Hellbound Read online

  With a flick of his fingers, the blue flower disappeared in a wisp of smoke. Loki pulled himself up to his full six-foot-two height, and laughed, lighting up his ocean blue eyes. “Should I have some objections to this masterful plan? After all, this is my design.” He paused. “Dear daughter, forget not, that I am the one behind this grand scheme. I understand my role as do you. Where do we stand?”

  “Ola has her assignment to begin the next phase of our plan, but I need to know that you will be ready to strike should this not go as you like.”

  “Never doubt the one whose seed you are, dear. To make the gods crumble, it must happen from within.” His wide and warm smile spread across his oval face. He ran his hand through his dark wavy hair.

  “Where is Ola?” Fenrir asked.

  “She is in position.”

  “Soon they will begin the grand rewind, and she will need to escape before that begins,” Loki instructed.

  “She will make it.”

  “Did you tell her the cost and that she needs to refrain from consuming anything while away from Midgard, or she will not be able to return?” Loki asked. “For the way the realms work, they require that you remain pure, and the way you enter is the same way you must leave, or you will be tethered to that realm.”

  “We mustn’t worry as Ola is very smart and apt. She is a wielder.”

  “For them, it is even more difficult, as she has the power within to bring great light, should she land not in Alfheim, but head to the land of the Dark Elves.”

  “You worry too much. Right now, we must concern ourselves with the crown.”

  Her beloved Harley was the Alder King, and even Odin’s absurdity wouldn’t erase him from the history of Hel’s heart. Even if she had to march into Asgard—the home of the gods—and tear down his throne one brick at a time.

  Love knew no boundaries, and even the gods weren’t going to stop her.

  Loki nodded, crossed his arms and together, the three united by one blood waited for the dystopian world to be erased.

  In the grand mirror, they watched the world rewind and slowly return to how it once was.

  Except now magic would exist. The veil had been pierced, the lost stars would again find light, and out of the shadows, the monsters would come.

  Chapter 3

  Thor

  In the fight of good versus evil, there were always losers, and Midgard—Earth—had received that award.

  The world was in a state of godly rebellion, and even water refused to obey. Thor heard Freyja’s words ring throughout the realms, etching it into the bark of Yggdrasil that time should be undone in the realm of man. But the water didn’t seem to care. Despite the wind blasting down upon it, it refused to recede and obey.

  Thor stared out from a rooftop at the flood-damaged city he’d been unable to protect. Richmond, under the dimmed blue sky, still lay in waste, flooded; buildings—those long abandoned and dilapidated—creaked under the water’s weight and the wind’s brute force. Cars still sat eschewed, their rooftops peeking from under the water’s growing depths.

  Still, there was no sign of Njord, the god of the sea and wind. The wind was enough evidence that Njord was indeed active, but neither hide nor hair of him had yet to appear.

  Bravery didn’t erase fear, duty or honor. Just because Thor was the son of Odin didn’t mean that he hadn’t made mistakes or missed the mark. Regret formed a pit in his stomach, and he ground his teeth, calculating how he could make things right again.

  On that rooftop, he stood as if standing on a great precipice, a chasm that he needed to bridge for all of mankind.

  What would happen to the gods if the faith of the faithful completely disappeared? Could Asgard fall? If Midgard no longer needed him as its protector, what would he do then? Where would he go?

  He could understand why the gods might be contemptible to believers and those who’d long ago discarded their faith in the old gods and replaced them with the new ones created. Despite the fact that in Asgard, time here was commanded to rewind, but instead, nothing had changed for the better. If anything, it had grown worse.

  The nearby trees careened and cracked under the growing pressure from the strong gusts of wind.

  Despite the sun’s arrival, the light in this pocket grew no lighter—dimmed by whatever it was that blocked the words of the goddess from having any weight or meaning.

  In comparison, just over the edge of the area, Thor squinted and saw that this was different than the one just out of his purview. He watched the rising waters—called down by Lady Hel—recede; the buildings began to self-repair; the buried vehicles once again became visible. However, where he stood nothing changed.

  In the distance, under the flood waters that still covered the city streets, something moved. He readied his hammer and waved it above his head listening to the responding wind’s unearthly howl and the water’s gurgling.

  Thor smiled. This could mean only one thing: the Midgard Serpent was here. Today was the day that he could finally make a godly-sized bag from its hide.

  Thor tightened his grip on his hammer. “Where are you, Jörmungandr?” His deep baritone voice boomed like thunder.

  The water began to swirl.

  Instead of the Midgard Serpent, a frost giant rose from the water’s depths, gasping for breath. Thor stared at the machete-wielding adversary. His skin bluish a color, but not from the cold waters, but from the magic that burst forth.

  Thor hesitated only a moment, confused by the frost giant’s presence. If the giant had made his way to Midgard, this was an indication that his failure in keeping Midgard safe was even greater than he had realized.

  “Damn. How are you here, Frost Giant?” Thor called.

  Instead of answering, the giant threw back his head and laughed. “Have you not figured out that the worlds are now open to our domain? We can come and go as we please and even you can’t stop us.”

