Issue #1
"The Mighty Thor"
Written by Jason C. Smith
The streets stretch out far below the lights and power of Uptown, New York. The lights don't reach the depths of this abyss. Various "cliques" roam the streets exercising non-existent power over the masses, herding them, feeding off them. The Public Eye does not venture into these parts and many are left unprotected. Such is life in Downtown.
The Reverend made his way through the alleyways of Downtown like a laboratory rat through a test maze. He didn't know what he was running from, he simply was. He flinched from shadows and shivered at the sight of the harmless beggars. There were no monsters, no villains chasing him, simply his own fear. Perhaps he was running from himself? Only he knew for sure. The Reverend stopped, panting, and leaned against a wall before finally allowing himself to take in his surroundings. As usual, he didn't like what he saw.
This alley was no different from any other alley in particular, but yet the Reverend was still uneasy. The winos were on the far end, crowding together in their plasticard boxes. The brick had begun to chip, and illegible graffiti covered the walls. He noticed the freshest of the messages posted which read "Die Thorite's" and "GO TO HEL!" A shiver ran through the Reverend as he read the horrible messages. He stared at the vandal's work as if it would make the words disappear, sink into the brick and vanish forever. The Reverend's concentration was finally broken when he heard a long, sharp shriek.
"Get away from me! Go shockin' bother someone else, slime-ball!"
The Reverend crawled to the end of the alley and peered out into the open street as the scene unfolded. He saw a young woman sitting on the ground, clenching something in her hand, with what appeared to be two large men standing above her. They were pelting her with rocks and shouting loudly. Their whooping and hollering merely amused the two Watchdogs who stood to the side and watched. Perhaps they wanted what was left, he thought. After all, it was their way.
"Whatcha got there, honey," asked the smaller of the two men as he grabbed her by the hair.
"I'm not ashamed," she cried.
"Well, well, isn't she brave, Thomas? You'll have to do better than that, princess."
The two Watchdogs laughed and watched in anticipation. The sight sickened the Reverend and the worst was yet to come. He sat in silent horror as the one named Thomas slapped the woman knocking her over on her backside. As she fell back, her clutched fist hit the ground and the object she was holding bounced out of her hand. One of the Watchdogs picked it up and tossed it to Thomas.
Thomas held it up in the light and snarled, "Well, look at this. The babe is wearing one of those freaking hammers. Stupid piece of trash is a blasted Thorite!"
The Reverend's eyes widened as he saw the Mjolnir in the streetlamp's glow. He hugged the bulge in his own overcoat and whispered a silent prayer to the gods above.
"Yes! Two birds with one stone, Thomas. I hate Thorites and I'd like nothin' better than to smash her stupid face in, as soon as I'm finished showing her, MY god! A little piece of heaven for ya, baby," Dan chuckled.
As Thomas begins kicking her, Dan started to remove his shirt. The Reverend scrambled to his feet and fell over a piece of rubble from the nearby building. He sprawled out into the glow of the light with a yelp. At once all eyes were on him.
"This ain't no franchise, punk," Dan remarked, "I suggest you find your own."
"I'm sorry, sister," he said as he got to his feet, fighting to hold his overcoat closed.
"What!?!?! What's with all this Thorite trash, crawling out of the woodwork tonight?"
"I'm just going to assume that you don't have a contract with us," said one of the Watchdogs.
The Reverend turned and ran as fast as he could stumbling over pieces of brick, trash, and the winos crowding every corner of the dark passages. He never once turned back as he ran, cursing himself for his lack of bravery, for his incompetence. Finally, he ran as far as he could before he simply couldn't go any further. He stopped and fell to his knees while holding on to his overcoat. He was always holding on to the object underneath his garments. The world at large could never be allowed to see the object of Cecil McAdam's security. The object that had lately began to haunt his dreams and even more recently his days as well.
