother. "T'Challa, we're tracking multiple flights towards the outlying villages from where their ships are based. It is obvious they are trying to goad us into dropping the field."
T'Challa nodded, "And we shall oblige them. Just not in the way they expect." He turned to General Okoye, "Alert the Talon crews. Have them exit through the underground tunnels. Have them engage those fighters and then, if possible, begin the attack on their ships."
N'Jadaka frowned, "You sure you want to throw away our air cover, cuz?"
T'Challa smirked and gestured first to the army outside the energy barrier and then back to Rhodey and Sam, "Given they have as well, I am confident that Falcon and the War Machine are up to the task."
"You know it," Rhodey said confidently even as Sam thumped his chest and proclaimed, "Damn right we can!"
T'Challa looked back down to the image of his mother, "We shall open a small portion of the shield so we may engage the enemy. Like the Asgardians, they are arrayed for hand-to-hand combat. I believe it best to oblige them."
Queen Ramonda looked thoughtful before nodding, "Risky but it will keep them engaged and allow the Talon fighters to do their work."
T'Challa smiled, "Besides, they are guests to Wakanda. I would hate for them to have come all this way and deny them the honor of falling on our spears."
OoOoO
Scrapper-142 scowled as she wiped blood and brains from what used to be her Kree aide-de-camp off her face. The battle had not progressed anything like she had expected. Firstly, the mortals had subterranean exits for their fighters. These same fighters were even now engaged in a pitched battle with her own aerial drone force. A battle not going well for the drones.
Not going well was also the situation on the ground at hand. She'd been elated when the shield had lifted enough that the two armies could clash. Even better the Wakandans came out so the battle was such that even if the shield went back up, both sides would have forces trapped on either side of it.
Her elation had quickly faded. Her lack of skimmer troops was hurting them badly. Scrapper-142 knew it had been a mistake not to put her foot down and demand they wait till such could be hired. One did not go into battle riding a winged steed and not learn the value of air cover. Worse, two of the very heroes she was hoping to capture flew almost unimpeded over the battle leaving chaos and death in their wake.
Before his death, Tar'Shal had been shocked at the level of miniaturization evident in the so called War Machine. The amount of ordinance deployed before he flew off for resupply had been daunting. The red flier had less lethal weapons but was nimble enough to get close and work to pick off her officers. It was already causing some panic in the ranks.
The Wakandans themselves had been a shock. Scrapper-142 mentally kicked herself for seeming them as mere primitives. Their city and shield was ample proof they weren't. Did not her own people fight with such weapons? She realized her own prejudices had made her think such warriors could only be found in the higher realms of the Nine Worlds. The Wakandans were proving her wrong.
Still, the battle was in the balance and she had finally spied their obvious leader. While there was another in a similar suit, her mission brief had talked of a Black Panther. The warrior in all black armor tearing through her troops with clawed hands fit the bill. Taking him out would break their morale and net her a sizable bonus from the Grandmaster.
Scrapper-142 grinned like a wolf. In some respects, if the attacked failed, she had already been paid. As she wasn't a mercenary leader, only her pride would be hurt. However, catching heroes for the Grandmaster was where her real money would be coming from. So without a word, she leapt from her command vehicle and sprinted toward where the Black Panther was literally cutting a swath through her troops.
Scrapper-142 had long ago learned that honor in a fight was usually only cared about when one had overwhelming strength. Here, she wasn't going to bother playing nice. As soon as she was close enough, she unerringly threw out the Obedience Disk, hitting the Panther in the forehead as he spun around to face her.
A flick of the control had the Panther on his knees in almost an instant. Scrapper-142 smiled. All too easy. She pulled out the power suppression shackles even as she keyed her communicator to one of her secret Sakaar aides. "Vaartag, I've got a pick-up. Home in on my…"
A blast of purple energy hit her and threw her backwards, both her communicator and disk control device flying out of her hands. She quickly had her sword out but even as she jumped to her feet, the Black Panther was there. Scrapper-142 screamed as a clawed hand cut through her armor and would have eviscerated her if she hadn't pushed away at the last second.
Even so, her sword was still steady and it seemed to give her opponent pause. "By the fires of Muspelheim! Why aren't you down? There was enough power in that to take out a Skull high on Euphoro-Dust!"
"I must admit to some trepidation that you would think such would be enough to bring the Black Panther low," the black clad man said, sounding a bit hurt. "Wakandan tech is not so fragile. Besides, thank you for providing a test of my sister's work. I had worried about overloading the system. I do not worry about it now."
Scrapper-142 cursed and frantically fought back as the Black Panther went from standing stillness to an explosive flurries of attacks. She was becoming worried for the first time in centuries that perhaps she had bitten off more than she could chew.
