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Thunderbird, Thundra, Thing, and Hulk had been selected for Team Fishermen for their strength and durability. Harry, Freya, and his other officers had all acknowledged that dealing with Jörmungandr would be a test of endurance and durability more than anything else, and that fighting the Great Serpent (a label that Ororo felt did not quite match the reality. It did, after all, have legs which ended in paws with very nasty claws) would be a more physical challenge than the one against Surtur. Surtur, after all, was known not just as a fighter, but a magic user.
That knowledge did not help the frustration all of Team Fishermen was feeling currently. How long they had been fighting was a question without a discernable answer, but all of them knew the battle had begun with the sun high in the sky, and it was deep into night by this point. The fight was now lit by Storm's lightning blasts, the Scarlet Witch's hex bolts, and a few large-scale Lumos spells left hanging scattered across the battlefield, their light reflecting off the still-frozen waters of the ocean, which continued to encase much of the dread serpent in a vice-like grip.
Oh, and Jörmungandr's own coal-red eyes. Those were, in Rogue's unbiased opinion, "Freakin' scary," but hey, at least they always know where to aim! It was a thought she had given air to when Hulk had pointed out that the sun had been going down earlier.
Yet, for however long they had been fighting, Team Fishermen simply couldn't do enough damage to Jörmungandr to matter. Every time they hit him, he would growl in pain, but the team's attacks were amounting to less than pinpricks for the most part. The giant serpent was simply too damn big and too damn durable. Not even the Thing had ever faced a foe this big or this hardy before. Even the segment they had initially been fighting had been the size of Galactus, and since then, Jörmungandr had pulled more coils out of the water, adding to his overall size until what parts of him were above water were as long as Everest was tall.
As for durability, much of Jörmungandr's girth actually seemed to be multiple layers of scales. To really hurt the beast, one had to dig through several layers of scale mail that, while not as tough as the Juggernaut-based armor Thunderbird, Rogue, or Thundra were wearing, was still extremely tough.
Not that this meant they couldn't get lucky.
Rogue blinked as the dread serpent turned aside, snapping at where the Scarlet Witch had just flown down, her hex bolts aiming for his eyes. In the light of the bolts and the serpent's eyes, Rogue's attention was also drawn to a flash of orange behind the serpent's head, but she didn't have any time to wonder about it as the Wanda yelped and rose up through the air with abrupt haste, Jörmungandr's open maw chasing her. In doing so, Rogue's blow, which had been aimed at the side of Jörmungandr's head, instead crashed into the side of the serpent's semi-open mouth, crashing into a fang as long as she was tall. The blow from her club smashed into the tooth and shattered it, sending bits of stone-like cartilage everywhere.
The serpent reacted instantly, his head snapping back towards Rogue with all the speed of a normal striking snake despite his vast size. "You bitch! I've had that fang longer than you've been alive. Do you know how long it takes for me to grow a new one!?"
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" The southern belle grunted as she barely dodged around Jörmungandr's open mouth, only to crash into the outer cheek of the monster instead. "Gah!"
Rogue tumbled through the air to smash back first down onto the ice where she laid still for a few seconds, rattled something fierce despite her impervious armor. "Owwww…."
A second later, Thunderbird swooped down on his carpet. "Rogue! Hand!"
Groggily obeying, Rogue found herself plucked off the frigid ice and hoisted onto the magic carpet behind the Apache warrior. A second later, they were gone as one of Jörmungandr's many paws smashed into the spot where Rogue had been only a moment ago.
"Don't get hit," she said blearily, "That thing hits like a mountain."
"Considering he is the size of a whole mountain range, I feel like that should have been assumed. You seem to have forgotten that you aren't the first one he's treated like a bouncy ball," Thunderbird drawled before activating his communicator. "Pull back, team. Let's get some distance here and let Storm hit Jörmungandr again with some lightning."
"Screw you," Ben shouted, "I'm right here between the eyes, and I ain't moving!"
"Oh, tha' was the orange bit I saw," Rogue grunted, her accent coming out starkly in her somewhat befuddled state. "Now, where's mah broom gone?"
"Here," the Scarlet Witch said, floating over while holding the item out to the other girl. "When I broke off my attack I spotted it flying off. You're lucky it wasn't shattered."
"Yeah, lucky," Rogue grunted, taking the broom. She watched along with the others as, with a roar, Ben Grimm began to pound his fists into the area right between Jörmungandr's eyes with wild abandon.
The Thing howled with each punch, the pounding of stone fists on metal-like scales producing a clamor even the biggest heavy metal drummer fan would have found grating. "You are going to freaking feel this, you big bastard!"
Watching this, the Scarlet Witch had the extremely inappropriate urge to giggle, reminded of a book that she had gotten into at one point when visiting Camelot. "Crevins!" she shouted, unable to stop herself before lightning shattered the night.
Storm could tell she was doing just about as much damage to the local ecosphere as Jörmungandr's miasma had to the environment of the pocket dimension in keeping the ocean frozen like this, and gathering enough storms above them to help her produce consistent attacks wasn't helping either. But she couldn't bring herself to care at present as she released a bolt of lightning she had been building up to for more than thirty minutes. "Do not say you were not warned, Ben Grimm!"
To the others, what came out of the sky wasn't so much a lightning bolt as a strike from a very angry deity, and not the small-scale Asgardian sort either. The strike was about as wide as several stadiums, and blazed into the night with a purplish light so bright it burned the eyes. It resembled a regular lightning bolt about as much as a tree did a blade of grass and had to contain enough energy to turn an entire city to glass and fractured ruin.
Moments like these made Thunderbird really understand what being an Omega class mutant meant. For all the label was rather foolish, those who earned it were just on a whole other level then the rest of mutant-kind.
For the first time since Team Fishermen had been able to get the creature to shore, Jörmungandr howled in real pain as Storm's god-tier lightning strike slammed down into its face while Ben Grimm, who was not a fool, leaped clear just in the knick of time to not get caught in the full blast. Some of the sparks still struck him, and he grimaced in pain despite his own extreme durability before he landed on the magic carpet he had originally been riding.
These carpets had been magically tethered to their first riders by a spell from Clea back at base camp for moments such as this and would always return to their primary user if said user left them behind. Every time I'm on this I get Aladdin vibes, man. What I wouldn't give for a genie to wish this bastard shrunk at this point!
Even as Ororo's attack continued, the Scarlet Witch was forced to shift her attention away from the still groggy Rogue as several dozen illusions rose into existence all around them. Most in this new assault appeared to be simple constructs made to blind or befuddle the senses. Examples such as illusions to have the nearby Thundra attack the Hulk's position thinking it was a part of Jörmungandr, or make Xian see Emma Steed, who she was sharing a carpet with, as a dark elf who had just teleported there were layered in multiple times, one on top of another. But Xian was smart enough to not instantly react, even as the suddenness of the attack startled her, and it took the Scarlet Witch only a few seconds to dispel the first round of illusions.
As both Ororo's and the Shadows' attacks faded, the monster serpent reared up, his head nearly disappearing into the clouds above and forcing Team Fishermen to follow it even higher into the air. Steam billowed off of Jörmungandr's mouth and face, yet his eyes still gleamed, looking only a little damaged. It was certainly not all that harmed from a strike that would have put down the current iteration of the Hulk and even the Thing if he had been hit dead on.
"When will you little creatures learn you cannot harm me?! I am Jörmungandr, the Ouroboros! My sides are mountains clad in steel, my fangs the size of great trees! I am he who will slay Þór. I am he whose poison ends the realm of Asgard! You, all of you, are naught but lice to one such as me!"
With every word, another segment of mountain-sized snake appeared, pushing up out of the frozen sea like icebergs erupting out of the ocean. Really, the frozen water was the only portion of the plan that had actually worked so far. It was clear to anyone watching that even now the ice alone was what was truly hampering Jörmungandr in many ways.
It was also somewhat clear in the light of the multiple Lumos spells that the serpent was showing signs of a few tiny injuries still unhealed. While he had some kind of healing factor that was even now going to work on the wounds dealt by Storm's latest strike, that same ability didn't seem able to replace scales that had been knocked off or shattered.
