Mjolnir

by B. C. James

  Thor allowed his deep reservoir of rage to feed the sword. The emotional composure that he displayed when he first found himself face to face with Loki proved to be the calm before the storm. Following in the wake of that steady self-control was a wild-eyed tempest. The blade seemed to stop being an object separate and different from the Thunder God and now acted as an extension of his arm.

  Loki was giving up ground and countering the attacks as best he could. Even so, every now and then a cut would get through and leave a dripping line of crimson on his shoulder or arms. As Thor pressed his attack, he noticed that low attacks against Loki were consistently blocked, but he seemed to have trouble countering anything that was aimed high. The crisscross of slash marks that decorated Loki’s shoulders were a testament to this fact.

  With his enemy completely on the defensive, Thor gave up on the idea of trying to cripple him by slashing at the legs, or anything else he could hit below the waist, and went high on Loki. His hope was that his shape-shifting foe would either weaken or make a mistake that allowed the Thunder God to separate Loki’s head from his shoulders.

  A shudder of realization worked its way up Thor’s spine as he suddenly recognized that he had been suckered. Loki ducked one of Thor’s high and wild swings. With the Thunder God momentarily off balance, the God of Lies tripped him. As he was falling forward, Loki spun and buried the hammer between his adversary’s shoulder blades.

  Thor hit the ground hard, but immediately rolled to his left. A hammer strike made impact with the ground at the very spot where he was lying just a fraction of a second beforehand. The ground shook as the head of the war hammer slammed into the earth.

  Loki raised Mjölnir again and struck down at Thor in an attempt to squish the god into the desert floor. This time, the earth moved so violently that Thor was tossed into the air. He landed on his feet and spun to meet his foe. Loki turned toward Thor and the two immortals locked eyes. Suddenly Thor knew that Loki had figured Mjölnir out. It was just a matter of moments now before the battle ended.

  Loki took a weak, slow swing at Thor that that was easily blocked. Even though his sword stopped the hammer, he felt the force of the impact deep down into his bones. The grin on his enemy’s face told him that Loki was just playing with him now.

  Loki began to torture his foe in his own way. Each time Thor blocked a hammer strike it caused him pain and took a little more of the fight out of him. Each assault with Mjölnir was a more intense than the previous one before it. Thor began to feel pity for those he had battled in the past. Thor might be heartless when it came to quarterbacks and giants, but he would never have extended their suffering as Loki was doing. The majority of Thor’s conflicts were quick and decisive.

  Exhaustion and pain were getting the better of Thor as he dropped to one knee. He refused to give up and kept his sword high, blocking every agonizing, bone jarring impact. He could see in Loki’s eyes that the game was becoming tiresome to him, and he was eager to finish it.

  He raised Mjölnir once more and Thor could almost feel the low hum of energy as forks of lightning began to crackle from the stolen hammer. At least it would be a quick death.

  Before Loki could deliver the deathblow to Thor, he was hit in the face with a burst of laser light. The God of Lies was still disoriented when two more bolts struck him on the cheek and squarely between the eyes. Loki howled in pain as his free hand instinctively went to cover his scorched and disfigured face. Temporarily blinded, he lashed out with Mjölnir at anything that might be around him. Thor stood up and quickly stepped back, staying out of range of Loki’s wild swings.

  As Loki thrashed, Thor leveled the sword at his enemy. When the God of Lies raised the hammer again to make another series of wild, blind attacks Thor took a well-aimed swing at Loki’s arm and severed his hand at the wrist. The disembodied appendage fell to the ground with its fingers still curled around Mjölnir’s handle. Loki collapsed. While on the ground, another laser bolt caught Loki just above his right ear.

  Thor knelt down close to Loki. The features of the shape-shifting God melted and reformed. Even as they coalesced into the face that was uniquely Loki’s, it was still a charred and smoking visage. Thor could smell the acrid scent of cooked flesh coming from his rival.