  Chapter 4

  Sif

  I never thought I’d even think this: The gods are fickle; asshats even, and since my arrival in Asgard, that thought had become more and more prominent.

  And true.

  I was done with wishing and hoping for change. What the gods refused to do, I’d do it my damned self!

  The dust hadn’t settled. The enemy, like a roach infestation, remained after the fogger.

  I crouched in the shadows of the abandoned building and waited. Tonight, I again patrolled the city’s streets—my streets. My body ached, but I wouldn’t allow that to stop me. As if a thousand tiny needles pierced my hands and feet, I cringed, clenched my teeth and continued my cloaked creeping pursuit. I checked over my shoulder and pulled up the half-mask to cover the bottom of my face and pushed down the sickening feeling of regret. Tonight wasn’t about making a statement.

  “It’s almost time for you to return,” Heimdall spoke into the earbud in my ear. “You know our deal, Sif.”

  “I just need five more minutes to take out the trash,” I whispered.

  “Chi, do you see anything else from your position?” I asked over the com to my dear friend who’d stayed behind enemy lines. She rested on the nearby rooftop, far enough away that no ill would befall her.

  “You know, you two should do less talking on this thing,” she chastised. “They’ve grown smarter over the last few weeks. Stay focused on the target, Sif.”

  With my target in sight, my heart thudded in my chest like a drum betraying my anxiety, and I picked up the pace to close the gap between me and the Dark Elves .

  The dark elves still hadn’t gotten the message and continued to lurk, to prey upon the unsuspecting. Broken concrete crunched under my feet despite my trying to be silent. I stayed in the shadows of the dark and dilapidated buildings.

  For these trips, I’d created a network: Chi and Heimdall were my eyes and ears, and I was the slayer, burdened to release the souls of the dead from the elves’ possession.

  When the Dark Elves arrived, they’d made sure to cleanse one
city block at a time, leaving the fringes to be a buffer between them and us, should things go south. And south they went. When the world went dark, and the flood waters came with Jörmungandr, the Midgard Serpent, those who didn’t perish in his bite fled to higher ground, and this city was perfect, while that below sea level now lay under water, those areas where the water didn’t touch remained impenetrable.

  Maybe, I should have considered that those left over were rogue dark elves, left here to their own devices, but they still wore their uniforms, stalked around as if they owned the town and everyone in it, and of course, still killed innocents to feed.

  And that was why I was here.

  The two dark elves I followed were tracking their dinner: A young redhead just up ahead, who teetered and tottered on drunken feet.

  The two elves dressed in black tactical gear, and on their vest, they each wore a contraption that powered their life support and weapons. I squinted and watched the numerous souls float and flutter inside of the clear case on their armor. The human faces of agony were barely recognizable. It sickened me to the core.

  It was hard to sneak up on a target, though, when they heard you coming. When the two dark elves before me stopped and turned around, their armor glowed—spiked—a tactical vest covered their vitals, energized by the souls they’d absorbed, while their guns dangled at their sides.

  In this space, despite the fact that the city was crumbling around them, this part hadn’t been touched. The echelon continued their infection. Clean, superior? A complete juxtaposition to the actuality of the pain visited up the community of humanity over that of the elves. So far, there was no sign of remorse.

  Instead, humanity now performed like puppets, and the Dark Elves pulled the strings, and the gods remained silent.

  This society was filled with contradictions. Those humans who’d not been able to escape when the flood happened, had remained, right where they’d been these last five years—on their determined tier. There was no one experience in living in this world. Some might find it better than worse; some embraced the tyrannical and looked away as their brothers in arms paid the ultimate price fighting for freedom. They lived in hovels, while others stabbed concrete with their ultra-expensive and designer heels.

  The platitudes and promises lulled the masses to sleep until they bought into it with body, mind, and soul. They aligned themselves with this evil, and now the streets ran red with blood as the dark elves continued to sacrifice men, women, and children, one-by-one to their nefarious deeds, and bloodthirsty appetite.

  So many.

  And every day more humans died, consumed by the machine; their souls used to energize the elves’ empire. We were disposable, and there was no recourse except their extinction, and me.

  I inched forward, unsheathed my daggers, and gripped their handles tighter.

  Hope placates. It doesn’t resolve a damn thing. It was the opposite of fear. Still, the mind fixated on an outcome it wished to have.

  A blue electric current coated the Asgardian steel blades, and I pounced on the back of one of the elves. Before he could react, the current sliced through his neck; and his opaque skin illuminated with bright blue light. “May the afterlife receive your soul, you bastard.” I prayed to then close in on the one nearing the woman.

  “You will shine bright,” the dark elf said to the struggling woman. “Feisty, I like that.” He pinned her against a brick wall, ignoring the puddle of water in which he stood. She struggled against him, unable to move away. “No,” she cried and kicked. Her kicks did nothing to stop the predator. It only riled him up more. “Smorg, bring me the casing,” he called over his shoulder. Silence. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Simple, he’s a little too electrified,” I said. He turned around and released the woman, who quickly scurried away, and came face to face with me—finally.