The sight of even a small amount of lasting damage gave heart to the team, which Thundra gave voice to, hefting her club onto her shoulder. "Your pock-marked hide says different, you overgrown garden snake!"
"Yeah, not ta mention that tooth of yers," Rogue added while the rest of the team spread out further. Xian and Emma Steed shifted well away from Jörmungandr until they could barely see the actions of the others, such was the size and speed of the enemy. The rest moved to encircle him.
Not that Jörmungandr noticed. Indeed, his tone was almost placid as he shrugged as best his serpentine body could, a gesture that shivered down his gargantuan frame. "Such irritations will grow back. Nor will a single missing tooth bother me overmuch after I swallow you whole."
At the back of his mind, the voices of his masters, his gods the Shadows, came to him. Oddly, they showed more emotion than he had ever felt from them before, a sense of frustration and concern. But that was impossible, wasn't it? Nothing could concern the Shadows. "Do not bandy words with the humans. Kill them or disappear. We are keeping the Thunderer occupied, but we do not know for how long we can do so. And we cannot afford for you to die."
Grumbling in annoyance but showing no concern about how the Shadows were speaking of his possible demise, Jörmungandr acquiesced and turned his attention to smashing his way further out of the ice entrapping him. In doing so he practically ignored the team of humans even as they all went on the attack once more.
Thundra, Hulk, Thing, and Rogue all zoomed in and out like dive-bombers on their assorted carpets and broomsticks. They pummeled the serpent's scaly hide, hammering blows wherever they could. Thundra and Rogue targeted his head, looking to blind him and keep the monster's attention on the two of them. The pair were the more agile flyers thanks to their broomsticks, so they could more easily dodge Jörmungandr's retaliation, be it come in the form of fang, poison cloud, or waterspout.
Meanwhile, Thunderbird and Rogue put effort into determining if the monstrous serpent had some kind of stomach area where his scales were less thick. Unfortunately, it turned out that while there was such an area, its existence didn't matter overmuch. The scales there were smaller and less thick, to be certain, and it certainly got Jörmungandr's attention, but it didn't seem to do him lasting harm any more than previous attacks had.
For his part, the Hulk took a more logical approach, going after areas where they had already landed telling blows on Jörmungandr's scales, knocking them loose or denting them further. Although lost scales merely revealed another layer underneath, this proved a decent enough idea. In practice, however, targeting the same space continually was impossibly difficult. "Blast and botheration, just stay still, creature!"
"No," Jörmungandr drawled back, twisting his serpentine length so the Hulk's strike missed its mark. Lazily, a claw came up to rake at him, smashing the green fighter aside. "How about you make this fight easier and let eat me eat you instead?"
Growling in frustrated anger and slowly losing his self-control, Hulk raced forwards, dodging under another strike from another one of the wyrm/dragon/serpent monster's claws and leaping upward. Landing on his side, the Hulk began to climb, grabbing at any scale he could and either using it as a handhold or tearing it out.
All the while, Storm practically removed herself from the battle entirely bar a few hurricane-force wind strikes. Instead, she turned her attention to keeping the ocean frozen, so Jörmungandr could not retreat. But with the Shadows continually upping the pressure on Scarlet Witch and the telepathic assault continuing, Storm knew it was only a matter of time before she could no longer devote enough of her attention to keep the deep freeze going. Once that happened, the regular weather patterns would reassert themselves, the ice would break, and whatever magic of Asgard cycled the sea waters would then sweep away the icebergs, allowing Jörmungandr to disappear into the depths once more.
But that time was not now, and Ororo grit her teeth while snarling into the communicator. "We must hold. Hold his attention. Keep Jörmungandr from retreating! We cannot allow him to escape! Keep him out of play until Þór and other aid can arrive and we win this, whatever happens!"
OOOOOOO
While Harry and Hela were dealing with the ambush outside Asgard, and Team Fishermen fought Jörmungandr, elsewhere, Þór roved alone. Alone, but not overlooked.
Having taken to the skies in his chariot the instant he had finished his oath, Þór had ignored anyone who tried to stop him, instead flying on, heading to the farthest west, staring ahead of him, or so he thought as he flew on, his tears filling his eyes, the names of children on his lips. "My beautiful daughter Þrúðr, Modi, Magni, my boys, my young warriors! Ullr, proud archer, why, why?!"
He could remember all four so clearly now. Ullr, Sif's son from a previous assignation before he'd wed her as part of the peace pacts between the Vanir and Aesir. Yet despite that, Þór had been proud to call the boy son in all his pursuits… save Ullr's ill-fated pursuit of Skadi.
"Bah, my son! Your tongue durst seem to become all knotted in her presence! Your eyes may be among the best in all the realms, but that is one target you cannot hit with an arrow!" Þór had often laughed, the whole thing a tremendous joke to him, as all knew Skadi would never consider a man unless that man could out-hunt or ski better than she. And as good an archer and skier as he'd been, Ullr had never been a match for Skadi in the woods.
He had died beside his mother in that first and most terrible Ragnarök, his quiver empty, his head crushed by a jotun's mace. And unlike Sif, for some reason he had not been resurrected with the rest of them. "Ullr, never to shoot again, never to tell a joke, never to blush like a maiden as Skadi passes him by. Why, why?!" Þór wailed as lightning and wind wracked the heavens, distorted by his grief.
Ullr's image faded in his mind's eye, the vision of him laughing and helping to put up a house replaced by his dead corpse only for that to fade and be replaced by memories of Þrúðr. Þór's daughter, the oldest of his trueborn children. When she was young, Þór always ended the night by carrying his little girl to bed as if she was still a small child. Þrúðr would never want to go to bed of course, always wanting to listen to a tale or tell one last joke. Þrúðr had deep belly laugh that she'd gotten from him, despite her face and hair coming from Sif. Many a heart had she broken as she grew, challenging any man or woman to a flyting at the drop of a stein, then laughing that joyful laugh win or lose. Many a time Þór and Þrúðr would have fun together while Sif tried in vain to teach the girl how to act more womanly at need.
Þór thought of his daughter, imagined her before him now in his chariot with him, caroling the names of his goats in a childish tone. "Faster Tanngrim, Tanngi!" And the pair would obey, delighting in her touch and pure voice above that of their master. Almost could Þór hear that laugh once more, his tears now falling in unending rivulets down his face.
Þór did not know what had befallen his daughter, his little jewel, during that first Ragnarök, and perhaps that not knowing hurt worst of all. "WHYYY!?" he bellowed, his free hand clenching so hard on the lip of his chariot that he turned the area he gripped into so much sawdust.
The fate of his twins, Modi and Magni, his heirs, Þór knew all too well. Once more memories rose within the Thunderer, of him teaching them how to farm, swing a sword, and carve figurines from any piece of wood they could find. But all too soon those happy memories faded, replaced by horror. The memory of seeing Magni dying to a fire jotun's spear to the gut right in front of him. Þór had remembered this scene once before when falling into a near-berserker fugue in his battle with the Hulk. But now, he could all too clearly remember the connection with the dead child, one of his own. One of his own that Þór, the Protector of Man and Gods alike, had failed so utterly.
Modi had died when he'd been smashed out of the sky as he'd tried to bring Þór his chariot. By the time Þór had managed to get to his resting place, the jotun had gathered like so much carrion, stabbing his corpse so many times poor Modi's body had been nigh-unrecognizable.
And like Uller and Þrúðr, neither of the twins had been resurrected afterward. "WHYYYYYYYY!?" Þór wailed once more, practically blind now thanks to his tears. "Why did they not come back with Sif and me? Why!? What purpose could the deaths of such innocents serve?!"
No answer came from the thunderclouds around him, and though worried for their master, Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr had no way of replying. Instead, they continued on while behind them, the Thunderer wept like a babe for the family that he had lost. The family he only now could remember.
As he flew on, Those Who Watched Above in Shadow watched, preparing to assault the Thunderer the only way they now could. With all three of Þór's items of power once more in his possession and creating a connection to Gaia that they could not assail empowering him further, the Thunderer was far too dangerous to field any of their land-based forces against, no matter how susceptible he was to illusion or mind-based magic.