Yet her plight had been seen by one of her captains as a team of huge Kronians managed to make her foe break contact. The battle felt much worse when in the weeds and she knew she needed to get back into control. A blast of horns drew her attention. She and the Kronians turned to see a portion of the Wakandan forces part. Her eyes went wide as the other one wearing armor similar to the Black Panther surged towards the line while he and those behind him charged on what looked to be armored animals with a nasty horn on their snouts! The warrior raised a spear and his cry of "Wakanda Forever!" could be heard over the din of battle.
Scrapper-142 unleashed vile oaths learned from tongues from around the galaxy as the riders smashed into the line, causing it to give way. This was getting out of hand!
OoOoO
"Brother! You were right!" Shuri said into the microphone next to her work station. Her fingers already typing commands for another task even as she had barely finished the first one."
For all that he was in combat, T'Challa's voice was calm in her earpiece, "So she is Asgardian? She certainly cursed like one."
Shuri nodded even though he couldn't see it. Her eyes still looking at the symbol on the screen. A symbol which was mirrored in the tattoo on the woman her brother had fought. "Not just any Asgardian, brother. In searching for what we know, I found that red tattoo of hers shows she's a Valkyrie!"
An alien scream turned to a death rattle before her brother responded, "A chooser of the slain? Why in Bast's name would one such be running a mercenary unit? That makes absolutely no sense!"
"I agree, brother. Yet it is a matter to ponder later. While she may well be a deserter, the fact she's from the Nine Realms means she might call for the Bifrost. As distasteful as it sounds, T'Challa, you must pressed them harder." Shuri's face was like stone. Even after Fimbulwinter Friday, she didn't want to ever get used to advocating a tactical slaughter for strategic gains.
It was apparent the Prince felt the same as there was a pause before he wearily replied, "Yes. You are right. As repugnant as this is, taking out the Bifrost is too important. Even if it's temporarily."
Shuri let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, "Babba always says that wearing the crown could be crushing. I never realized till now what he meant."
"Let us work that we end this so we need not make such decisions again, sister," T'Challa said before cutting the connection.
Shuri looked over to where her bomb was waiting, Tesseract blue energy bathing the special chamber the explosive rested in. She was ready. Now was just waiting to see if the slaughter she had pushed for would not be in vain.
OoOoO
While Scrapper-142 had done many things which would have stained her sense of honor in her younger years, one things she tried not to do was let her pride get to her. It was difficult as her people had a well of deep feelings. But as more of her troops went into the arms of death, her pride wasn't worth it. She turned to the Rigellian tech working at a portable comm unit. "Get that working within a minute or I'll see if Rigellian spines are as big as your heads!"
The short alien in the green armor favored by those of Rigel squeaked in terror. Even his golden mask couldn't hide the fear. Even so, a moment later, the unit hummed back into life. Scrapper-142 muttered under her breath, "Finally!" It had taken far too long to repair the damage the energy pulse from a Wakandan missile which had exploded over the fight had caused. Again, it was apparent that while this was indeed backwater Midgard, the Wakandans might as well be Asgardian exiles.
Her delight at being able to be in contact with her forces was dashed as the voice of the Contraxian she'd left in command of their ships was cut off mid-report. It was obvious that he'd been frantically trying to contact her that the ships were under attack. Ships which from the distant explosions and smoke coming up from over the ridgeline were now most certainly destroyed.
She looked back at the battle. Her forces were already fighting to keep their withdrawal an orderly retreat and not a panicked rout. Sadly, the latter was becoming more likely. Scrapper-142 knew that when it was clear their ticket out of here was gone, there would be no stopping the panic.
Pride be damned! She turned to the captain who had replaced Tar'Shal as her aide, "Contact the troops. I'm going to attempt to have us extracted via the Bifrost."
The Sovereign male, whose golden skin was marred by a long scar on his face, nodded and quickly began carrying out her orders. She trotted to a spot away from everything, careful to track to see if the two enemy fliers were about. Scrapper-142 didn't want to get sniped as she worked to save her troops.
She raised her sword to the sky, wincing as the wound to her midsection pulsed with pain under the field bandages, "Here me, Heimdall, Watcher at the Gate. I, Brünhilde Gunvordötter, beseech you to open the Bifrost. We fight for Prince Loki; I ask…I beg you not to let my warriors die this day!"
OoOoO
"Yes! Great Goddess, thank you!" Shuri said in a squeal more in line with her age than her station. Her fingers were already in motion as screens around the room showed multiple bursts of the Bifrost coming down from the sky. It almost looked to Shuri as if one large beam had been broken into smaller ones. She cursed at first as they began to disappear before her system was ready.
However it became apparent that only the majority of the mercenary force had been transported. The reserves and command group were left behind and pulling back. The Tesseract's hum began to get irritatingly piercing as it powered up, but Shuri ignored it as she kept her finger poised over the button that might bring victory to Earth. Sure enough, another set of transit beams came down. With a panther-like growl, Shuri hit the button, "Got you!"
