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Hera's Odyssey
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Hera's Odyssey
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===Chapter 3 - An Island Amongst a Sea of Monstrosity === [[File:Graphic Lore Chapter 003.png|350px|right]] The first thing she felt was a bitter, icy cold. The portal closed behind Hera and Argus as they passed through it, disintegrating into a shower of crackling motes of light. The last of them scattered like fireflies, torn up into the air by twisting gales. The howling winds wound through the shells of grand architecture, what had once been the seat of power for an entire pantheon. Hera drew her robe tighter about herself. With a casual effort, little different than straining to hear a distant sound, she conjured an invisible barrier about herself that repelled the worst of the cold's bite. Argus plodded on beside her, unaffected by the chill of their new surroundings but for an almost childlike curiosity. Of Loki, there was no sign. Hera had hardly expected to find one, such was the pathetic creature's penchant for flight. Instead, she turned her attention to the devastation now surrounding her. She had stepped from one scene of destruction to another, with only one difference. The city she had been standing in moments before had been levelled by means Hera could not define, but here, its source was all too clear. Asgard was in ruins, and it had been ruined by divine hands. Hera had walked these boulevards before, in a past embassy to the Nordic pantheon. Her memories of that time overlaid what now greeted her senses, seeing breathtaking statuary and spiralling towers adorned with golden runes and intricate knotwork, where now there was only the gold grey of rubble, slowly swallowed by falling snow. She knelt, brushing the frost from the stone visage of some great champion of the distant past, now shattered and broken. Terrible violence had happened here. Hera pressed through the streets, framed by gutted buildings that cast shadows like rows of broken teeth. All of the shadows stretched, including their own, growing taller with the oncoming night. And as the Queen of the Gods and her protector passed into an abandoned courtyard, Hera's shadow warped, twisted, and slithered loose from behind her. Argus whirled around to face it, bracing against a shriek so jarring and unworldly that it threatened to turn one's blood to ice. With a bellow of rage Hera's giant hurled a massive fist toward the ragged silhouette materializing before him. The shade boiled away from the attack, blurring like ink in water. It flowed around Argus, leaving nothing but a rime of glittering frost on his broad stone knuckles. With nothing to absorb his strike, the giant stumbled forward as the shadow reshaped itself behind him. The creature hissed as it looming high over Argus' back, its long skeletal fingers lengthening into talons. “Cease.” The shade reeled as Hera raised her sceptre. The radiant field that surrounded her like a sphere of sparkling crystal flared as it made contact with the shadow creature. The monster loosed a keening wail that rang out over the ruins as it burned before Hera's power, evaporating into a mist the color of a dark bruise. Within moments what little remained of the shadow was carried off by the wind, leaving nothing but the echo of its chilling scream. Argus regained his footing with a growl and returned to Hera's side. His fists clenched and unclenched, the wheel of his many faces twitching as it spun, searching for the next threat to come. “Peace, Argus,” Hera laid a hand upon the cold stone of his arm. The giant calmed immediately, rising out of his fighter's crouch. “There are boundless more of those things lurking about this place,” said Hera as she pointed toward the interior of the city with her sceptre. “Whatever answers are to be found here, we shall find them.” The clamour of ringing steel and inhuman roars drew Hera and Argus to the temple. She slowed at the entrance of the grand structure, now little more than a single wall and a dark stone floor punctuated by broken pillars. The ground was littered with the bodies of gigantic, hideous monsters, things of slab-like muscle and crude runes tattooed upon flesh as blue as the lips of the dead. “Frost giants,” said Hera under her breath, her eyes drawn to the conflict raging within the remnants of the temple. Not all of the creatures were dead. As imposing as they were lying slain upon the ground, the frost giants were even more monstrous alive. A trio of the foul creatures stood at the opposite end of the temple, bellowing in rage as they sought to crush a single armoured figure opposing them. Hera could only make out the stranger in half glimpses between the walls of enraged blue flesh, seeing intricate battle armour, a helm crested by a pair of curving horns, and the brilliant flash of a shining spear blade. The