Even armed with Gungnir, Surtur might well lose such a confrontation. And with one of the human telepaths protecting his mind even now, it would take a stroke of luck to turn any such battle in the Shadows' favor. With someone like Þór, combat instincts could overcome much, and there was only so far illusions could go in fooling such honed instincts like that without access to the target's mind.
Truly though, the decision to not pit Surtur against Þór now came from fear. After all, Those Who Watch Above in Shadow had used Surtur on a headhunting mission once already to good effect. But the Jotun king was still one of their tethers, and fear of dissolution, of Death, stayed the Shadows' hand, despite a few discordant voices raised in objection against the majority, something that would never have occurred before this crisis.
So instead, the Shadows turned their attention to a subtler plan. The Shadows allowed Þór to travel west for a time before the illusions around him began to shift and move in order to get a very deliberate reaction.
"Have at thee!" Þór roared, flinging his hammer to the side, twisting around in his chariot, loosing the reins for a moment as he wiped at his tear-streaked face with his free hand. The creature he struck at, a giant, hissing bat-snake thing, managed to somehow avoid his hammer and backed away. In response, he ducked aside as a gob of acid flashed past his head.
"ÞÓR! It's aren't real!" A woman's voice cried in his mind. It had been trying to get his attention ever since he had left his brother and their army behind, but Þór ignored it now as he had then. After all, the Shadows had manipulated his memories and mind before this. Who was to say they were not doing the same now?
As he swung once more, moving with a burst of speed helped along by his righteous and all-consuming fury and grief, Þór actually connected this time! Only… only he felt no sensation of a successful hit traveling up his arm. He should have felt something even if the bat-snake creature was as weak as an arrow, but instead, Mjolnir burst through the beast's body, connecting to nothing. As it did so, Þór found himself overbalancing, his grip on the chariot's lip failing.
A moment later Þór crashed to the ground with a loud thump, cratering the ground upon impact. At the bottom of the new hole in the ground he'd made, Þór laid for a moment, staring up at the nighttime sky. Standing up and wiping once more at his tear-streaked face, Þór spied jotun, stone and fire alike, moving through the woods around him. Their weapons were already raised, but Þór leaped to his feet and swung his hammer in raging defiance.
And as he fought, the Shadows added more illusions to befuddle Þór's senses. As the Asgardian prince charged forward, all around him were the bodies of his friends and allies. Of Balder, his brother, on the ground with a mistletoe dagger stabbed through his mouth. Sif, the wife he had forged a family with, only to lose those memories for who knew how long, now saw lying broken, her side having been turned into a charred paste by a fire jotun.
"NNNYYYRRAAAAAA!" Þór screamed and struck, and struck, and struck again. Mjolnir cleaved the very air in twain, but hit nothing else of note as the god tried to avenge the death of his once-upon-a-time wife. Even in his mindless rage, Þór could just barely feel that something was wrong with that, and every few swings that lack of impact caused him to have a brief second of reason. However, in his maddened grief, that single moment couldn't register for long enough for Þór to grasp it.
Yet when the Shadows tried to reach for their lost puppet's mind to either enthrall him once more or to further befuddle him utterly, they found diamond spikes awaiting them in the Astral Plane. The impenetrable defense destroyed their assaults, the wall of purple and black dissipating like a wave of bubbles popping under the impact of hundreds of hurled pins. A bristling bulwark of similar material went up around Þór's mind specifically a second later. The Shadows attempted to rally, tried hard to push forward and get past this mental defense emplaced by one of the telepaths from Earth. But, despite their efforts, they found they were unable to do so.
"Þór, this is Emma Frost!" The voice in Þór's head tried once more to get through to him. "We have never met, but I am here with Captain America and others to help you. I am currently trying to protect your mind from the assault of the Shadows, the enemy that has been manipulating you all for so long. But I need you to trust me. Whatever they are showing you, none of it is real! And you can do more for your people working with the rest of us rather than just haring off on your own! Return to the battlefield, please!"
"I know you not!" Þór bellowed, finally answering, something the distant Emma was thankful for even if she only understood the words through her telepathy. Thankfully the roiling fury in the Asgardian prince's mind subsided a moment later, and now she could sense fully coherent thoughts too, enough to put together the full sentence anyway, even as he continued to roar the words aloud. "I shall not listen to thee! For all I know, you are more of the Shadows' ilk. I will not listen, and I will make my own way! I am Þór! No amount of illusion magic or other trickeries can stop me!"
"Damn it, they're trying to make you fall into that big honking gorge thing!" Emma exclaimed, having taken a brief moment to ride the senses of the goats pulling Þór's chariot above the battle. As animals, it was easy to do so, and when she had, Emma had seen a massive crevice a few hundred yards from where Þór was thrashing about.
"Think Þór. You can tell when your swing that hammer of yours, can't you? Your hitting nothing, you're doing nothing! I am fighting off their attempts to invade your mind, Þór, but if you don't believe what I'm saying, the Shadows' magic-based illusions will lead you to fall into that crevice. I don't know if it would kill you or not, but I'm not willing to take that chance" Emma retorted, shouting the words into his mind. "What do I have to do to get you to trust me?"
"Nothing! You are but a voice in my head, how can I trust such?! How could I trust anything that I cannot see or feel against my skin! And now, even that is suspect?!" Þór's voice was now a shriek, tears of frustration coming to his eyes as Mjolnir once more went through a stone jotun without any feeling of impact. But even still, he couldn't tell truth from illusion without at least attempting to strike what was before him.
So he continued to swing, continued to dance around, never thinking to question the illusions of his dead family and friends around him, all while moving closer to the gorge. The same gorge that the Bridge of True Beauty had previously spanned, a truly bottomless crevice that would drop Þór out into the nothingness between the dimensions.
Emma growled under her breath back at the base camp and poured more of her attention into the fight around Þór, keeping his mind, if not his senses, free of influence from the Shadows. The last thing they could afford would be to have the Shadows break into Þór's mind and implant within him the same sort of full memory replacement and mental control that they had done to Heimdall. Worse, their illusion magic is deadly enough, just like we saw when we arrived at the Asgardian's main camp.
While she was able to keep her defenses between Þór and the Shadows' assaults on the Astral plane intact, their magical strikes continued unabated as Þór moved through a small copse of trees. Seeming to have learned as they went, the Shadows had directed their illusions to place Þór somewhere his strikes would find purchase. Now, whenever he swung his hammer, he could feel it connecting with the trees around him, smashing them into splinters. Meanwhile, lightning and wind whirled all around him as the weather responded to his orders to strike the enemies he could see around him. These vanished like the mirages they were, only succeeding in sapping away his time and energy, while his feet carried him onward toward his doom.
How long this went on, neither Emma, who was still shouting into Þór's mind for him to trust her, nor Þór, who stalwartly ignored her, could tell. But eventually, thanks to Harry's orders and Clea taking up the defense of the main base camp, Stephen Strange was released to head towards Þór. With an exasperated and rapidly exhausting Emma directing him where to go, he soon found the Asgardian prince.
"Hold Þór!" the Sorcerer Supreme—a title Stephen had long since stopped using after making Harry's acquaintance—shouted. With several waves of his hands, and a cry of "By the eye of the Ancient One, let us see true!" the illusions around Þór began to dissipate like dust in the wind.
Þór stared as the fragments of the world around him faded, bringing the nightmare he had been seeing of friends and family dead all around him with them, then looked up at the human now hovering in the air above him. Glaring at the man, he cocked back Mjolnir, ready to throw once more. "And why should I believe you, stranger?! The angry woman's voice in my head has yet to give me any reason to trust her, and now you appear above me as the other illusions fade? How do I know that you are not the same as they who cast such in the first place? How do I know if you do not serve my enemies?"
Both philosophical and paranoid I see, Stephen reflected drolly, wincing at how close Þór had come to falling into the canyon and thus beyond the eyes of men and gods alike. Barely ten more yards, and I would have been too late. Still, Balder told me how to get him to agree to trust me, so there's still hope.
