Revelation
There was once a time above, a time beyond mortal comprehension that had prevented the men and women of Asgard from knowing the pain and horror set out before them in a constant, unchanging pattern. Years ago there had been an illusion, a beautifully woven tapestry that conjured a lie that people of a higher power were free to do as they pleased without any consequence.
It was an illusion that Amora, the Enchantress seeked to unveil. From a stone tower on the edge of reality, the city of Asgard could be seen covered in sleek blackness as an army of hostile Dark Elves swarmed up the seemingly endless rainbow construct that bridged together the nine realms.
"Does the battle still rage, mi'lady?" Skurge, the Executioner asked as he stepped out onto the balcony where his mistress was stood, he was dressed mostly in light, leather armour, but his hulking frame somehow made it seem heavier and larger than it actually was. Brown gloves gripped the stone warhammer hanging over his shoulder, and the mystical tattoos on the warrior's skull seemed to shimmer with crackling blue light as he stepped out into the flickering sun.
"It does, Skurge."Amora said, turning her back to the conflict with a whip of her golden, sunlight hair. "And it doesn't appear the Asgardians are doing as well as anticipated."She was dressed in white, silken robes, and it would immediately be clear to any passerby that everything from Amora's black lips to her blue eyes were designed to attract the male eye.
In Skurge's case she had succeeded.
"Shall we lend a hand?"
The Enchantress looked to the battle from over her shoulder, she seemed to consider her bodyguard's words, before finally turning away once again.
"No, Skurge."She answered after what felt like a millennia. "After all, I'm still banished from the realm."The Executioner holstered his weapon with a look of disappointment and began to follow his ally back into her tower. "We can only hope that my beloved, Thor is having more success with his battle."
Far from the battlefields of Asgard, the realm's mightiest warrior stood in the throne room of one of his greatest foes, straining to lift the hammer he had once proudly wielded in defense of the universe.
"What in the nine realms is taking you so long?" Malekith, the Accursed yelled as he stood impatiently by his throne, tapping his foot on the concrete ground as Thor attempted to ignore the prattling dark elf.
"Cursed hammer!" Thor groaned, powerful hands gripping the bronze hilt, yet failing to make Mjolnir move in any substantial way. "Why... won't... you... move?!"
As mentioned earlier, it was a simpler time, when thunder gods were still, just and worthy of the power they unleashed on their foes.
"It seems to me, Asgardian." Malekith began to say, teleporting behind the god's shoulder. "That you lost the ability to use Mjolnir when you tried to snap my neck." The elf chuckled and clicked his sharp fingers, conjuring up a blood red axe out of nowhere. "It's foolish to fight your fate, empty handed. This relic from your past ought to suffice your need for bloodshed." He offered the weapon to the Thunderer, but Malekith found himself ignored, as Thor instead focused on the inscription appearing on the side of the hammer.
"-shall possess the power of Thor..." Something snapped in the Odinson's mind as he read the scribe on his own weapon, in a sudden burst of rage, he took a swing to the stone pillar on his right, smashing it to pieces with his all powerful strength. "'Tis impossible!" He bellowed. "Others cannont possess the power of Thor!" The god tore off his cerimonial helmet and tossed it across the room, where it smashed through the wall and continued to spin until it vanished over the horizon. "I. AM. THOR!"
The Odinson in turn, detached his cape and let it drop down to the dust covered floor, still furious about his circumstances. He disregarded the hammer on the floor and instead chose to turn to more important matters.
"Yes." Malekith said, giant axe trailing along the ground behind him, leaving a long, thick scar in the stone. "You are Thor. And after all your trials and tribulations, you have more than earned the right to master your own destiny."
Thor slowly gripped his axe and turned to Malekith, any heroism or bravado having completely disappeared from his body.
"Now let's go do what you do best!" The Elf conjured up a jug of mead and quickly took a sip before tossing it aside. "Let's go punch reality in the face!"
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Present day, Midgard.
Jane Foster had gotten used to the crying. After several nights of watching her newborn son, she had memorised every little noise he made and what it meant. Handling each situation in her own special way.
That's who she was, Jane was good at looking after people, it came with the job. What she wasn't good at was coming up with names, and this event had proven to be no exception.
"How about, Magni?" The nurse asked one sunny afternoon once her son had finally settled into the crib in her low rent, Brooklyn based apartment.
"Magni? Is that, like... like a band or something?" Darcy Mitchell, Jane's quirky roommate asked as she stared at the TV just in front of her eyes. "Jane, you're not going to name your firstborn after a band, are you? I don't think I could handle that."
Jane smiled while staring at her sleeping son, apparently the boy was in perfect condition, with very few physical problems to speak of. One of the doctors had even said that he was too perfect, it simply wasn't possible. One man had wondered whether he was a mutant... but a quick DNA test had concluded that this wasn't the case. It was like Jane had said, her son was just perfect.
"It's just an idea." She said, twirling her hair into a knot.
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Asgard.
In grim satisfaction, Thor watched from Asgard's core watchtower as his heir slept safe and sound from any potential threats that might cause him harm. By his side stood Heimdall, Asgard's eternal guardian and the keeper of the rainbow bridge, a man with the ability to see across the universe on a whim.
"Watch my son, Heimdall." He ordered, stern and unforgiving as a group of foolish frost giants had found out that morning. "'Lest you wish to face Jarnbjorn's wrath." The god clutched his axe and began to turn to leave, only to falter briefly. "And watch my wife as well." He added. "If that whore learns of mymisdemeanor, it shall by Hel for all of us."
Unfortunately, Asgard's Skyfather had spoken far too late, for at that very moment, Amora, the Enchantress was making use of her natural talents to peer across the fabric of reality. Her hunt for information concluded on Jane Foster and the child she cared for so carefully.
"Skurge."She said in quick, frozen hatred. "You wish for blood? I say it is time you have it."
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