warrior had faced down this horde alone, and despite the odds had winnowed his foes down to these final three. But it was clear to Hera that his strength was waning, and the countless wounds he had suffered were beginning to take their toll. The attacks and footwork she watched were degrading into staggers, sweeps and lunges of the spear relying on momentum over skill or fighting technique. If she did not intervene, he would fall here. “Argus,” said Hera, and her giant snapped to attention. She pointed toward the combat. “Go to his aid.” A stark clash rang as Argus thudded a fist against his chest. The relish was clear in his posture as he pounded toward the frost giants. These were no shadow things, tricksters keen to drift and fade away from honest combat. A frost giant was a creature of flesh and blood. And they would not find it so easy to escape from his wrath. “Argus ended his charge with a leap, surging forward through the air toward the first of the giants. It turned at the last moment, its bark of pain and alarm muffled as its head was engulfed in a crushing fist. Argus landed low, smashing the frost giant down head first in a cloud of spinning stone splinters. With a roar Argus spun, dragging the giant's head in a grinding orbit around himself until he had carved a deep furrow into the stone with its face. After finishing the ring, Argus used the momentum he had built to hurl the creature away, smashing it into a mound of rubble where it slumped and went still. Enraged, the pair of remaining frost giants rounded upon Argus, sinews clenching like bands of iron across their arms. The closest seized Argus in a grappler's embrace, spraying Hera's guardian with foul spittle from behind its cage of broken yellowed tusks. Argus leaned forward, the wheel of his many faces spinning into a blur that sliced into the monster as they met. In an instant the creature's grip slackened, and a bludgeoning strike from Argus sent it thudding to the ground. The final giant gripped its fists together, swinging them like a club into Argus' back. The blow threw Argus to one knee, and he felt the beast's thick fingers seize hold of his wheel to wrench it from his shoulders when a shining steel blade burst out from the monster's chest. The last breaths feathered out from the frost giant's lips, before it toppled forward onto Argus and sent them both crashing to the ground. With an annoyed grunt, Argus climbed out from beneath the dead frost giant, giving the body a derisive kick as he rose. Hera tutted at her champion as she crossed the temple floor, and Argus lowered his head in submission. “You have my thanks,” rasped the warrior, his tone leaden with weariness. With a strained effort he wrenched the blade of his spear loose, and rested his head against its haft as he leaned on the weapon for support. Hera took a moment to appraise the warrior before her. The craftsmanship of his iron and knotwork armour was exquisite, a priceless marriage of art and martial function clear to see despite the horrific damage that had been inflicted upon it. The spear he held alone was breathtaking, an immense halberd that none but the divine could ever hope to wield, a weapon that could only have been forged within the divine halls of the Aesir. “Of course,” Hera dipped her head slightly, “Allfather.” “So then,” said Odin, King of Asgard, “What brings the Queen of the Gods to my hearth? It has been many years, Hera.” “Many years,” Hera agreed, glancing about the ruins. “Much has changed in Asgard since that time it seems, and none for the better.” “Not only here,” Odin heaved out a wet, booming cough, nearly staggering from his feet. Argus caught him before he fell, helping him down to recline against a heap of rubble. Odin laid a hand on the giant's arm in way of thanks, before waving him away. “The world has suffered just as Asgard has, for we live in the days of cataclysm for us all.” Hera thought back to her confrontation with Loki, and what the trickster god had said. “Ragnarok.” “Yes,” Odin nodded, dragging a gauntleted hand across his lips that came away streaked with the god's blood. “The end times, and the twilight of creation. Both mortal and divine alike finally pushed into the precipice, and devoured by oblivion. Long have I seen their coming, and long have I laboured, so that when it comes at last, we might have hope to stand against it. To be the rock that the tide breaks against, and rolls back.” He gestured out, casting a tired hand across the broken vista. “But even with all of my preparations, I failed. Asgard, my kingdom, lies in ruins, and the lands of the mortals with it. I failed, because I was unable to stop the spark that would ignite Ragnarok, one that would come from my own hall.” A howl pierced the night sky then, coming from far away yet with a strength that felt as though the beast that had issued it was but a pace away. Argus raised his fists, and Hera looked out across