"When you and Balder were younger, the two of you got in trouble for trying to steal Freya's jewelry on a dare. You hid them in the kennel of a young human jarl, and you attempted to convince Balder to try and put the blame on Loki, only he refused. Freya found her jewels and then thrashed the both of you with a switch of holly. Later, when you lost Mjolnir, Loki helped you reclaim it by dressing you up as a woman. You were the ugliest woman to ever exist, but the stone Lord Þrym seemed to find you comely enough. He actually tried to kiss you before you could find your hammer, something that you only confessed to Balder when deep in your cups when trying to drown the memory."
Þór hesitated, and when he spoke, his tone was equal parts fear, hope, and embarrassment, a faint flush on his bare cheeks even as his red-rimmed eyes remained grimly locked on the strange man before him. "You… you could have stolen both tales from my brother's mind. Or even my own mind!"
"Perhaps, but would you agree that whoever has been controlling you and your folk could not do so while you were on Earth?"
"…" Þór lowered his hammer slightly, sifting through his memories before slowly nodding in agreement. "Tis true. Looking back on it, I did feel as if I were freer to be myself while on Midgard."
"And you had a few adventures while last there, did you not? Alongside other heroes, such as Benjamin Grimm or Captain America, or the Hulk, who you even fought several times. Indeed, you put the maddened Hulk down when he was attacking the human country called Canada as well, correct?"
"You are simply telling me things I already know stranger, but they are not secrets that can prove that you and I are fighting against the same enemy," Þór growled, his knuckles around Mjolnir going white. "You claim to know me and come from Midgard. But even if t'were true, it would not mean that you are fighting alongside my folk or me."
Now it was Stephen's turn to sigh in annoyance. "What would allow me to prove that I am on your side, Þór? I have another somewhat more embarrassing story about you attempting to sleep with a human woman that Amora, the Enchantress, told me about. If you don't already believe me, then as I remember, the story goes—"
"No need to bring that up!" Þór shouted, blushing with even more discomfiture than he had earlier when Stephen had spoken about his most embarrassing adventure as a young man. Instead, the Thunderer held up Mjolnir, pointing at Stephen with it. "Come down here and swear on my hammer you are here to aide my people and me. Only then will I believe you."
Shrugging his shoulders, Stephen floated down towards Þór, landing lightly using his magic. As he did so, he also had to constantly flick his hands this way and that, again and again, to dissipate illusions as they rose up around them. The Sorcerer Supreme held still otherwise as he did so while Þór watched on, saying nothing but staring straight at Stephen resolutely.
As they too watched on, the Shadows were not pleased, rather, they howled in fury. With Odin and Malekith teleported out of Asgard, they'd concentrated much of their attention on Þór. More and more illusions—visual, audial, olfactory—abounded as the Shadows used the same trick they had against the combined might of Clea and Harry. Instead of a few large illusions, they focused on a multitude of smaller ones, forcing Strange to expend an equally large number of small spells to deal with each of them separately.
At the same time, back at the base camp, Emma nearly cried out in pain, blood dripping from her nose as the attack on Þór's mind redoubled in an instant. Instead of a roiling mass of fog, the attack now became like a tsunami, crushing inwards, unstoppable. In response, Emma raised her diamond-like wall around Þór's mind once more, now concentrating her full attention on protecting the Asgardian prince's mind from the Shadows.
She barely noticed as Eir, one of Freya's Vanir handmaidens and goddess of healing, placed her hands on either side of Emma's head. Meanwhile, another handmaiden held up a flask to Emma's lips, while nearby Charles and Jean grimaced under a renewed attack on the camp.
Still, they had one another to fall back on, even if Charles was now also assisting Xian in protecting Team Fishermen at the same time. Emma was facing more than half of the total might of the current mental assault alone, and that, combined with the toll of having been fighting on the Astral Plane since arriving in Asgard, was having a major impact.
"As soon as it is possible, this young human woman, the redhead, and even the odd purple-haired woman must be given time to rest so I can properly heal them," Eir murmured to her Lady, who was nearby. "Whatever they are doing is straining their minds fiercely and I can feel their psyches slowly unraveling. I know not if my powers will be enough to keep their brains whole if they continue at this pace for much longer."
'As soon as possible might not be for quite some time, dear Eir," Freya said, patting the younger goddess on the shoulder before striding out at a call from beyond her tent. Outside, she found the next batch of wounded delivered by magic carpet. The draugr assault had cost the Einherjar and their new allies sorely. "Do the best you can. That is all even a queen can ask of anyone," she murmured, before metaphorically rolling up her sleeves and getting to work triaging the wounded alongside her other healers. As she toiled saving lives, she saw that the two healers from Midgard, the woman Amelia and the woman who-was-not-human called Una were also helping.
Balder and Steve, meanwhile, had assumed joint command of the Einherjar-expeditionary force. The wounded had been loaded up onto the magic carpets, and each magic carpet had since made several trips while the rest of the able-bodied Einherjar and their allies had made their way back to the camp over land. Already, forces of ODMs could be seen in the distance, moving forward to take up patrols around the area.
Back with Þór and Stephen, the Sorcerer Supreme clapped one hand down on Mjolnir while the other still cast anti-illusion spells. "I, Stephen Strange, am here in Asgard to help free the Asgardians from the beings who have dictated their destinies and lives for hundreds of years. I am on your side, Þór Odinson."
Þór stared, then laughed, and reached out, grabbing Stephen and pulling him into a bear hug that nearly broke his ribs and spine. So complete was his relief to have found an ally he could trust, he completely ignored the number of illusions that rose up to try and grab his attention while the strange human couldn't move to dispel them. He even shook off the smell of roasting boar coming from nearby. "Excellent! I thank you truly! You and yours, you brought me my belt and Mjolnir, didn't you? And with them, I am invincible!" The redheaded Þór paused, looking somewhat sheepish. "So long as I can truly see my foes at any rate."
"That is all well and good, but you will be down one ally if you keep squeezing me!" Stephen wheezed, turning blue around the edges. Þór, snorting humorously, dropped him to his feet.
Staring up at the Thunder God, Stephen touched his ribs gingerly, thinking that perhaps he should look into that Magia Erebea bodysuit that Harry used in the future. "I take it that you believe me then? I wasn't aware that your hammer had the mystical property of being able to tell the truth from lies. I would've thought that would be more Odin or Tyr's sphere of influence."
Þór snorted again, shaking his head and holding up Mjolnir, tapping it lightly against Stephen's shoulder as the other man stood up straight. "Nay, tis that you are real. None of the other illusions I've been facing had any substance. And it would be a very daring foe who would willingly place his hand upon my hammer."
"Really? Because given that story I was telling earlier, it seems to have been stolen off of you at least once," Stephen replied tartly, realizing now that Þór had bluffed him. The Asgardian prince had wanted to believe him due to the secrets he had mentioned. All he'd really needed was a bit more proof of Stephen's character, and his physicality, and he'd been willing to take the plunge.
Running one hand through his red locks, Þór paused as he felt his baby-smooth face. Needs must I grow a beard posthaste! Why ever did these Shadow creatures have to take away my beard, of all things? "T'was not stolen from my person at that point. And there is a vast difference between lifting it and wielding Mjolnir with the full might of the weapon. Indeed, without access to my gloves and my belt, even I would not be able to wield the full power of Mjolnir. But come!" he laughed wildly, a fey, burning light appearing in his eyes. "Lead me to our foes!"
Stephen turned away, dealing with several more illusion attacks, while Emma, her mind healed somewhat from the sudden push earlier by Eir, reported to him and Þór both what was going on elsewhere. "I'll be directing the two of you toward the ocean to join Team Fishermen against Jörmungandr there."
Þór's eyes narrowed, and a noticeable lightning aura appeared around him as he snarled. "Lead me to him!"
Once the Thunderer was back aboard his goat-powered transport, Stephen kept pace with his chariot while dealing with the continued attacks from the Shadows with ease. Dissipating illusions took but a scant moment of concentration and power from him, and so he was able to concentrate on the topic Þór most wanted to know about, explaining in detail what they had been doing since arriving in Asgard and why the expeditionary force was there at all.