He crawled over to the side of the building and sat up against it. He opened his coat and pulled out the hammer. Ah, the hammer of the all-powerful Thor. Any normal man had every right to fear this weapon. It wasn't a weapon for mere men it was a weapon of the Aesir, for the gods of Asgard. And the Reverend Cecil McAdam wasn't any mere man, for he had once been the God of Thunder, the Lord of Lightning, he had once been none other than. . .
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No, he wasn't he thought. He was only a man, no god. Not even worthy of the title of man. Only the others referred to him as "Reverend" now. It was an honorary title only. He hadn't even attended a service on Thursday in months. Not before the "Aesir". He was no man, he was a beast. And the mighty Thor himself should strike him dead, he thought.
The Reverend had noticed an abrupt change in the hammer's nature since he pried it out from under that idiot Bloodsword's unconscious body. He remembers the first instant of pleasure that he had experienced since his disappearance from normal society. It was when that man that the Fenris were going to sacrifice to Thor escaped and landed a solid hook to their leader knocking him out cold as the others looked for the Thunder God after being tricked by the escaped man. He also remembered being very disappointed in the Fenris' "blind faith." The Reverend had run from the ridiculous scene after prying Mjolnir out from under the big ox (Editor's note: as chronicled in SPIDER-MAN 2099 #17).
Now the weapon was the Reverend's sole possession. It was the only thing in this grim world that brought him joy and security, until that fated night. He awoke in the middle of the night after having a series of strange dreams which occurred during the time that he and the others were parading as the new Aesir. McAdam had a difficult time remembering the exact details of those events, but he did know that he had been the God of Thunder himself, or at least a technological facsimile. He couldn't remember how the transformation came about or how he ended up Downtown. He simply awoke a few hours before regaining Mjolnir inside a small Thorite church. He hadn't seen a reverend or anyone else inside the chapel and he stumbled out into the streets only to begin his never-ending journey through the back streets of Downtown.
Lately, he had awoken from these strange dreams involving others like him. There were super-powered beings, one being the harbinger, Spider-Man. The others were only shadows in his memory as was the bizarre place they were located that seemed strangely familiar like he had belonged there. And then there was the other dream. This was the one that haunted him the most. It involved glass cases, flashing lights, incredible pain, and a young woman. The young woman was captivatingly beautiful, but yet he could barely see her face. She was encased, and that was where the pain came in. He could do nothing for her because he was utterly powerless. Just like he had been today, completely and totally worthless, too pathetic to help his own sister in the faith. Only Odin could help her now, and McAdam felt his faith wavering at that. Perhaps it was the faith in himself?
Ah, there was the feeling again. The feeling that he experienced every time he awoke from his recurring dreams. Each night he felt the warmth of radiant heat and sparkling light on his face. Each night he awoke as the hammer let out a faint glow before finally returning to normal. This was the first time that he had ever experienced the hammer's behavior while fully awake. This was also the first time he had ever been able to focus on one of his dreams.
The Reverend held the sacred Mjolnir away from his body and began to move it around in his hands. It felt relatively light in weight although he noticed Bloodsword struggling to keep it in the air. This struck him as odd considering his relatively weak condition compared to the burly Fenris. He felt the power from the hammer coursing through his body! Perhaps the hammer was ending its cycle as he awoke in the middle of the night? He was watching the hammer's performance from start to finish! The power was swelling inside the Reverend's body making his muscles ache and stretch. He fought the sensation to explode with every ounce of his will. Rampant memories began to wash over him, over and over again in such a blur that he couldn't distinguish individual thoughts. He dropped the hammer to the ground and held his head in his hands. **What is happening to me?** he thought. **What in Thor's name is happening to me!?!?!**
The Reverend wasn't aware of how long he had been sitting in the alley. He looked up and saw the hammer faintly glowing. He leaned his head up against the wall and began to rub his temples. He kept playing this particular scene over and over in his head. He kept seeing himself, but it wasn't the Reverend Cecil McAdam that everyone else knew and respected. He was large and the blonde hair kept falling in his face. He had this deep sense of loss and he kept searching for something when he suddenly saw THE GIRL! It was the young woman from his dreams and he couldn't withdraw his gaze. He felt connected to her, but he couldn't grasp why. He had no recollection of this woman's identity, but he simply knew that he had to save her. She appeared dead or at least in a deep sleep. He began to approach her when the man with the eyes stopped him dead in his tracks. He began to attack the eye man when his opponent uttered four simple words. Four simple instructions. . . .what were they??? Blast it! He just could not remember! Then came the great pain. World shattering pain followed those shocking words! Then. . .