OoOoO
It was said that Heimdall could see the dew dry on a blade of grass in Nornheim. That he would witness the first smile of a Kree woman as she held her newborn babe for the first time on Hala. While true, Heimdall was a sentinel. He watched as he guarded the Bifrost. His task was to blow the Gjallarhorn to warn the Nine Realms of attack. Thus Heimdall was used to having time to see the enemies of Asgard preparing. To see them array their hosts before working to try and hide themselves from his sight.
Thus even his sight was clouded as the rainbow colors of the Bifrost were cast down onto Midgard to pull the remaining warriors away from defeat. It was the flash of blue, a primordial shade going back to the beginnings of the universe, which caught Heimdall's attention. Even so, he barely had time to raise defenses long unused before the Chamber he had stood in for so long erupted in an explosion. As shrapnel cut into him, Heimdall saw more flashes of blue. This time, Heimdall recognized the signature of vibranium.
Ignoring his wounds, Heimdall scrambled to his feet and pulled free his sword to shut down the Bifrost. As the roar of the explosion and the fading Bifrost beam ended, Heimdall quickly assessed the damage. He frowned even as he was elated. The damage, while bad, was not severe enough to cause panic.
Heimdall glanced down to Midgard, his eyes easily finding a teen doing a silly victory dance in her lab. He found himself smiling, "Well played Princess of Wakanda. You kept the bomb small enough to hide it. Well played indeed."
A quick glance tugged at his heart. The look on the one-time Valkyrie's face spoke that she knew doom was upon her. Heimdall cast that thought away as he called up the magic to speak to Odin. Heimdall saw far too many faces of the doomed to let it impede him from his duty.
As the magicks took hold, the face of a very irate Odin appeared in the shimmering energy hanging in front of him. "Speak! I felt the explosion. How fares the Bifrost?"
Heimdall gave a respectful nod even as he absent-mindedly wiped some blood out of his right eye, "My lord, the chamber has sustained considerable damage. However, the defenses held and repair should be easily possible. However, without a significant expenditure of Dark Magic, this repair might take a fortnight."
"A fortnight?" Odin repeated.
Heimdall nodded with a contrite look, "I am sorry, my lord. While the device was small, it was powerful. I will say that while the small size kept it hidden for longer, the mortals might have been able to do much more damage if they had made it larger. I believe this was forbearance on their part. Truly, they understand you have unfettered little of Asgard's true might."
Odin's good eye narrowed at this. The flush of his face told Heimdall how angry his liege was. Yet from outside the range of the magic, Heimdall heard the queen, "Husband. Allowing Loki to show is worth is something I have always counseled. Yet this was an attack on Asgard itself. Already our power is being bled away for little purpose. Please, let this come to an end now. Every day gives us more reason to stay and seek revenge which is paid back in kind. When will it end? Additionally, each day gives our enemies strength as ours lessens."
Odin visibly took a deep breath and closed his eye. He then opened it and an air of command came over his features, "Heimdall, prepare for my coming. Loki's Midgardian adventure is at an end. I will send my ravens to alert the host to withdraw and wait for their return to Asgard."
Heimdall bowed, "It shall be done, my King."
XxXxX
DEVYATOYE OBLAKO, THREE MILES ABOVE THE RED SEA, AUGUST 22nd, 2011 – TWILIGHT
Þrúðr flicked her wrist which caused the blood on her axe to paint the nearby wall red. As she strode back towards the desk with all its controls, her foot broke the fallen glasses of the odious excuse for a man she'd just killed.
Her second was already skimming through the system. While this floating sky-base might be impressive by Midgardian standards, it was still crude to her eyes. This included the computer system. While she rarely used one, she was a Princess of Asgard. She could work most technology used throughout the galaxy with little in the way of time to master it. This, however, was not a skill most had access to. Those of Vanaheim were usually loath to bother to learn such things. She chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder, "Agnar Hrothgarson, you continue to astound me. Did Baldur the Brave teach you such skills?"
Agnar looked up, the lack of fullness of his beard showed his relative youth. He was scowling but Þrúðr knew that was almost his default face. "I learned a few things pursuing Skull renegades in my day."
"Was this before you tried to best me in Nornheim or after you made a complete fool of yourself in Sessrúmnir [Sehs-room-near] during the Mid-Summer Ball?" Þrúðr asked with a cheeky grin as she checked her axe for nicks while wiping it clean with a cloth.
Agnar's scowl deepened even as he turned back to the system he was accessing. "It was a good plan!"
Þrúðr laughed, "Which part? The part where you thought you could wear a dress convincingly to get close enough or that the Queen's guards would somehow miss the sword you stashed among the floral display?"
Agnar just grumbled under his breath and kept working. Þrúðr smiled to herself at the memory of the man on his knees trying to explain to Queen Freya why he'd dare interrupt one of her parties. Lucky for Agnar, his Queen had been merciful when the rather pathetic tale had come out.
Þrúðr walked over to the bay of windows. She looked down below to see her troops rounding up the remains of Dreykov's men. Her smile turned to a frown. The so-called Red Room had proven far too hard to shut down for her liking. The Black Widows had been a thorn in their side since almost their first day on Midgard.