The idea that his cousin—with the return of the real Mjolnir and the last Item of Power, the false memories within Þór had been broken, so he knew that Loki was not his brother but rather his uncle—had taken up with a human seidr-man was startling. Hearing that, he vowed to speak to this Harry Power the next time they saw one another. If Loki is not here to look after the girl, someone must step in to do so. It is only right!
In turn, Þór asked the one question that had been uppermost in his mind, the reason behind much of his fury with the Shadows. "You know this enemy better than I, their motivations, their thoughts. Tell me, Strange, why were my children slain? Why were they slain instead of enslaved like the rest of us, like my wife and I?"
The now-redheaded thunder God shook his head, gripping the reins of his chariot tight. Only the enchantments upon them made the leather reins resist his strength, although the grinding of leather on leather was so loud it might have hurt Stephen's ears if he had been on the chariot with Þór. "Never would I have thought to be in a position to wish that my children were enslaved. But if enslaved, they could be freed. But dead is dead. With my true memories returned, I know that at least three were slain in that last, terrible battle. Yet so too were many others, who I know were then revived to serve these Shadows eternal. And as to the fate of my daughter, of Þrúðr, I know nothing at all."
"…" Stephen was silent for a few moments, a wordless gesture of commiseration for Þór's grief before assaying a response. "Perhaps they did not fit the mold? I cannot speak as to their plans, nor why they decided to implant memories to make it appear as if Loki was your brother instead of Odin's, but perhaps it is tied into the fact that you were not married to Sif in their false, constructed life, correct? Perhaps they wanted you unfettered by familial love."
To Stephen's astonishment, Þór actually blushed, looking down at the chariot below him. "Indeed, it is true that we were not married in this new life the Shadows foisted upon us. And in the main, tis perhaps a good thing, else our wedding vows would be for naught. Still, perhaps some good can come from this. The two of us will have a chance to rebuild, together again, once this is all over."
Þór's flush disappeared, and he shook his head sadly. "In truth, we will need to lean on one another for strength when Sif is similarly freed of her false memories as I became when I touched my belt and Mjolnir both."
Stephen winced at that and moved through the air to pat the larger man on the shoulder before pulling slightly ahead, dealing with a massive cloud of illusion magic ahead of them before it could form into whatever trick or trap the Shadows were attempting to use. "Then come. The sooner we deal with the giant serpent, the sooner we are one step closer to ending this and the Shadows once and for all."
OOOOOOO
Leaping between the dimensions was not something Fenrir would ever wish to do again. The feeling of weightlessness and the lack of anything beyond himself to see, smell, or hear had hammered his mind hard. Indeed, he had grasped at the scent of blood, sweat, and unknown spice that came from Dani as she rode upon his back to keep his mind intact. There were some things even the consciousness of the smartest animal, and for all his deific blood, Fenrir was an animal, could not endure.
But eventually, the horror ended as his momentum carried him from the dimensional bubble of Utgard/Asgard and into the much smaller dimension of Svartalfheim. Just feeling air whip through his fur was enough to cause him to let out a loud yip of joy. "AT last!"
Even as he fell through the sky of the realm of the dark elves, he was sniffing wildly, breathing in deeply and feeling the wind in his face with a delighted expression pulling on his canine features. So overcome with just feeling again after the utter nothing of the leap was he that that the young wolf—and though fully grown now, Fenrir was still quite young— forgot that he would have to land.
Instead of landing on his feet, the young wolf bellyflopped more than anything else, smashing trees and the ground with such force that he created a small crater around him. Well, small in relation to his own body anyway, which was of course quite large to most anyone else. Shaking his head somewhat woozily, Fenrir pushed himself to his feet, wincing a hair at the small wounds on his stomach that Garm had left him, the only real injuries he'd taken in the small battle against the humans who had come looking for him.
Turning his head, Fenrir sniffed at Dani's unconscious form, still on his back. He was grateful that she still smelled alive at least. The armor she wore was undoubtedly keeping her in one piece, but she was alive. That was good enough for now. I will do as I said and fight her enemies, but I will not reveal my underbelly to the Asgardians! Mayhaps I could bear to see my sister, or even our half-brother Sleipnir, but none of the others. And… if the humans come to retrieve her, that would be all well and good. Until then, I will continue to guar—that is, carry her like the burden she is. It isn't like I enjoyed her song or the feeling of having a packmate for once. No, no! It is just a debt, for she did overcome the challenge we agreed upon.
With that firmly in mind, Fenrir stood up, taking in the surrounding terrain. He quickly discovered that he'd found himself in a very… strange place. The grass and ground underneath him seemed normal enough, it matched what could be found in Utgard before Jörmungandr's poison had begun to spread. But beyond that, everything was so different. Trees of what appeared to be metal and glass rose in seemingly random places. Some of them were obviously made things, others… not so much. Mixed in between these trees were other trees whose bark was as black as night. This second type was far thinner than the metal or glass trees, which were as wide as Fenrir was across.
At the foot of some of those pitch black trees were various entrances into what Fenrir's nose was telling him was a vast underground cave system. As he moved through the strange forest, the giant wolf came upon a few houses on the actual surface. From many of these structures came the sharp smell of metal, much like the trees, only slightly different. Less… alive? How bizarre, the metal trees are alive? I could've sworn iron and steel were an ore and alloy rather than a plant…
Fenrir's mind was in a very odd place at that moment. The hunger-madness had been a part of his being for so long that its removal under Dani's mutant power had resulted in a constant near-euphoric feeling within the young wolf. His nominally serious mien had given way to an almost pup-like delight. He was able to simply enjoy his life at present to a degree he couldn't ever remember doing so before.
But as Fenrir came upon the first few surface houses, out of both the entrances to the cave system and houses alike came the dark elves, as he'd half expected. First dozens appeared, then hundreds, all instantly casting their magic at the giant wolf. As they closed, the added using their weapons to the attack.
Neither worked. While magic could distract Fenrir's senses, and indeed a number did occasionally cause him to turn away to chase a ball of light or delicious smell, the attack spells simply collapsed against his fur, doing nothing. No dark elf, bar Malekith, had the strength to match a spellcaster such as Clea, and even her spells had not made much of an impression. If anything, she'd simply knocked him about, overcoming his weight and footing without doing much real harm.
The dark elves were also too one-dimensional in regards to their magic and how they used it during battle. Despite using their magic for mining, spells aimed at the ground or the area around them were few and far between and easy to break through. As for their physical weapons, those bounced off Fenrir's fur just as Garm's claws and the rest of the humans' weapons had.
On the other hand, they are persistent if nothing else, Fenrir groused to himself as he tore another group of dark elves to pieces. Smashing through a glass and steel tree a second later, he chomped down on two more and was still chewing as he raced toward several others, all of whom were shooting arrows and spellfire his way.
Halfway there, the ground underneath him collapsed, and Fenrir roared in rage as he fell through the air. This time though, he kept his wits about him and landed solidly on his feet. Looking around, he saw he'd ended up in a pit carved out of the underground tunnel system. With walls many stories high, Fenrir could barely see the top of the trap he'd fallen into. But halfway up its length, caves led off this magically created pit. In those cave entrances were more dark elves, all quick to toss down faggots of wood and spells of flames and spark.
They also poured down something else. From the smell of it, the concoction was some kind of oil that looked almost purple in the few sun's light high above. On top of this development, Fenrir also noticed that half of the fire spells raining down on him were some sort that created a blue flame. The fire from these odd spells clung to the seeping oil like a living thing.
Seeing this seemingly alive fire coming at him, Fenrir's animal mind began to lose its grip on its self-control. As powerful as he was, as strong and intelligent as Fenrir had grown, he was still an animal, as his reaction to the dimensional gap had made very clear to him. And all animals, bar anyway, held a natural fear of fire. Fenrir knew intellectually that no fire was hot enough to truly burn him. He'd proven that when he dealt with the flaming man the day before.
But the site of that blue flame particularly unmanned him, which unbeknownst to Fenrir, part of the blue flame's magic. "Use the Ógn-Bál, the Ógn-Bál!" shouted one of the magic-users. "More fear, more fire!"