The Reverend's vision was suddenly vanquished by what sounded like a large mob. He could hear a distant voice, which was answered by loud optimistic cries. Reverend McAdam got to his feet, placed the hammer under his coat, and silently began to approach the direction of the mob. He came into an old park, where he saw a large man wearing fur and horns. The man was standing upon an elevated platform with a stone table beside him. He was shouting about vengeance and vindication, and the glory awaiting those who sided with him. The crowd let their feelings of agreement fly into the open air. The Reverend slipped behind an old statue and watched the crowd's reaction. After fighting with his memory he finally came to realize that he knew the man rallying the audience. It was that buffoon Bloodsword!
"We must prove ourselves to the Lord above! We must show Thor that we won't back down from the likes of that winged monstrosity and his gang of has-beens! If you don't fight you will surely go to Hel! And if you side with me, Thor's representative on Midgard, you will almost certainly go and live forever in Valhalla! Think about it! The feasts, the battles, and the joy of living among the Aesir. And showing us the way to this heavenly place is. . ."
"The Lord Thor," cried the uproarious crowd.
"No," replied Bloodsword, "I will be your guide. Follow me against the Freakers and we shall rule a kingdom to await the return of Thor."
An uneasy man in the crowd kept in the rhythm of throwing his fist into the air with the rest of the mob, but he was merely mouthing the words. The fear in his throat kept him from fully participating. All it would take was for one of these stupid Fenris to realize that he wasn't one of them. A shadow flew above and passed over the crowd and the spy grew calm. He was perfectly safe thanks to his master. He had never felt safer in his entire life.
The shadow trailed the figure as he flew through the air, finally landing to perch on a nearby building. The man began to watch the crowd with interest and an evil grin. His metallic wings spread as he shifted his weight to get a better position on the weak ledge. He eyed Bloodsword with glaring curiosity. His name was the Vulture and he only cared about two things, one being himself and the other being the complete rule of Downtown.
The Reverend climbed up onto the edge of the statue to get a better look as a new mood was projected from the crowd. It was one of surprise and disgust. He finally saw the reason for the commotion as the crowd grew silent.
"This man isn't showing respect," shouted one.
"Well, he's with you," replied another.
"No, he isn't! He's with him," shouted the follower, as he pointed to another.
"To Hel he is! This non-believer isn't with me!"
The spy tried to squeeze himself out of the angry mob's attention before finally being apprehended by the others. They held the spy up for Bloodsword to see while shouting, "Kill the non-believer! Thor demands it!"
The crowd grew silent as Bloodsword motioned for them to bring the man forward. The followers carried the spy to the front of the audience while chanting. They held him before Bloodsword as the rest of the crowd grew eerily silent.
"What is your name, little one," Bloodsword asked.
"Uh. . .um. . .P-P-P-P. . .Patsy, sir."
A few in the crowd chuckled as Bloodsword let out a hearty laugh.
"Well, well, well, Patsy. Tell me this, are you a Thorite? No one here amidst the Fenris seems to know you. Are you requesting membership?" Bloodsword cracked. "Well, have you nothing to say for yourself? It seems that you are in a world of trouble, doesn't it?"
Bloodsword motioned toward the others who immediately began ripping Patsy's shirt attempting to expose his skin. The Reverend looked on in shock. As the men began to remove Patsy's garments he struggled and wailed, "No! Master help me!"
"So what 'master' are you calling for, little one? There is only one master here and his name happens to be Bloodsword!"