  Fenris and Hela stood together with stunned looks of disbelief on their faces. They had long been privy to their father’s plan and had kept their distance while he fought Thor. They would allow their dad the honor of defeating the legendary Thunder God in single combat. Now they just held their ground, unsure of what to do as Thor hovered over their vanquished father, staring at the hammer resting on the ground. His for the taking.

  Baldr walked out from behind an overturned car and joined Thor. “You okay, buddy?”

  “A little beat up, but nothing I can’t get past. By the way, thanks for the assist, Baldr. That was huge.” He pulled Baldr to him and gave him a hug. It was the sort of rare expression of affection from Thor that betrayed just how close to death he truly thought he was.

  “My pleasure, big guy, I never did like Loki anyway. He was always the biggest douche in Asgard.” Baldr wound up and kicked Loki squarely in the ribs. The sound of a violent exhale came from vanquished god as all the air left Loki’s lungs. Baldr enjoyed the sight of him gasping on the ground like a rainbow trout at the bottom of a fishing boat.

  Thor looked at Fenris and Hela who still seemed unsure about their next move. His eyes moved to Surt who didn’t seem motivated to do much except sit back and enjoy the chaos. Odin was still nowhere to be seen. It didn’t take a genius to recognize that if there was a good time to escape, this was it.

  “So, do we stay, or do we go?” Thor asked Baldr.

  “I’m not sure I get what you mean.” Baldr stated flatly.

  “I mean it looks like we have a golden chance to get out of Dodge. We need to grab Freya, and get her out of here. I’m not sure if Surt will try to prevent us from doing that, but I am certain that Fenris and Hela won’t just stand there all night discussing their options. If we don’t go now, we may have to go through those two as well as a tidal wave of the undead she brought up from Hel.”

  “Oh, I understand all that Thor, I just don’t get this whole ‘we’ thing. There is no ‘we’ here.” Faster than Thor could react, Baldr stepped back, raised his hands, and shot two powerful beams of concentrated light into Thor’s face. His eyeballs burst inside his head, blinding the god. He dropped to his knees and clawed at the burning remains of his eyes.

  “There is only me,” said a satisfied Baldr.

  Chapter 37

  “What did you mean with that ‘there’s only me’ crack you just made?” Baldr had not noticed that Belle had come up from behind him. She now stood there, tapping her booted foot, suspiciously awaiting his response.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it honeybun, I was just being over dramatic.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. “Now, you have a choice…you can spend the rest of the night reading volumes into the things you hear while eavesdropping, or you can deal with the problem at hand.”

  Baldr pointed to Hela and Fenris who were staring at them from across the sands. A platoon of the nastiest undead people the underworld could spit back up to earth gathered behind them. He wasn’t sure, but Baldr could swear that he saw Richard Speck and Leona Helmsley staring back at him from Hela’s little army of zombies.

  Belle was no fool and knew exactly why she should be reading volumes into any words spoken by Baldr. She was learning that trusting him was a wild game of Russian roulette. Baldr had sought out Thor and befriended him because he thought the Thunder God could protect him from the Valkyrie. As an escapee from Hel, it was their job to hunt him down and drag him back to the realm of the dead, beating him silly somewhere along the way. When he and Belle were scuffling in the stadium, he offered his services to her in exchange for them never taking him back to Hela’s realm.

  She remembered clearly what happened when she had him pinned down on the bat
hroom floor of the luxury loft. He looked her square in the face and said, “Sif, you haven’t changed a bit.” Somehow Baldr managed to see through the dark hair, face paint and damaged eye down to the bedrock of who she really was and recognized the goddess Belle used to be.

  Once he had recognized her they were no longer fighting but dealing. The price of his amnesty from the Valkyrie hunting parties was to keep her abreast of any of Thor’s movements. When the time was right, she also demanded he turn on the Thunder God. This was a price Baldr was apparently more than willing to pay. In truth he only fought, bled, or cut deals for one cause: himself.

  This was something she would have to remember when the eventual day came that somebody offered him a deal that included her head on a platter.

  “You’ve waited a long time for this, ‘Belle,’ so it’s about time you took what you came here for.” He bowed his head to her as he motioned to Thor’s hammer.