She looked over to the bisected remains of the former general. Þrúðr had come across many evils in her days. Few were as bad as the one Dreykov had perpetrated on so many innocent Midgardian girls. That, at least, was at an end now.
She turned back to see Agnar muttering to himself. Her boon-companion did that when he was thinking hard. The smile returned to Þrúðr's face in thinking how far the two had come. She had first met the young warrior while traveling in Vanaheim. He had blocked her path at a crossroad and demanded the chance to prove his worth.
She'd beaten him without drawing her sword or even taking her right hand off the pommel of it. For years following, Þrúðr found herself facing the stubborn warrior. So intent to make a name for himself by defeating the Mighty Thor's daughter. Each time, Agnar got better even as his plans got more elaborate even if sometimes this was matched by their foolhardiness.
A hundred years or so went by before Agnar got skilled enough that Þrúðr had to put some effort in defeating him. By this time, she'd grown oddly fond of the man. Again and again, he was defeated. More often than not in a manner which brought scorn rather than honor to his name. However, again and again, Agnar would show up and continue to challenge her.
She later learned that Baldur himself had taken the man under his wing for a time as the Bright One had dealt with some issues coming from Þrúðr's Jotun kin. They had had to save Queen Karnilla's people from being turned to stone through the sorcery of the Utgard-Loki. Agnar had learned a lot from Baldur and it showed.
Still, it wasn't for decades to come that Agnar challenged her at the wrong time. She had been in a hurry to save some kidnapped children and didn't have time for him. She had brutally taken him down. Even as injured as he was, Agnar offered to help to make up for slowing her down. In the course of saving those girls, Þrúðr had told him that if he wanted to live another day, to stop trying to fight her.
To say she was shocked when he once again accosted her at a crossroad (in Alfheim this time) was an understatement. Before she could make good her vow to kill him, Agnar had shocked her further by asking to be her servant.
And she had accepted.
Now, almost another century later, Agnar had risen to be less of someone who tended her luggage and fed her hounds to being her aide-de-camp. In doing so, Agnar had gathered more honor than defeating her could probably ever could have.
Her faith in him was rewarded as the screens on the wall activated and started to scroll through dozens of women all around the world.
Þrúðr scowled, "Agnar. I need you to get a team together and use the facilities here to contact these women. Offer them that if they take up Asgard's colors, accept our coin, we will further work to reverse what was done to them. To allow that they might finally take up a mother's role if they so choose."
Agnar put his hand to his heart, "It shall be done, Princess. What of this place once that is accomplished?"
Þrúðr looked back at Dreykov's corpse. "Blow it out of the sky. I want no monument left to the evil done in this place." Without a backward glance, Þrúðr strode away to go confer with her lieutenants.
As she made her way down to where many of the various skiffs were grounded on the deck, Þrúðr did have to admit the evil man had been clever. Hiding the sky-base over the Fimbulwinter Ice would be akin to building a bonfire on the plains at night. Hovering his fastness over the Red Sea between two sets of such ice was genius. Due to the ice and its affects, few ships journeyed into the area. Fewer still gave the region much thought as it was obvious that the ice had destroyed everything.
Þrúðr had to smile grimly at how evil men were never as clever as they thought. One of the Black Widows had been freed from Dreykov's control. How did not matter to Þrúðr. All that matter is this former Widow had turned on her master. The one who had taken her and her late sister and turned them into monsters. Þrúðr hoped the woman would hear of Þrúðr's offer. She should be rewarded for helping to bring down Dreykov and his vile schemes.
"Oh All-Father…hear my plea."
Þrúðr stopped and listened. She looked around but other than a few warriors on the lookout on various levels, she was alone. Had it merely been the wind?
"Please, let this fallen one ask a boon, All-Father."
Þrúðr went still. While it was faint, this time the words were clear.
"For my time harvesting the fallen to fill your halls, please…let me touch the soil of Asgard one last time before I join my sisters."
Þrúðr frowned at this. It sounded like a Valkyrie was dying and asking her grandfather that she be allowed to die in Asgard. That made no sense! Queen Freya held sway over the Valkrior and they chose the slain at her bidding. The All-Father had nothing to do with the slain. So why call on him? Why not pray to Freya and ask to die in Vanaheim?
And more importantly, Þrúðr thought, why was she hearing the prayer? Was it because she was of Odin's line and the closest of the royal blood on Midgard?
A thought struck her and Þrúðr cursed. She'd been so caught up in taking down the Red Room she had forgotten that today was the push to test Wakanda's defenses. Whoever was calling her must be part of that force. That she was wanting to die away from Midgard did not bode well for the success of that attack.
Þrúðr ignored the prayer as she leapt off the gangway and landed on one knee on the flight deck. She further ignored all the warriors who hailed her. Instead she walked over to one of the under-captains and barked out, "I have a task only one of the royal blood can do. Inform Agnar and the others I'm leaving to scout Wakanda."