Asgard, to the dark silhouette of the grand palace in the distance. “Fenrir,” sighed Odin. “But it was his sister who is the true architect of our downfall. Hel. She dwelt within the prison of my making for too long, and now through unleashing Ragnarok she sits upon the throne of Asgard, if only its ashes.” “And yet,” said Hera, “we still live.” Odin's eye flicked back to gaze at her. Hera spread her arms wide. “The world is wounded, but it is far from dead. You speak to me of the end of days, Allfather, of apocalypse. I see one that has been averted. I look out and see a land razed by fire, but by its ashes shall it be nourished and reborn. I see hope.” Odin gave a deep chuckle that quickly soured into a fit of hacking coughs. “A generous perspective, my Queen, one born at the top of Olympus. But what you say is true enough. There are those out in the world who believe that they have turned the darkness back, that disaster has been averted and hope restored. But I have stared into the webs of fate that have yet to transpire, and I have seen that the greatest darkness has yet to come.” Hera stopped, looking back at Odin where he sat. “This catastrophe,” he continued, “all of the tragedy and the loss we have suffered to this point, it is but a prelude to the true evil. One that will soon arrive and manifest its destiny as the ender of days. It is coming, Queen Hera, and it will destroy us all.” Hera was silent for a moment. Flakes of snow winked into soft puffs of steam against her barrier. She looked over at Odin, a broken king who was cast in reflection of his broken kingdom. “Do you remember the last time I was in Asgard, Great King?” Odin looked up. “Aye, I remember. It was a simpler time, long before all of this.” “I wonder,” said Hera. “Were I to gather up the Odin from that time, and bring him here to stand before you, what would he say? Would he agree with you, lying in the rubble of all he holds dear, and wait with you in silence for what little is left to be taken from him as well? Or would he rail against it? Would he stand like the warrior king he is and refuse to allow such a fate to happen? Would he view anything less as nothing but the actions of a coward?” Odin winced at that final word, as though it had been a physical blow. Leaning upon his spear, he rose to his feet, his gritted teeth gleaming like pearls in his iron-colored beard. Argus shifted, but went still with a gesture from Hera. “Do you truly believe I stood by and allowed this?” Odin spat. “Do you? You have no conception of the blood that was spilled to try and stop this, of what was sacrificed. You wouldn't have the numbers to count the dead, nor the stomach to hear their screams. And how could you, from your pretty mountaintop?” “We have all suffered loss,” Hera's voice lowered. “All of us.” Odin made to respond, but instead sagged back down amongst the rubble. Hera saw rivulets of dark blood leak out from the cracks in his armour, catching the moonlight. “Some of us,” Odin growled, “more than others.” “Nothing is written,” Hera pressed, her voice adopting a conciliatory tone. “No skein of fate is immutable. There is always a choice, Odin. Always. You say that the worst is yet to come, well then I say that we must gather the strength needed to face it, and cast it back into the darkness from where it came.” Odin spat onto the ground, watching for a moment as the pinkish saliva boiled against the newly fallen snow. “The door has been opened,” said Odin, “and it is one that can never again be closed. The world will be remade by this, but there is still time to guide the shape that it will take. There are things that exist in this world, secret and hidden and believed lost, that hold great power. If they were to be found, those who are worthy can wield them to deliver all from ruin.” Hera paused. Her mind raced at the revelations that Odin had made, of Ragnarok and the fall of Asgard, of the greater evil coming and the hope to oppose it. “Then whatever these secrets are,” she said, “they must be found.” “Quite so, fair Queen,” said Odin. “If they still exist, or ever truly did. But to find the truth of it, and seek these things out, you will need allies. Gods of great strength, who yearn for justice and the defense of all life. Gods like my son.” “Thor,” said Hera. She knelt at Odin's side. “Tell me, where is Thor now?” Odin met her gaze. “On the path to Hel,” said the Allfather, fire still gleaming from his single eye. “With Mjolnir in his fist and vengeance in his heart, marching to take back what has been stolen from us.” With Argus at her side, Hera set off in search of the God of Thunder. The path to him was clear to her, for it led to the palace where Hel the usurper sat, and was strewn with the fallen hordes that had dared taste the wrath of fabled Mjolnir. The closer she came, the more recent the scenes of battle, until finally she could hear the music made by those in combat just