Grimacing as the fear of the fire and the acrid odors of the growing conflagration filled his senses, Fenrir desperately clung to the memory of dealing with the flaming man, baring his teeth even as the fire at the bottom of the pit licked up his legs. Pushing his power into his massive limbs, he crouched then leaped, smashing into the side of the pit. Fangs gleaming in the firelight, he roared, "I will devour you all!"
Scrabbling for purchase, Fenrir snapped up two of the dark elves closest to his jaws, gulping them down. More importantly, he was able to push off the side of the pit and launch himself ever higher. Despite the dark elves attempting several times to make the sides of the pit slick or close up their cave entrances so as to not give Fenrir enough purchase to climb, Fenrir was soon out of the pit. Howling in triumph, the giant wolf crashed into a war band of dark elves who'd been trying to close around the lip of the pit.
Even as he slew them, though, Fenrir noticed something strange. Thanks to Danielle's intervention, much of his innate curiosity had returned to him once his hunger-madness had been dealt with. when he'd been stalking farmers' herds in Utgard, he'd heard rumors that the Asgardians had fought a recent campaign against the dark elves. It was a very minor thing compared to the invasion of the fire jotun, but it still surprised him that there were still so many dark elves around in Svartalfheim after the casualties he'd heard they'd taken against Balder's forces.
Pausing for a moment, Fenrir looked around himself, standing amidst the destroyed remains of the warband. He easily ignored the light impact of arrows from elsewhere as he lowered his nose to a corpse at his feet. Sniffing at it, he snarled in irritation. There was far more wood and sap in this 'body' than bone or blood. "Some magical construct or other? How annoying. No wonder I am still so hungry. I thought perhaps it was just the nature of the dark elves that I could eat so many of their number and yet still crave more, but if only one out of every three has been flesh and blood, that would explain it."
Fenrir shrugged in a truly wolfish expression of philosophical amusement, seeing he had smashed what local defenses were there. Even so, his nose could detect in which direction the majority of the dark elves still resided. "Oh well, that just makes this more amusing."
And so, with his unconscious companion still strapped to him, Fenrir, the Wolf, destined to swallow the sun and Odin himself during Ragnarök, continued to rage through the lands of Svartalfheim, no longer affecting the war one in Asgard way or the other. For now, anyway. As Sigyn and Dani had discussed, it remained to be seen how long such a weapon could be left to sit unused...
OOOOOOO
All in all, Those Who Watch Above in Shadow were… not pleased, no, but perhaps quietly confident that they had at least stopped the cascade of losses that they had begun to suffer since the Midgard-borne humans had arrived. Although, this confidence wasn't entirely without cracks, of course. Since the humans had entered Asgard, the Shadows had seen one setback after another. But the strategy of sacrificing pawns for time, and not directly challenging Harry Potter seemed to have worked to their benefit. So too did Malekith's suggestion and Odin had been whisked away before he could be saved.
They had done even better elsewhere, such as keeping the grief-stricken and headstrong Þór trapped in a series of illusions for much of the night even after he'd managed to break a majority of their bindings upon him. With the arrival of one of the other extremely powerful magic users from Earth, they might've failed to remove him from the board, but the Shadows were becoming somewhat philosophical about such things.
Yet, the Shadow's automatic response to that situation showed their long-term strategy was working. At that very moment, they could feel the tide on the Astral Plane slowly turning against their foes, the human telepaths. If the Shadows could continue to use their pawns effectively, it was only a matter of time before the telepaths protecting the Migardian humans and, more importantly, the Asgardians and their Einherjar would collapse. At that point, adroit utilization of mental domination and illusion magic would turn the humans and the Asgardian host against one another, leaving perhaps only Potter and the other more powerful magic users on their own.
Of course, there were still issues.
While they had nearly wiped out the group sent after Fenrir, apparently, most of those humans had already returned to and been healed at the war camp, from what they could sense. Worse, the one individual they had thought to be completely overmatched by the Wolf had somehow managed to break their mental control of him. He, in turn, had managed to leap across the dimensional gap and was now going on a rampage against the dark elves, slaughtering them like chaff.
However, beyond removing Fenrir from the equation, such a thing really didn't matter at the moment. The more annoying aspect of the situation was that they couldn't teleport him back. Mental commands, certainly, they send those innumerable at their leisure. Much like their continued assault on the Astral Plane, doing so would simply be a matter of time and concentration. Concentration, they had decided, they did not want to waste at that moment due to their desire to keep up the pressure on the human telepaths. Furthermore, Fenrir had so much natural magical resistance that it would take an inordinate amount of power to move him from one dimension to another.
And at the moment, the main problem the Shadows were realizing they faced was that they were taking a huge hit to their magical reserves.
While the Shadows had started this war with a truly monstrous well of power, well beyond what even most Elder Gods could draw upon, the loss of two of their tethers—one dead, the other useless due to distance—severely limited their energy intake. The Shadows themselves could create magic, it was true, but the amount they generated, and the limited flow they were absorbing from the Asgardians, minus Hela and now Þór, as well as the splashes of power from the deaths of any Asgardians who'd been slain so far was not enough to keep up with the demand. Illusions were easier to create than teleporting people or a worthwhile fear spell, but even sticking strictly with their phantasms, the Shadows knew they were losing strength they could not afford.
Frankly, it seemed as if this Ragnarök had become a race. Which would run out first, the Shadows' ability to use any means beyond telepathy to attack their foes or those foes' telepathic defenses?
But then, one amongst the Shadows pointed out that they did still have Odin. The implications took a moment to sink into the rest of the Shadows, but soon they all saw the opportunity their planning had presented them. It was not one they would normally take, no, but it might well be necessary in these troubled, unusual times. Odin was, after all, a major wellspring of power, nearly thirty percent of what they could passively draw from the Asgardians still living. And just because they personally could not create the means to which that passivity could be shifted to aggressive did not mean that their pawns were so limited.
Quickly, Malekith, who had been teleported to Muspellheim along with his prize, felt the Shadows reaching into his mind. Instead of only words this time, there were also images. "These are runes of power. You will use them and your own knowledge of the craft to create a magical array that will siphon off Odin's power."
"Oh, how delightfully delicious!" Malekith exclaimed, going over the images in his mind's eye, already beginning to put together the runic array that he would need. "So long as Surtur has a sufficiently large and enclosed room in his hovel of a palace, I see no issues with this. It might take me an hour or more, but it is certainly doable. But… why not expand on this idea? Set up traps using these runes elsewhere? And why haven't you tried to use something like this before now?"
"That is a possibility once you have completed this primary task," the Shadows answered brusquely, although they did not hold onto any great hope that this idea of theirs would work on someone like Potter or any Asgardian they were not already keeping unconscious. These interloping humans seemed too wily, too intelligent when it came to magic to fall for something like that. And as for the Asgardians, to make that kind of runic array a tactical weapon, Malekith would have to set it up on the battlefield, where not only the humans would spot it, but even the dullest Asgardian would be able to tell a trap was present.
The Shadows completely ignored Malekith's second question. The reason for their not using something like this before this moment was because the idea simply wouldn't have occurred to them. And frankly, even the power they would get from draining Odin to the point of death would be but drops compared to the ocean of power they would take from the Asgardians as a whole when they succeeded in finishing this Ragnarök as it should be.
Of course, they had been forced to sup on some of that power already. Many Asgardians had already died in the war so far, and their deaths, and indeed the second deaths of their Asatru followers, had fed the Shadows. But they had not yet managed to kill any of the more powerful gods or goddesses of the pantheon, and that had made using so much of their stockpile to create the draugr a mistake they were now paying for.
On the bright side, draining Odin so proactively had no impact on the compact that the Skyfather and the other Asgardians had signed with the Shadows all those centuries ago to help them flee from Midgard. So long as the old fool didn't die, and as long as someone else was doing the work, the Shadows could benefit while still keeping to their agreement. Still, it was obvious even now that using any such runic array that Malekith could come up with would not give them nearly as much power as if Odin were to die. Like any other sacrifice-based magic, the moment of death, what could be called the Last Gasp of Life perhaps, where the willpower, life, vitality, and magic of an individual were all released, that moment right before the soul was fully severed, that was when the most power could be harvested.