Not acknowledging his stammered reply, Þrúðr made her way to her father's chariot. She stopped in front of the two sleeping goats and with a quick movement took up her axe and slammed its haft in front of them. Both jumped to their feet, making the odd sound which passed for a growl.
Þrúðr took up her axe and shook it at them. "The All-Father is being called by someone who shouldn't exist. I am the only one close enough to aid them. By my father's name, if she dies because you both did not fly as if the hordes of Helheim were nipping at your heels, I will ensure you spend many days regretting your rebelliousness! Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
Tanngnjóstr and Tanngrisnir both looked to each other before meeting her eye and giving a bleat of acceptance. Þrúðr did not let the smug sense of satisfaction show on her face. It was good that the goats realized that there was only so much of their passive-aggressiveness she would take.
She quickly took up the reins of the chariot, "Ho! Fly us hence to Wakanda!"
XxXxX
THE BADLANDS, WAKANDA, AUGUST 22nd, 2011 – EVENING
Brünhilde clutched at her stomach and groaned.
As much as her gut wound ached or how much the spear point she had taken to the shoulder hurt, she knew she had to get away from the crashed hoverbike. The one she had managed to liberate from a Wakanda scout before her forces had been forced to surrender.
Curst the Black Panther! Curse the other one, the one in the colors like the long grasses she was staggering through. Brünhilde cursed herself for good measure. She had once drunkenly vowed never to leave Sakaar. Brünhilde wished that she hadn't second-guessed her drunk self. If she hadn't, she'd still be Scrapper-142 and one of the Grandmaster's best hunters.
Now she was a wounded warrior, bleeding out in a strange land, so far from the lands of her ancestors. Forsaken. The Bifrost had not come again. Brünhilde cursed that so many of the troops who had been near her had to pay the price for her past.
Brünhilde stumbled through the underbrush, heedless of the noise. Speed was more important. She had to get to more open land. While easier to spot, the tall grass left an easy to follow trail for any pursuers to follow.
The sun was almost setting when Brünhilde's strength finally fled her. She managed to find a small knot of trees and had collapsed against one. She knew it was probable that it would be the only marker of her death. Her bones to lie under its boughs.
She managed to get herself situated so that her back was against the tree. Brünhilde then worked to bind up her wounds as best she could. Such wounds would kill a mortal, but she still was an Asgardian. Even so, the Wakandan weapons had hurt her like no other blade had ever done. She truly worried that she might not live to be captured.
Brünhilde had to laugh bitterly. That her fate might be tied to being captured. All those years of combat and now the best she could hope for was being dragged away in chains. The world had indeed gone mad.
For how not to see it so with the Mighty Thor killed by an arrow from a mortal? Loki being on a tottering throne on Midgard. Asgardian forces, the pride of the Nine Realms having trouble bringing the mortals to heel. Brünhilde felt that perhaps Ragnarök was nigh. It might explain things. Her mother once told her that Ragnarök came not because of the actions of Surtur but of pride and hubris. There would be a day when Asgard had lost its way. When it looked to its glorious past instead of forging a better future. On that day, Ragnarök would break them and cast them down as penance for losing sight of the true way of things.
After hearing of the battles on Midgard and seeing it in action before her eyes, Brünhilde could not help but feel that she and her fellow Asgardians had allowed themselves to grow soft and complacent. Surely Ragnarök could not be far off if mortals could bring low even the warriors she had arrayed against them.
Minutes trickled past…or perhaps hours. Brünhilde wasn't sure. All she knew was she faded in and out of sleep. Luckily, the flatness of the plain and the light of the moon made it almost as daylight for her Asgardian eyes. Thus it was that even as she drowsed, the sound of padding feet roused her.
In time, a group of animals stalked out of the gloom. Brünhilde recognized the patterns on their bodies as being like the ones worn on the armor of the other Wakandan hero. The one who had led the charge of their armored beasts.
Brünhilde sighed. To die at the fangs and claws of such was hardly a fitting end for a warrior. Yet even as the beasts drew closer, Brünhilde found it difficult to care. She still had her sword and dagger. The beasts would be hard pressed to hurt her. However, after the events of the day, Brünhilde wondered about that. Her own sense of self had been shattered. Mayhap these beasts could devour her as if she was some hapless mortal.
Brünhilde realized that, in a way, she was wishing it was just all over. The drinking and the work had never drowned out the sorrow. The memory of Kára taking the killing blow meant for her. The horror of seeing Vindgöngumaður likewise skewered by multiple blades. The utter despair of being the only one of her sisters to survive. If her life on Sakaar could be called surviving.
Even a straw death was better than living with the loss anymore.
"Away with you beasts; she is not for the likes of you!"
Brünhilde looked up to see the felines scampering off. A tall figure carrying some form of lantern casting blue light was coming closer. It took a moment to realize that the woman's voice she had heard had been speaking Asgardian!