ahead of her, and steam still rose from the slain at her feet. Lightning burst across the sky like blazing silver talons. For an instant Hera's heart raced at the awesome, familiar sight, but she steeled herself, refusing to allow the grief she kept locked inside to resurface. The booming crack of thunder followed the lightning's flash, so close that the Queen of the Gods felt it thrum within her chest. She saw Thor at that moment, bathed in the lightning's glare. He stood alone in defiance of Hel's armies, an island amongst a sea of monstrosity. Throngs of frost giants surrounded him, and every shadow peeled away into the very creatures that had attached Hera and Argus after they had arrived in Asgard. The full might of Hel descended upon Thor, and he answered back. The legendary hammer Mjolnir flashed in Thor's grasp, as though it had caged the very lightning that streaked across the night sky. The weapon wove through the rushing tide of frost giants and shrieking shadows, and nothing caught in its path survived to draw another breath. Hera watched, frozen for a handful of heartbeats as she beheld the brutal artistry of the Nordic god in battle. Thor moved fast as quicksilver, his strikes faster than mortal eyes could track, and every blow landed from Mjolnir rang like the tolling of a gigantic bell. Frost giants were hurled away like child's toys, spinning through the air. Shadows wailed their unworldly dirge cries as the lightning that bathed the hammer’s head bleached them from existence. But, for all its deadly majesty, it was not enough. For every monster felled, two more took its place. Even Thor's strength would wane in time, and the crush of Hel's minions would drag him down. Hera would not allow such a thing to come to pass. “Argus,” said Hera, waiting as her champion stomped to her side. Pale energy shivered around her sceptre, pulsing brighter with each passing moment. “You are about to hit the ground,” Hera smiled. “Hit it hard.” A portal flashed into being above the densest concentration of frost giants and shadows, while another appeared beneath Argus' feet. He fell, appearing suddenly out through the other portal and hurtling down toward the battle. Argus struck the ground like a meteor. Monsters were flung in every direction, the energy from the impact tearing out like violent ripples across still water. Immediate he laid into any monster within reach, joining Thor in the melee. Argus was reaping a fearsome tally, but against such numbers Hera knew there was only so much he could do before he too was overrun. All she needed was for Argus and Thor to buy her a few seconds' concentration, and she would do the rest. Hera closed her eyes, both hands gripping her sceptre as she summoned her power. Her mastery over the natural world surged up from within the core of her being, forged by her mind and channelled through the sceptre. Gathering more and more, it threatened to overtake her control, but she tightened her grip over it, her mind empty but for a single image. Then, as the power reached its peak, wreathing Hera in blinding aura of prismatic light, she released it. In an instant, Hel's army vanished in a cloud of dense white. Thor held in place, bewildered, his face sheened in sweat, shoulders rising and falling with exhausted breath. With the sudden sound of a thousand wings beating the air, the cloud exploded as a vast flock of white doves leapt up into the night. They scattered in seconds, flying far enough that they became indistinguishable from the snow that fell across Asgard. Thor looked over at Hera as she approached, giving an amused nod of approval. “Pretty, that.” “It seemed you could use some help,' said Hera. “You needn't have troubled yourselves,” replied Thor matter-of-factly. “And why is that, exactly?” asked Hera. “Even a god can fall if the odds are stacked high enough against them.” “Perhaps, for some,” the God of Thunder gave a crooked grin. “But not I. My destiny is clear, and this is far from the end of its path. There are many more feats left to be done and foes to slay for me, before my final day dawns.” Hera told Thor of her meeting with Odin, of Ragnarok and the evil to come, and her plan to stop it. Suddenly Thor's affable manner was gone, replaced by a lethal focus. “I will walk this path with you, Queen. You will have Mjolnir's power, and my strength in wielding it. You have my oath that they will be yours, wherever you choose to lead me, but for this I ask one thing in return.” Hera stopped. “Name it.” Thor looked up at the palace ahead, and the glowing fires within that bathed its halls in a baleful, crimson glow. The timeworn strips of leather bound about the handle of Mjolnir creaked as the God of Thunder's grip upon it tightened. He looked back at Hera, slender webs of lightning turning his eyes to blazing silver orbs. “Come with me now,” he said, “to destroy Hel.”
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