Souls too, could be… recycled. Their power could be drawn away along with their memories. But the souls of the Asgardians who'd survived the first Ragnarök were inviolate. This was partially because of the agreement that the Shadows had made with them. All Asgardians, and indeed every other creature or individual within the dimensions connected to Yggdrasil's branches who had signed that fateful compact with the Shadows would be kept from the wheel, allowed to be reborn so that they could continue their lives again once Ragnarök had passed.
But beyond that, dealing with souls would inevitably draw the direct interest of the most horrid of the Endless. And like many of those who had given up their mortality and the equivalent of what would pass as humanity to cheat their ends, the last thing the Shadows wanted was to draw the personal attention of Death. That was a line the Shadows would move towards but would never willingly cross unless there were no other options.
Realizing that there was no reply forthcoming, Malekith shrugged his shoulders and looked around at the group of four jotun who had come out to meet him once he'd arrived at Surtur's castle. He gestured for them to pick up Odin, snickering to himself. "And don't bother being gentle with that one. We merely need him alive. If you bounce his head a dozen times or more off the floors and walls, well, that will hardly matter in the end."
OOOOOOO
"You are all so annoying!" Jörmungandr bellowed, snapping his jaws this way and that as he tried to catch one of the gnats buzzing around him in his jaws, one paw lashing out at another, and another paw scratched at his side where at one of the insects had just alighted. All of his attacks missed, and the serpent bellowed in fury, dispersing a cloud of noxious fumes. Even that was dodged and he was paid back in kind by a strike that barely missed his eye, the massive orb only saved by a last-minute twitch to the side before a tiny hatchet crashed down upon his scales. The weapon did no lasting injury, but the momentum alone jarred Jörmungandr's eye socket a bit too much for his liking.
The giant serpent flicked his head upwards, sending Thunderbird flying, but his waiting magic carpet flew under him, directed there by the spell that placed on the carpets to make them follow whoever sat on them last. Jörmungandr attempted to follow up and eat the gnat, but he found himself blinded by an arcing blast of sub-zero wind and a flensing blade of wind crashing into the side of his head, twisting his body aside. Even that didn't do much more than sting horribly, but it still irritated him.
"Even annoyances can eventually bring down a beast like you," Storm growled from on high. Jörmungandr reared up in response, trying to bite at her, but she simply flew higher, blasting him in return with hurricane-force gales until the serpent crashed down headfirst onto the frozen ocean below.
His breath coming in great billowing clouds, the Hulk raced forward and was able to land a number of solid blows against Jörmungandr's snout, causing the serpent to growl in anger before he could lift himself back up. It was then the Hulk's turn to face a breath attack, a torrent of water crashing into him and sending him staggering backward two steps before he could thrust his hands before him, dispersing the water.
Thundra and the Thing crashed down from on high, landing on a section of the beast's long sinuous back, each of them armed with a harpoon. These they started to work underneath a pair of giant scales before hammering them furiously. The sudden piercing of his flesh caused the World Serpent to hiss in pain.
Mind you, this would be akin to the result of amateur acupuncture for a normal human, painful certainly, but not life-threatening. Jörmungandr turned aside from where he had been trying to breathe the Hulk to death, twisting down on his own body and bringing his jaws to bear on the two harpoon users. At the last second, both leaped away, Thundra using the broom she'd strapped to her back and the Thing being grabbed out of the air by his magic carpet.
"Again with the Aladdin vibes," Ben laughed as he raced away from the serpent, who raged and roared. Several of Jörmungandr's legs came up to try and slash at them again, but Rogue quickly made a go for his eye again, regaining his full attention . "Not that I'm complaining, mind you!"
Above and to the side of the main battle, the Scarlet Witch laughed somewhat brokenly as she dealt with another wave of illusions before they could disrupt another round of attacks. "If you were, I'd probably send a hex at your ass! This is hard enough as it is, and I don't know about you, but it doesn't seem like we're winning here!"
"You all have it easy!" Xian growled, her normally placid nature in stark abeyance at the moment. She and Emma Steed were being hard-pressed on the Astral Plane, and it was all they could do to keep the Shadows from getting to the members of Team Fishermen. Neither were powerhouses like Charles or Jean, and each mental assault battered away at their fortitude a piece at a time.
"Remember everyone, you have Pepper-up potions, don't be afraid to use them!" Storm ordered, joining in with the Scarlet Witch to dispatch another magical assault, this one much larger in scope than the last. Hundreds, then thousands of small illusions. These phantasms were mostly of Jörmungandr twitching the opposite way he was actually doing so, crafted to fool the attackers into making mistakes. Thankfully, Storm and the Scarlet Witch both had ways to dispatch large numbers of spells at once.
"Have no fear," Charles' voice suddenly boomed through the two wavering telepaths' minds as his astral presence appeared beside their own. Holding up his hand, the elder mutant's power flared out, blocking the incoming assault from the Shadows wholesale. Indeed, he not only pushed it back, but also created an almost dome-like structure around Team Fishermen one and all. "I am here. You are not alone. The assaults on the main camp have slowly subsided. I believe this is because Harry and Hela failed in their part of the operation. However, that allows for me to come and aid you more directly."
While Xian nearly collapsed backward onto her magic carpet, fingers fumbling for her pouch and the Pepper-up potion inside, Emma Steed tried to act a little more refined as she reached for her own. Unfortunately for her, the utter relief she felt at the elder telepath's presence was far too easy to discern on the Astral Plane. Storm, however, was more than a little concerned about what the professor had just revealed. "Harry and Hela failed?"
"Unfortunately, it is so. The Shadows were able to hold the two off long enough for one of their agents to spirit Odin way. We don't know for what purpose besides the obvious of keeping us deprived of him, but all the same we could not free him from their chains. Where we go from here will depend on how long it the Thunderer and Stephen to get to you and what Harry and Queen Freya decides our next move should be."
OOOOOOO
The Shadows were not the only ones able to innovate. Harry had already shown that with his creation of an anti-illusion spell that created a zone which continually rejected all types of illusions within its sphere of influence that followed him around. A few moments after Malekith and Odin had disappeared, Harry innovated again, reaching out to Jean. "Let me use your eyes, love. If I can see where you are, I can memorize it and then teleport to you, like I've done with Hedwig in the past."
Much like everyone else who used teleportation, Harry had to memorize the location he was going to teleport to. If they had been on Earth, he could have used Ororo's methodology to go both ways and saved himself a lot of time, maybe. It was an open question if a Gaia-taught spell would work through Asgard's defensive wards. Regardless, as they were not on Earth, that had been a mute point.
Jean wearily answered in the affirmative but also asked, "What about Freya and her wards? I thought they had put up anti-teleportation protections around the camp?"
"Blocking teleportation completely is easier said than done since every magical school has their own various ways of going about it. I doubt Freya or the others have dealt with Apparition before," Harry soothed, "Tell her and the rest we're coming in, though. That's just polite.
"Okay, we'll try it. But if Hela hurls when she arrives, I'm blaming you," Jean quipped back, some actual humor coming across the connection. It went without saying that her weary voice carried the utter relief she felt at her husband's imminent arrival.
Jean took a break from the telepathic side of the war to send a runner to Freya. She rolled her head slightly to one side, feeling her body ache from being set in one position for far too long. Turning onto her side—or more accurately, rolling—she rubbed her large belly for a second, taking a measure of peace from the action as she looked at the far corner of the command tent, which was currently empty. "Ready, love."
With that, Jean opened herself the link with her husband and shared her sight with Harry, feeling his presence beyond her own eyes, feeling his avatar appearing within her mental realm. A moment later, the empty spot in the tent was no longer empty as Harry, Hela, and an unknown and very trussed up large man suddenly appeared in front of her with a loud *crack!*
True to Jean's prediction, Hela stumbled, falling to one knee and began heaving. At the same time, Harry fell flat on his face. But while Hela stayed where she was, her eyes clenched tightly behind her mask, Harry pushed to his feet, moving over to give Jean a hug as if the tumble hadn't happened at all. "That worked quite well, I think," he murmured into her hair, looking over at Emma, Charles, and Betsy worriedly, especially when he saw the Asgardian goddess still attending his White Queen. "Thank you, love."