  Belle picked Mjölnir up. She pried Loki’s fingers from around the handle and tossed the disembodied hand over her shoulder. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the iron head of the war hammer.

  “So long…it’s been so long, but now it’s mine.” She whispered these words and allowed herself a quiet moment of relief as she fondled the weapon.

  Belle raised Mjölnir to the sky and bright energy from the hammer washed over her. Her mismatched eyes glowed intensely with the infusion of new power as her dark hair color evaporated, exposing the golden mane that was underneath.

  “Oh, shit,” Hela said with surprise, “she’s not a fucking Valkyrie, that’s Sif!”

  “Wait a second,” Fenris said as he hastily began removing his clothes. “She’s supposed to be dead. As the top dog in Hel, shouldn’t you know who is alive and who’s dead?”

  “Hey, brother dear, don’t blame me for this. Sif was supposed to have died in Múspellsheimr, Surt’s land. My jurisdiction ends at his borders.”

  “Isn’t there some sort of professional courtesy between gods of the dead that allows you to see who’s stuck in the other one’s realm? I mean, really…how did you guys lose track of the only other person in the universe who can legitimately use that hammer? That’s like losing the Enola Gay on your radar screen or misplacing patient zero of a zombie apocalypse?” Fenris looked at the undead horde behind him, “No offense.” They moaned something back that he decided meant, “None taken.” He went back to stripping his clothes off.

  “Hey, these humans can’t get the FBI to share information with the police about where gang members order their Chinese take-out. What makes you think Surt is going to let me know what goes on in his little realm?” Hela was more than frustrated that her own brother was blaming her for the reappearance of Sif. “By the way, is this really the time or place to get naked?”

  “Don’t get excited, this isn’t nudity for nudities sake, I just don’t see the sense in ruining some really nice clothes when I fully transform. No matter what, we still have a job to do and I feel so confined in this silly biped form. It’s time to go Team Jacob on their asses.”

  “You did NOT just say that, did you? If you’re going to start using cheesy catchphrases, why didn’t you just steal ‘It’s Clobbering Time!’ or announce that you’re ‘going to open a can of WhoopAss’?”

  The banter between the siblings betrayed a confidence that neither of them truly felt. Fenris and Hela were already at loose ends without their dad to guide them. He was still on the ground, barely alive, and burned almost beyond recognition by Baldr’s laser assault. Before Sif revealed herself, even with Loki out of commission, they felt they stood a good chance of completing the task of sacrificing Freya to Surt and finalizing the contract with the demon. The appearance of Sif now shifted the odds heavily against them and they knew it.

  When Fenris went from human to werewolf, he could usually get away with loose clothing. Not even the stretchiest fabric had a prayer of staying intact when he went from werewolf to his natural form.

  Before everyone’s eyes Fenris transformed from being a naked amalgam of both wolf and man. He gave himself fully over to his canis lupus side. His body bulged, disfigured, stretched, warped, and then regained cohesion as he went from a look-alike character in a Twilight film to a building-sized wolf. Iron muscles tightened and his black fur bristled as Fenris raised his head to the sky and let loose with a long, mournful howl. He lowered his massive head as fierce yellow eyes locked on to Sif.

  Sif readied herself for the wolf’s attack. She knew that he could cross the thirty or forty yards that separated them in one or two quick steps. If she dropped her guard at any point in time, she could quickly become just another kibble snack for history’s largest dog. It was impossible for her not to be apprehensive when he bared fangs that looked like something Inuit people used to hunt whales.

  Then he did the completely unexpected, instead of running toward her and attacking, he sprinted off to her left. It took a moment for the realization to hit her that Fenris was going for Freya.

  Sif had no love for Freya. In fact, once the problem of dealing with Fenris, Hela, and most likely Odin had passed, she had planned a scenario that would look a lot like the end of a Godfather film. Freya would be the first to go. Joining her on the highway to Hel would be her former husband Thor, Loki, if he was still alive, and maybe one or two Valkyrie that had the words “social climber” written all over them. If Katheryn kept pushing her buttons, she would be playing the part of Fredo.