  Unlike his friend, Smog there, this one seemed to enjoy hurting people. It was part of his fun.

  “You might be even more delightful,” he cooed.

  I threw my dagger at his feet. “Finally, I have your attention.”

  “You missed,” he retorted and sneered revealing jagged teeth.

  “I never miss.”

  The dagger quickly released its electric charge. I watched the elf dance, shudder, and fall face first onto the ground.

  My watch beeped. “Crap.” I wouldn’t have time to deal with him completely for if I didn’t leave now, I’d surely be missed in Asgard, and that was not my plan or deal. The deal was simple: don’t get caught.

  I quickly stabbed the elf in the base of the skull and wiped its blue blood on the black armor he wore. With his life ended, the souls could now be free.

  “Head home, Chi. I’ll meet up with you after my training,” I said in the com.

  “You’re already tired,” Chi countered.

  “Yeah, but there is much work to do. Head home. I know Emili and Kristen are worried about you.”

  They were our best friends, along with Ola, who was busy with finding her way of helping to save the world, too, I guessed. She, like me, had discovered her talent as a Wielder of Magic.

  “People worry about you, too,” Chi said.

  I looked toward the direction Chi would have been and watched a small flicker of light quickly pass. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I never would have seen it.

  What was that? I could only hope that no one saw the flash of the teleportation. It was enough to try to be inconspicuous when everything that you potentially did could be conspicuous.

  “Did she teleport?” I asked Heimdall.

  “Yes, she is on her way back home, undetected.”

  I’d ask him about the light later and yawned instead.

  “Okay, I’m coming, Heimdall,” I whispered, and the Bifrost Bridge opened for me again to enter. There would be no sleep for the wicked.

  I traveled through the realms, the portal back to Asgard, and my soiled boots touched down on the reddish marble streets with a loud thud.

  Heimdall huffed and crossed his brawny arms. He stood tall, his golden eyes taking in everything. “You cut that quite closely,” he scolded. His usually serene face bore only an etched-in frown.

  Over the weeks of our arrangement, he’d grown on me—it helped that he had nine mothers. With so many caring women looking after him, he understood the need to care for those less fortunate.

  “I had to take out the trash,” I said.

  “And disposal?”

  I shrugged and headed behind the curtain in the guardhouse that let me change back into my Asgardian gear. “No worries. I took care of it all.”

  It was my duty, my price. If the gods wouldn’t do it, I had to do it myself. Heimdall helped, but I knew that if Odin confronted him about what I was doing, it might not go so great for me.

  Wiping the blood spatter from my face, I tried to ignore what this made me. What was I trying to prove? I didn’t have any answers, but I did know that I needed, no I must do all that I could to save those who could not save themselves.

  I’d changed, and instead of reacting, I was acting in this new role: celestial key, slayer, and maybe even goddess in training.

  The bell rung. It was time to hit the field.

  Chapter 5

  Freyja

  “We must respond!” Freyja demanded. “The dreams are getting surprisingly thicker to navigate through. Lady Hel is coming for it.”

  It, the crown of the Alder King, rested securely in the vault of the kingdom; part of the booty procured when the maniacal king was dethroned.

  The crown was so powerful as it connected with the power of the elves. The elves in allegiance with the king had risen with the Vanir and fought the Aesir in the great Vanir War that had almost cost Asgard more than just Odin’s two brothers, Ville and Ve. Their power had been absorbed into the crown, just as all of the powerful dead. The power in the crown would empower the one who wore it—it was daunting. The end meant a united godhood and a crown that kept the
rest in line.

  “I fear that we must locate Njord and ascertain more as to the damage in Midgard before Thor heads there. He has removed the body, thwarting what might have been a disaster if she’d gained the crown and his human remains.”

  Odin nodded. “Njord hasn’t been there long enough to find all of the pockets unaffected by the spell.”

  Freyja’s blue gold-trimmed cloak floated behind her from the wind she produced. She paced before Odin’s throne, as he made himself comfortable before the doors opened to Asgard for his daily hearing of his subjects.

  This mustard seed had blossomed into a huge weed.

  “It would have been best if you would have simply let the runes fall as they may instead of instigating, dear,” Odin said with a sigh. His face was set like stone, revealing nothing of what he thought.

  Freyja pursed her lips, but before she could speak again, he raised his spear and slammed the hilt of it onto the marble floor that echoed throughout the hall and Asgard. The Court was open to hear from its residents, and her concerns would have to wait.

  Odin turned to her. “If you are that upset, speak with the Norns about your concerns. But I foresee a great change is coming your way.”

  Thus far Freyja was not only a strong goddess of war, love, and sexuality but might. Yet the arts began to call to her, just as they had called to Odin.

  “I do not believe the Norns work in our favor,” she said. The Norns, the women who wove fate, had a way of twisting things, and not always to her liking. “The wind whispers to me. Lady Hel will try to resurrect the fallen king and use all tactics available.”

  A chill raced up her arms forming goosebumps. Fear tickled the back of her neck and raced down her spine to rest like invisible hands on her back as if pushing her forward.