Finally the woman was close enough for Brünhilde to see who was potentially rescuing her. It was not what Brünhilde was expecting. While the Æsir were not a small people, the warrior in front of her was truly massive. In her right hand she carried an axe which caused something to click in the back of her mind. She had seen that axe before. But where?
The woman stared down at her, her face not unkind, "Who are you to call out to the All-Father for aide?"
Brünhilde could not help but blink at this. How had her prayers to the All-Father been heard by this shieldmaiden? "I am Scrapper-142 of Sakaar. I was trying to save my troops. I felt the King could help."
The woman went down on her haunches, putting the lantern down and steadying herself on the heft of her axe. "No. That is not your name. You are injured and so my not have realized you replied in the tongue of Asgard. You may be from Sakaar but you are not of Sakaar. I ask you again, who are you to beg for the All-Father's mercy?"
Brünhilde shifted a bit and pain lanced through her, "Who is asking?"
Instead of being angry, the woman chuckled, "As I am not the one bleeding out, I supposed I can lead off. Very well, I am Þrúðr Járnsaxadöttir, Princess of Asgard, first-born daughter to Thor Odinson. I am a general of the host and look to the Lady Sif for my orders. Now…who might you be, warrior?"
Brünhilde blinked at this news. She realized that her sense of time was more off than she thought. The Asgard of her memories was obviously further away than she had imagined. Her eyes were drawn to the axe in the princess' hand. "Járnbjörn. That axe. It's Járnbjörn is it not? I remember seeing it among the gifts the dwarves of Nidavellir brought to barter for protection of their realm."
Þrúðr nodded, "It is. My father's first weapon after he officially became a prince of the realm. Before he took up Mjölnir, of course."
"Why would he take up such a cursed weapon?" Brünhilde all but spat.
Naked surprise flowed into anger, "What say you? How dare you profane the weapon which Odin's son used to protect the Realm Eternal?"
Brünhilde laughed (and tried not to have it end up in coughing) "Profane it? Did your father work some miracle to wash the blood off it after his thrice-cursed sister gave it up to him?"
Þrúðr looked surprised again, "Sister? Warrior, your wounds are making you delirious. My late father is the only child of the blood of Odin and Frigga."
Brünhilde was struck dumb. "Wait, how can you say this? Hela helped the All-Father bring the glory of Asgard into being. Rivers of blood, oceans of blood were spilled during those campaigns. Where ever the All-Father led the armies of Asgard, Hela Friggadöttir was there. Riding her fell companion Fenris and striking down the foe with Mjölnir. How can you not know this? There are grand friezes of it in the throne room of the All-Father himself!"
"Again, warrior, you are confused," Þrúðr said slowly as if to a thick child, "The only one of similar to that is Hel, the ruler of Helheim. A shadowy being none but the likes of Skadi would dare visit. Even the mad Amora the Enchantress would never think to go there in search of allies."
Brünhilde laughed again, "Nay princess; it is you who are confused. I was there. I was of the Valkrior. Me and my sisters tasked to choose the slain to fill the halls of Valhöl."
Irritation marred the beauty of the princess' face, "You speak nonsense! The dead are housed in Valhalla and it is Queen Freya who oversees this. You are a pretender!"
Brünhilde rolled so Þrúðr could see her tattoo, "You can't fake this mark. No, I was of the Valkrior. I, Brünhilde Gunvordöttir of the Third Wing. I flew with my sisters as the battles raged across the Nine Realms. Fought for the All-Father, took up the dead to be judged worthy to be part of the ranks of heroes, whether be the first chosen of Freya or to fill the ranks of Odin's Einherjar to fight at his side on Ragnarök. All through these battles, his daughter, Hela the Goddess of Death was at his side. Before even the All-Father grew fearful about her lust for power and blood. So he sent us to rein her in, to bring her in chains before his throne. For all our prowess and skill, all the All-Father did was send all of us to our deaths at her hands. All but me. The lost one. The forgotten one."
Brünhilde broke down into tears. The memory of that day seemingly fresh behind her mind's eye. Through it all, she still gasped out, "How can you not know of this? Has the bravery of my sister's been lost? What cruel magicks could erase the blood away from those times? Do you think the likes of Thanos, the Mad Titan, do not array their armies in our lands for no reason? The echoes of the dying, crushed under Asgard's might still ring throughout among the Galaxy. Oh so many like to try and forget. To act as if the Nine Realms are almost a myth so as not to remember how Hela slew legions. How she, to this day, is boogey-man mother's used for centuries to scare children into their beds."
OoOoO
Þrúðr was at a loss. She had come across many a deserter in her time. She knew the type. Knew the lies they told. The story Brünhilde was telling was not of that ilk. Instead it smacked of the tragic tales she'd heard in mead-halls throughout the Nine Realms. While other boasted of their deeds, warriors like this would stare as if days long past were fresh in their minds. When they spoke of surviving when their comrades fell around them. The sense of loss, guilt and despair.