Everyone watched as the men finally ripped the last shred of cloth from the spy's back. And just as Bloodsword had suspected there was a small tattoo that marked a member of the clique known as the Freakers. The crowd grew angry and began yelling and throwing things before Bloodsword finally managed to acquire the crowd's silence.
Patsy waited for Bloodsword's sentence while searching the skies for his master. He didn't see him yet, but he wasn't worried. The others placed Patsy onto the stone table and began to tie his legs and arms down. He was calm and quiet hoping to catch a glimpse of his master in action. Finally, he saw his master, but he wasn't in flight. The Vulture was perched upon an old building while evidently observing the Fenris reaction. As Patsy began to realize that the Vulture had no intention of coming to his aid he began screaming and pleading.
"But I'm one of you," he cried. "I worship Thor!"
"Then you'll gladly die for our Lord," Bloodsword said.
The Reverend sunk down to the ground and once again cursed his cowardice. But how could he do anything? He was only a priest and not a very good one at that. He closed his eyes and held the hammer as tightly as could while he listened to the screams of the pleading man and the cries of the crowd. He didn't understand what was happening. The Fenris had always been backward, but never crazy! It had to be this idiot that they were following. They had to be stopped. The feelings of hopelessness began to flow over the Reverend just as they had in his dreams, just as they had in the lab. The laboratory! He remembered! Mjolnir began to glow brightly from beneath his overcoat and Cecil McAdam began to remember what had happened in the lab. The memories seemed distant as if they weren't his. And finally, they ripped across his mind in a blinding flash of pain. The pain, he remembered, but the words were gone. Or were they??? The Reverend began to focus on the eye man's words when suddenly he remembered. **Thor be praised,** he thought, **I remember! But what does that mean??? What does it matter?**
He turned and looked upon the platform. Bloodsword stood to the side as a larger man with a long blue cloak was preparing some sort of ceremonial blade. The man named Patsy was thrashing about wildly screaming for the help of Thor. The Reverend didn't know if the man was truly a follower of the Thunder God or not, but the pleas echoed in his mind over and over again.
"Thor helps us all," the Reverend whispered as he stood to his feet. He clutched Mjolnir tightly to his chest as he closed his eyes and cleared his throat. He could hardly speak, for the dryness in his mouth was unbelievable. Finally, he mustered all of his faith and courage and focused on the words. Just four little words.
"Computer, convert Thor subject."
A loud crackle of ionic energy filled the air as a blinding ray of light penetrated the Reverend, and soon the rest of the crowd as well. He felt his muscles expanding, his joints straining, and his head pounding. The white light began to fade and where the Reverend Cecil McAdam had been cowering in hiding stood a rather large being with long blonde hair and a flowing red cape covering his muscular back. His arms were huge and in his enormous hands was the symbol of the Mighty Thor himself, the Holy Mjolnir.
As the crowd turned to look, Thor, with a slight swing of his hammer brought the statue to the ground before he began to walk toward the platform. The crowd parted as the God of Thunder made his way to the stage. All activities had ceased as all eyes were on him. Bloodsword began to shake as Thor continued to approach him. Kabal, the Fenris' priest stood his ground and watched as his Lord leaped from the park grounds to the pulpit in a single bound.
Thor stopped right before Bloodsword and looked down at him, for he towered over the incompetent leader. Bloodsword took a step back. It was evident that he was intimidated by the large man in front of him.
"Who are you?" he asked stupidly.
Thor's voice rang out with a deep resonance as if shouted from the halls of Asgard itself, "And who dost thou think I am?"
The crowd began to murmur as one man cried, "Praise Thor! He has returned!" Other cries echoed the man's words and soon the entire crowd was shouting their various praises and pleas. Thor turned to the crowd and raised one of his massive hands. The crowd grew obediently silent as the God of Thunder turned back to Bloodsword. Bloodsword never said a word, for he couldn't look Thor in the face. The silence was broken by the sound of Kabal's voice.