Betsy, Tony and Johnny had been recalled hours ago. Emma and Jean had felt Dani's unconscious mind hitting the edge of the dimensional gap, which stopped telepathic powers. Wherever Fenrir had taken her after Dani had somehow broken through his hunger-madness, she was out of reach for now.
Jean didn't answer verbally, instead leaning up and kissing him lightly, not ardently. Jean desperately needed some reassurance right now, and she hugged her greatest source of comfort as if she never wanted to let him go.
Harry returned the kiss just as gently, then pulled away as Hela smacked him across the back in clear annoyance. "What have I told you about teleporting me in that nature, my Seidr Man?"
However, the moment of levity passed quickly as the goddess looked over to Jean, Emma, and Eir. Even Charles was sweating at this point; his face was locked in a grimace, his hands like claws digging into the armrests of his wheelchair. Even Betsy, who was basically working as backup for the more powerful trio and only fighting off attacks on the camp rather than on the distant Team Fishermen or Þór, was looking much the worse for wear. It had been approximately half a day since the expeditionary force had arrived, and all of the telepaths had been in near-constant combat since then.
"Come, sister," Hela said, moving forward as Harry stepped over towards Emma, her hand going around Jean's expanded waist. "Sit back down. Let the handmaidens take care of you as best they may. Much rides on you and the others, but at least we can continue to make you comfortable and aid you as much as we can."
"Do you have six or seven other telepaths we could rotate in?" Jean quipped, sarcasm as heavy as her weariness in her tone as she sat once more, leaning against Hela with a grateful smile for her support, both emotional and physical. Freya and the handmaidens and everyone in the camp had been solicitous of the needs of all three of the main telepaths, but that was a far cry from feeling a loved one's arms around them.
"Would you like me to have Amelia come by and give you a massage, Charles?" Harry half-teased, looking over at the older telepath before turning back to Emma.
"If you would, I would be most grateful," Charles answered, his voice unwontedly serious. "I have faced a foe like these Shadows before. Ironically enough, he went by the moniker The Shadow King. The knowledge I gained from surviving that conflict is giving me an edge the others lack, but the raw anger and power of these Shadows dwarfs that of my old foe by orders of magnitude."
"Oooh, Steve and a shoulder rub for me if you're taking orders, Harry!" Betsy joked, raising a chuckle from the tent's occupants.
"I'll see about that in a moment." Freya announced upon entering the tent. The Queen nodded once to them all and thanked Jean for warning her ahead of time that Harry and Hela would be returning magically.
"While I did not get enough of a feel for that magic well enough to construct a new working against such, I did still sensed the spell as your arrived. I understand you have some talent as a healer as well, Harry? If so, might I request your aid for a moment? While Amelia, Una, and my own ladies are doing well enough, more hands are always helpful."
"I'll be there in a moment." Nodding, Harry leaned down to squeeze Emma's hand, looking at Eir. "How is she?"
"Well enough for now. But I think that if this battle goes on o'er long, then all of these, what is those with mental powers called, telepaths? If their battle goes on longer than a quarter day more, some of the damage to their brains will become permanent," Eir warned. "My magic is keeping the worst at bay for now, but there is only so much healing one can do on a mind while it is still locked in combat."
Wincing, Harry leaned down before pressing his lips to Emma's forehead. "I'll be back, love."
With that, Harry left the tent with Freya, who showed him where the wounded were being treated. As he worked, Harry filled her in on what they had run into.
Freya listened gravely, shaking her head sadly as she looked over at where Heimdall was being dragged away by four dvergar. Harry had bound him with magical force, and under Freya's order, the Asgardian watchman would be further tied up by the dwarves, although it was distressing to see so doughty a warrior being treated so.
"I do not like the fact these Shadows have shown us several times now that controlling so many of my people is but child's play for them," Freya scowled, biting at one long fingernail. "If I had any doubt about their existence after the draugr attack, this would have put it to rest. And that annoys me all the more. What else have they done? What else will we discover is false of our own memories? And worse, who else will be revealed to be but constructs of magic and torn souls?"
Nearby, Amora, the Enchantress, shivered and looked away. She had been busy with several of the elves putting down wards of warning and other traps in the forest beyond the camp's outer edge, just in case the Shadows decided to teleport more forces in to attack them from long range. But she had returned a moment ago, just in time to hear that comment.
Blast it all. What will happen to me once the Shadows have been defeated? Unless all I have learned of souls, life, and the magics thereof has been utterly wrong, it is unlikely that I will just disappear completely. Yet even so, will I be allowed to go back to my life on Earth? Amora was still of the firm opinion she had been conscripted into this war against her own will and would like nothing better than to return to her life on Earth as soon as possible.
While there were no servants or worshippers waiting for her there, so much more was possible! Clothing, sights, sounds, beaches, perfume, food. No, whatever else happened, Amora was determined to return to Earth and be happy. No matter if I might have begun as a… a split off soul shard I am my own person now, damn it!
Somewhat away from this narrowly avoided existential crisis, Harry finished helping the healers attend to the most seriously wounded in about forty minutes. Luckily, Team Fisherman's efforts had already had an effect. With the Vanir Njord's efforts combined with their continued harassment of the World Serpent, all of the miasma in the atmosphere around the area of the camp had been pushed away. With clean air returned, the remaining wounded could be left to Una, Amelia, and the local healers without concern.
At least, until Garm arrives, Harry thought ruefully. I rather doubt that he will be in a very good mood.
Meanwhile, the able-bodied Einherjar had returned to camp, joining the ODMs, teleporters, and flyers who had all reached the camp hours back. Leaving the logistics of food and bedding to the Alfar, Freya led the way back to the command tent, thinking on what Harry had said earlier.
"You are certain that the noncombatants in Asgard will remain relatively unharmed?"
"We made certain they were at least in no danger of breaking anything or otherwise hurting themselves once the spells binding them in place faded. We might not have the time to deal with them at present but keeping them out of harm's way was easy enough," Harry answered in the affirmative. "Hell, they might all have to be put through the same kind of treatment that Emma did originally with Hela to be truly free for all we know. Not only would that be a major drain on our telepath's energy, but the Shadows have proven far more tricky than we'd expected. The last thing we want to do is give them more time to work with."
"Then my next question is, what could they be using my husband for?" Freya mused, biting at her fingernail once more, an obvious sign of the queen's nerves. "Was it just to keep you from freeing him? If so, that would by itself make some sense. Yet, I cannot help but feel that his abduction is simply a part of a larger scheme."
"Agreed," Harry nodded, reflecting that if Odin had been a human leader, then the idea of keeping him as a hostage would make sense. As it was, the very idea was laughable. They might be able to wrangle some more time by threatening his life, but that's about it. Freya would never agree to any demands they make. Such capitulation would be beneath her and Odin both.
Entering the tent, Harry held the flap open for Freya and Amelia Voight before moving over to Emma. While Freya moved to update the map, Amelia moved over to Charles, kneeling in front of him and taking his hands in hers, gently working his fingers and wrists where they had gone all stiff from gripping his wheelchair's armrests.
A kiss from Harry roused Emma from the Astral Plane where she had been guarding Þór. She smiled wanly up at him, and he could see she was about to say something acerbic or tart, but instead, she ended up blushing rosily as he leaned in again and kissed her nose and then her lips before pulling out a Pepper-up potion as well as a plate of food that one of the cooks had prepared. For some odd, infuriating reason kissing her nose always caused Emma to blush, probably at the sheer silliness of the gesture. "I know you can't concentrate on your physical body for very long, but I just wanted you to know that I'm back and will be feeding you for a bit."
"This is so demeaning," Emma whimpered, although she didn't put up any real objections and opened her mouth when Harry used a fork to pick up a bit of savory looking steak.
Moments later, her eyes rolled back into her skull as she returned the majority of her concentration to the extremely distant Þór, leaving her body entirely in Harry's hands. He nodded over at Eir, who wordlessly placed her hands on either side of Emma's head once more. Harry continued to feed her from the full plate of food he'd brought, capping it off with a large chalice of water and the Pepper-up potion.