  The problem with killing Freya was that she couldn’t allow Fenris to be the one to slay her. Sif gleaned enough knowledge to know that Loki was only one sacrifice away from completing a contract with Surt that would bring the demon squarely into his camp. Surt was a strict observer of bloodlines, and even if Loki were dead, he would accept any sacrifice made by his children as part of the original contract.

  On his own, Surt would be a formidable foe. In a world where it was Thor and Mjölnir against Surt and his infamous flaming sword, the battle would still be a toss-up. If Surt were to solidify an alliance with the children of Loki, suddenly the balance of power shifted dramatically in their favor. This would be bad for Sif. Those with Loki’s DNA did not secure strong allies for the purpose of a cold war standoff with their enemies. With Surt on their side, they would run roughshod over all other immortals. With that much power concentrated in one place, the final war would be about as balanced as Godzilla vs. Jared from Subway.

  Sif used the power of Mjölnir to take to the air. She didn’t waste any time enjoying the feeling and freedom of the flight. Instead, she headed on a direct intercept course with Fenris. She reached the wolf just as he was lowering his jaws to finish Freya off and send her soul into the gentle and loving care of her rapist.

  Sif slammed the hammer against the side of Fenris’s head. The wolf let out a loud yelp. The strength on to that side of his body seemed to fail him as one of his forelegs collapsed. He raised his head to snap at her, but he couldn’t get his eyes to focus. The act of lifting his head disoriented him further and he just crumpled in a heap.

  Sif landed and approached Fenris cautiously. She could see the growing spot of crimson at the side of his head where the hammer had struck home. The massive wolf just lay in the sand, whining like a hurt puppy.

  “So close.” The voice of Surt came from behind her. He aimed a lascivious grin in her direction. “So, are you back for round two?”

  A chill came over Sif as he said this. She looked at Freya, and while she disliked the woman for much the same, shallow reasons that bored, celebrity obsessed, housewives enjoyed watching Britney Spears fall flat on her face, Sif still had a common bond with Freya—both had been raped by Surt as part of a deal penned by Odin. Only the Allfather knew why Freya had been subjected to this torture, but Sif was keenly aware of why she had been sent to the demon as an unwitting sexual sacrifice.

  Long ago, Odin had dispatched her to Múspellsheimr with terms of a treaty that would solidify a non-aggression pact betw
een Surt, his followers, and all of Asgard. He told her that she was selected for this diplomatic trip because he felt it would be an insult to the Lord of Múspellsheimr to send a lackey with such an important communication. Success would depend on a god of high standing bringing a message of peace.

  Odin made it clear that he couldn’t trust Thor to go without inciting the godly version of an international incident. She was the next best thing, due to both her social standing and her well-known levelheaded nature. By the time her father-in-law was done selling her on the idea, she believed that she was Asgard’s version of Lady Diana and it was up to her to end the Cold War and bring peace to the land. Of course, everything she had been told was a lie.

  She had been given binding papers to take to the great demon. As it turned out, these were simply props to reinforce the lie. When she got to Múspellsheimr, she was immediately seized and bound by a cadre of goblins and imps. Yes, it was true, there was a deal in play. Surt would agree to peace on the condition that he was allowed to fully defile the most upright and virtuous of the goddesses. And defile her he did, in every way possible—and many that seemed impossible.

  She spent the next one hundred and twenty-four days being raped over and over again by Surt. The peace would last until someone could accomplish the impossible number of sacrifices that it took to pay for his services. Until then, he would suspend any independent acts of aggression against Asgard.

  Surt choose Sif not only because she was the most incorruptible of the Asgardian women, but also because she was the wife of Odin’s son. When she returned home, the family of Odin would have to live with the stain of what he did to her forever. The things that happened to Sif were so horrible that all the color drained from one of her blue eyes. Surt would take great pleasure in knowing that neither Thor nor Odin could ever look upon her again without knowing what was done to her. Unfortunately for Surt, she never did go back to Asgard.