Where are you? Darkness is surrounding you, bewildering your sense of direction, suffocating you. Are you underwater? In the air? No stars. No moon. No light. But you are acutely aware of beings sweeping here and there around you, fluttering overhead, veering around you; you hear the swish of cloth as they fly. Yes, they must be flying, you hear no footsteps. The cold here leeches straight to the marrow, you can't even shiver, it freezes and burns. You are too disoriented even to call out. But who would you call?
"Ah, here we are. You have come to me at last." A female voice hisses, "Long have I awaited the day I would usher your soul into my halls. My greatest trophy yet." You see a murky shape before you, like seeing through a fog. Dark robes, a black, horned crown, pale face, but no details, no colors. Two ice-cold hands, fingers like talons, take hold of your arms, wrenching you to your knees. The fog begins to clear.
"Where..." You trail off your whisper, not wanting the answer, you are dreaming, just like last time. The horror will end. Of course it will, like last time. "I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming. It's okay. I'll be fine. I am fine."
The being in front of you, seated on her mangled throne, is chuckling, a cackling laugh at your frightened muttering.
"You came to my domain willingly. Do you not know Hel when you see it, your highness?"
Highness? Well that settles the dream theory. Comic books bleeding through again. Now wake up before you're thrown to the Hel-hounds.
"Hel. Then that would make you... Hela?" You ask, wishing your voice was steady. You try to call on your random knowledge of comic books and folklore. The being stands abruptly, walking slowly down the steps from her throne.
"You expect me to believe you do not know me? What pathetic attempt at insult is this?" The two shrouded guards at either side of you, still holding your arms in their icy grip, force your head forward into a bow. Now you notice you are wearing a gown, one with folds and layers like a Greek goddess... No, not Greek... The cloth is dyed a rich, deep olive green, trimmed with gold. You also notice, to your horror, that you are kneeling on a path paved with skulls. Some are humanoid, some animal, and some so big or so small that you shudder to think what manner of creature they came from. The cheekbones, teeth and jawbones cut into your knees. Why are you feeling pain if you are asleep? They won't let you stand; instead they push you lower the more you struggle against them.
"I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming." You begin whispering again, willing it to be true, even as Hela, Norse goddess of the underworld, towers over you and bends down to your ear,
"All believe this moment to be a nightmare, they know they sleep, though never come to terms with the fact they will never again wake. By all means, my queen, think you will awaken in your chambers. Let yourself believe you will return to your beloved, if it helps," she wrenches your chin up forcing you to look her in the eyes. Her face seems to be half-rotting, the flesh on the left side wrinkled, peeling away, her cheekbone protruding, eye socket partly exposed and her eye pale white, unseeing; her right side was almost comely, fair skinned, healthy, though twisted in a menacing scowl. "You are mine now." Her breath skates across your face, roses mingling with rot, "there is no home but my hall. No voices but mine and the cries of my other trophies. No sky but the blackness of this world. No stars. No earth but your roiling, wretched prison."
Despite telling yourself you would be okay, you feel a tear fall as despair grips you, your heart sinking as you stare into Hela's dead eyes. You feel light, but dragged down at the same time, like you're being pulled from your own body. The icy hands that hold you down begin shaking you. You blink, breaking the gaze,
"Y/N..." Who’s voice... "Y/N... Can you hear me?" Your shoulders are being shaken, the shadowy cave fogs over again. The nightmare melts away and you are looking up into concerned eyes, full-flesh covered faces, the light from the front window seems blinding after the darkness in your dream. Morning.
You look around, you're still on the floor in your shop, surrounded by an avalanche of comics, apparently you knocked over a Superman display when you passed out, and now the Justice League has come to your rescue. They crouch around you, watching, one of them rolled up his hoodie and tucked it under your head, the Flash walks over as he is pushing his phone back in his pocket.
"Ambulance is on the way. Oh, she's awake?" You try to sit up but you keep getting pushed back down,
"Don't try to sit up. Do you know how long you've been down here?" Aquaman asks. You try to think,
"I was... Hel... No, I was reading... I got a headache." You rub your forehead, trying to remember, "Saturday? No, Sunday night." You sigh, the effort of just remembering drains you, but they seem relieved,
"It's Monday morning.” Flash says, “We were on our way to school and saw the display was knocked over. Got worried when the door was unlocked." You suddenly love these boys. If you didn't know it would put you out of business they would get free comics for life.
"I'm sure I'm fine," you try to sit up again, feeling strong, though achy from the hard floor, they pull a chair over and help you into it, then they stick around until the ambulance gets there. “Should I send a note or something to school with you boys? Explain to your teachers why you’re late?” Green Arrow laugh,
“We’re all seniors. At this point first period is optional.”
“Well, boys, you’d best get going, you’ve done all you can here. We’re going to take her in to make sure everything is okay.” Says one of the EMTs,
“Alright, should we stop by after school to, maybe, check in?” Flash asks, not sure what he was supposed to do.
“Nah, it’s fine, kid. I’ll see you on Wednesday, like usual.” He nods, ushering his friends out.
Later on, after hours of tests and scans, the doctors can't find anything wrong. There was no memory loss, no seizure; you didn't even bruise from the fall. They chalk it up to fatigue coupled with a severe migraine as a side effect of insomnia, and recommend several supposedly good brands of sleeping pills. All the while you're thinking about how you probably already have the best way to knock this boogeyman on his butt. And it's sitting under the front counter in your shop.
As soon as you get back, you start cleaning up, restocking the scattered Superman comics in their display. As you're finishing your reshelving, you have flashes of comic panels flit across your mind. You try to push them away, but before you know it, you're at your writing desk, in your apartment, bottle of whiskey and crystal tumbler at your elbow and you're drawing furiously. You can't get the ideas on paper fast enough, and you can't stop, you've tried. As you're starting to panic about the impulse, you finally drop your pen, pushing back from the desk and trying to catch your breath. You look at the stacks of paper in front of you and realize you've just drawn your first comic book. The gibberish you had written in your journal suddenly made sense in conjunction with the panels you'd drawn. You also notice the mid morning light filtering in through your curtains, casting shafts of light across the pages of a story you didn't know you had in you.
"The Purging of Asgard." You whisper into the morning, swiping your arm across your damp forehead and reaching for your tumbler.
Well then...
YOU ARE READING
The Purging of Asgard
Fanfiction(This is a work of Fan fiction, meant to be read from the readers perspective, so I have omitted the main heroine's name.) You are a simple, quiet, comic store owner with a penchant for nick-naming your regular customers. So far your life has been a...