Looking at the still crying woman, Þrúðr made a decision. She needed answers and even if it felt like treason, Þrúðr needed those answers. The All-Father had let Loki believe he was blood kin to him and the Queen. Lied to him all those centuries of who he really was. So was it really so far-fetched that there might be other secrets he was hiding?
So she gently put a hand on the woman's shoulder, "Sister of battle, hear me. You speak to my ear as if in riddles. Yet your tears move me to want answers to those riddles. If your words are true, then why do I know not of you and your sisters? I have nary heard a tale of Valkyries working for the All-Father. The friezes in the throne show the All-Father bringing peace and prosperity to the Nine Realms. My late father was always hailed as Odin's first born. That is the truth I grew up with. You, however, seem to know a different truth."
Brünhilde visibly shook herself and fought to bring herself back from sorrowful memories. She wiped the tears from her eyes with annoyance at the weakness she obviously felt they showed, "What do mean, princess?"
Þrúðr leaned in, "I mean that I speak of hares while you speak of foxes. Both cannot be true. Things are tense since my father's death. With a Jotun as my mother, I am viewed with suspicion. Each day the new knowledge of Loki's true parentage of being an ice giant brings new mutterings."
"Wait, what?" Brünhilde broke in. "Loki is a Frost Giant? I left before he or your father was born but it's not like his name is unknown beyond the Nine Realms."
Þrúðr nodded grimly, "Aye, both my uncle and Asgard just learned of this when he took up the Cask of Ancient Winters before his generals. Once the All-Father awoke from the Odin-sleep, the tale of how the All-Father had taken up the newly orphaned son of King Fárbauti and Queen Laufey back to Asgard to raise him as his own. My mother, Princess Járnsaxa, was given to my father as a peace-weaving. Yet even being Utgard royalty, she was always viewed with suspicions. Such suspicions led my father to kill her in a drunken rage. I am sure you can guess how I am viewed."
Brünhilde nodded grimly, "Sadly I can." She thought on the news, "So if Loki fails, does that make you the next in line for the throne?"
Þrúðr shook her head, "There are my half-brothers, Beltane born of Thor and Lady Sif. Yet they have barely grown into their beards. So as I said, things are tense right now. If the All-Father somehow covered up he had a first-born daughter, what else might he be hiding? I need you to tell me of these things. Come! I have a safe-house not too far of a flight away. I can bind up your wounds and you can tell me these lost tales of Asgard."
Brünhilde looked unsure, "Are you sure, Princess? Learning of what was might make you a traitor in the All-Father's eyes."
Þrúðr harrumphed at that, "I have been seen as traitor to Asgard since I was in pig-tails. I cannot serve the Realm Eternal if I do not know the truth of how it came to be. Besides, my uncle used my father's death to bring us into this war. Yet he wouldn't have gotten the chance if the All-Father had not stripped so much of the godliness from my father. It seems to me that perhaps the All-Father wasn't being spiteful but acting towards Thor as he did not against this Hela."
Brünhilde's eyes were bright, even in the muted blue glow of the lantern, "If it ensures my sister's bravery and fall at Hela's hands get sung by the bards of the Nine Realms, I would lay down my sword and take up the skald's art."
Þrúðr smiled, "Just so. Let us be away from here. With the destruction of your forces, we might be called back to Asgard soon. I'd rather not have you any closer to the All-Father's gaze before you tell me your hidden tales."
XxXxX
ÍSSTÓLL, TONSBERG, NORWAY, AUGUST 23rd, 2011 – MORNING
Loki looked out at the ocean from his vantage point of the cliff-face. For some reason he had come to like this spot. It had a rock one could sit on and watch the sea and clouds. The wind and sea air would be biting cold to a mortal but to Loki it felt like a warm blanket filled with motherly love.
Such comfort was needed as the results from Wakanda were not good. While Loki had felt a loss would not be surprising, the scope of the lost had been. Without the Cask of Ancient Winters, Loki's options were limited to ignoring this bastion of the enemy or committing a much larger force against it. One that might succeed in taking Wakanda but then lose Midgard due to the losses.
For now Loki felt it prudent to recruit more mercenaries to deal with the more mundane rebels and work. This would free up more forces and give him time to further convince the bulk of the mortals that their lives would be better under his rule. With such support, the rebels grip would find no purchase. While the rebels had fled their mountain hide-out, it spoke well that it was from mortals who had pointed out how likely the rebels had been using it. Even fighting an unworthy war as the rebels were doing left traces. If Loki could continue to marshal the mortals to his side, there would soon be nowhere they could hide.
A loud squawk had Loki whirling around. A large raven with a parchment tied to his leg stared at him from the rock. Loki pursed his lips. A missive from the All-Father could be good news, ill news or both. "Ho there, Hugin. What news of Asgard do you bring me?"