"Forgive me, Lord, but would you like me to continue the sacrifice?"
"Hast thou forgotten the old ways, impetuous one? 'Tis the All-Father, Odin, who doth require such service, not myself. This man is free to go."
Kabal sheathed the sacrificial knife and pulled out a normal one, with which he used to cut Patsy's bonds. Patsy sat up and began to rub his wrists without ever taking his eyes off of the god. The Vulture stood and watched the display in astonishment. **This will certainly not do,** he thought. He spread his wings and flew off to a remote alley to wait for the unreliable Patsy.
"Thou may go where thou please, friend," Thor said.
"Thank you, My Lord."
"But he's a Freaker! He's a bloody spy," cried a figure in the crowd.
"He will surely alert the Vulture of our plans," cried another.
Thor turned slowly to them and simply said, "And this matters to the master of the storm? If he is of less noble thought and deed, then let him depart so that he returns to challenge me anon with his "Freakers" so that I might show them all their folly with godspeed."
They grew silent once again as Thor and Patsy walked down the steps to the crowd. The crowd parted as Thor walked the spy to the edge of the meeting place. Thor patted Patsy on the back and said, "Go do what thou must, young one. We all have our destinies, and thou hath thine." With that, the Vulture's agent went to meet his master without having to worry about watching his back. After he was out of sight the crowd swarmed Thor greeting him and praising him. The Thunder God accepted their praises and welcoming statements as they all walked off from the platform, leaving Kabal and Bloodsword standing alone.
"Are you coming," asked Kabal.
"I'll be there in a minute! Don't ever question me, Kabal!"
"Yes, sir. I shall see you late,r then," he said as he followed Thor and his followers.
Bloodsword stood alone for a moment before finally walking in the opposite direction. He definitely had some planning to do. His entire reputation was at stake, again. Could he just step back and let this man claiming to be Thor take over? He didn't think so. But then again what could he do against a god? He was only a mere man. No, he was hardly that, he thought. He was less than a man, and the Mighty Thor himself should strike him down he thought as he journeyed to his home. Let the crowds drool over the Lord of Lightning, for he had other things to take care of.
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In a dark alley near the park
The spy walked toward the dark figure in the alley. He was happy to see his master again. He was happy to be alive, as well. He approached the man as he felt the hot stench of the Vulture's breath on his face as he came closer. He heard the metallic wings shift as the Vulture turned to see his agent, Patsy.
"I'm back, master. As you well know an unexpected element has come forth in our plans for the Fenris. We surely can't conspire against the Thunder God! What shall we do?"
"Patsy, sweet Patsy, how long have we known each other?" the Vulture inquired.
"Oh, I don't know, at least a few years, master. But why?"
"And yet after all this time you still fail me. . ."
"But. . ."
"Don't interrupt me, you pathetic fool! After all this time you still question me! What am I ever to do with you Patsy?"
"Well, I would like to think that I can still be of service to you in the future, master," Patsy replied.
"Ah, that you can. It is getting late and I am growing hungry," the Vulture said with an evil grin.
"Would you like me to get you something?" he asked uneasily.
The Vulture lashed out grabbing Patsy by the throat. Patsy tried to speak, but as the Vulture squeezed only garbles and other sounds escaped his throat. He began to struggle, pounding on the Vulture's arm.
"Now, now, Patsy. How long have we known each other? For three years now? Is that about right? I think so. Well, Patsy, please calm yourself, you know that I don't enjoy playing with my food!"
The Vulture began squeezing harder, before finally connecting a devastating blow to Patsy's head with his extended claws. He extended his wings and began to fly off into the distance carrying Patsy's warm body in his arms.
He shook his head and said, "Dear Patsy. You were the only one to ever truly understand me. . ."
Be back next ish for the Battle of the Century! (haha) It's The Mighty Thor vs. Bloodsword! Also, it's a rumble as the Freakers take on the Fenris in a fight for Downtown. Be here!
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