The raven flew up and landed on Loki's outstretched arm. He deftly took the parchment. As he did so, with another loud squawk, Hugin flew back to the rock and continued to stare at him with those far-seeing eyes.
Loki broke the wax imprinted with the royal seal. He unrolled the parchment and began to read. As he did so, his anger began to boil. Loki carefully rolled the parchment back up even if he did want to burn it.
The All-Father was recalling the host! He would be denied his revenge.
Loki looked back at his keep. No! He had one last trick. The last scrying he had done had been odd. At first Loki felt that his own desires to see the heroes into their death barrows had clouded the Seeing. Perhaps, it was more that they were underground, hiding like rats?
The message had said that the Bifrost would take them back. Yet Loki knew his father would have had to use a great amount of Dark Magic to fix it. Loki's own magicks had alerted him to the attack on Heimdall's lair. Thus, in repairing the Bifrost so quickly, Odin might have to return to the Odin-Sleep far sooner if not within days.
Loki smiled grimly to himself. Yes. Victory at the last was possible and he could finesse this. In a flash, Loki's magic was upon Hugin. In moments, Loki was satisfied as Hugin took flight in a rather drunken fashion. By the time Hugin returned to Asgard, the time would allow Loki enough time to state he had gotten the recall order after he left for the strike.
Loki stroked his chin even as he hurried back to the keep. The last part would be the trickiest even for the Trickster God himself. A trick he knew he could only pull off once. He'd call down the Bifrost at the appointed time. Yet he'd redirect it to his target instead of returning to Asgard.
Loki smiled to himself. A weakened Odin would have to accept giving forgiveness in the face of Loki's victory instead of punishment for not obeying the order. It didn't matter. Was he not Loki Lie-Smith? He had long learned just the right lies to tell Odin. He'd spin some yarn about a last minute bit of news which 'forced' him to take this last chance to avenge the likes of the Warriors Three.
With the cream of the rebels heroes and other top people dead, there would be no one to oppose his rule. Once Odin was back in the Odin-Sleep, it would be easy to win the old houses to his side in keeping Midgard. They already clamored for a more violent response to the rebel's crimes. Pleasing them would gain enough loyalty for him to one day gain the throne of Asgard as well.
Besides, it wasn't like Odin had any other children of his own to put on the throne!
XxXxX
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Getting close to the (ahem) Endgame now. Even though this is projected to have 12 chapters, I pretty much have the next chapter written along with a bit of the last chapter. So hopefully this will be all wrapped up soon and then I can do the same for One of One so I can FINALLY finish Rejected Path.
Translations: Advice to other writers. Do the research instead of just making stuff up. It takes longer but you end up learning a lot of cool stuff. That and Google Earth can be your friend!
Devyatoye Bosanko: Cloud Nine in Russian. The origin of the phrase "being on cloud nine" as a term for euphoria comes from Victorian times when the largest cloud (cumulonimbus) was so listed as a Cloud Nine. Thus being on cloud nine was the equivalent of being on a floating island away from the cares of the world. My use of this term, however, comes from architects Buckminster Fuller and Shoji Sadao proposed the construction of a 1-mile-diameter thermal airship in 1960. The idea was to create a floating abode where residents could enjoy a migratory lifestyle. I figured this was a fitting name for Dreykov's skybase.
Prälat Wellenhöfen Straße: German for Prelate Wellenhöfen Street. Given a prelate is a bishop or other high ranking ecclesiastical type, I can image the street is honoring a local person of that rank named Wellenhöfen as it is a known German surname.
Vindgöngumaður: Wind Walker. Brünhilde's Pegasus lost in the battle with Hela.
Brünhilde Gunvordötter: Brünhilde is actually Valkyrie's canon name. Of course in the comics she's your typical blonde type. Gunvor is an old Norse female name meaning "alert in war" which sounds like the type of mom who'd end up with a Valkyrie for a daughter.
Sessrúmnir: Freya's palace
Hel vs. Hela: Without giving spoilers, just know there is a reason Hel is considered a shadowy figure and why no one but the dead enter Helheim!
Baldur the Brave: Agnar and his time with Baldur are all comic canon from a Walt Simonson mini-series. Also, Alfheim is the home of the light elves. Not a place where muppet aliens with a taste for cats live.
Meta! Þrúðr hearing the prayer meant for Odin is taken from another Walt Simonson comic where the last Viking prays to Thor. Thor comes and finds an elaborate gambit of death traps, all put forth so this last Viking could trick Thor into fighting him so he could go to Valhalla as he was the last of his people. This entire storyline was blatantly stolen and used in an episode of Samurai Jack on Cartoon Network. Stolen or not, the episode was EPIC! I'm sure Walt Simonson thought so.
Dr. Nikolaus Geist: While an actual comic canon person, I've mostly based the look of him off Hellboy's Karl Ruprect Kroenen. Mostly because the comic canon cyborg version struck me as odd given he was the head of a mystical society.