#comics draft

Berlin, September 1941 “Well, Heinrich,” Constantine said, idly examining a cigarette, “what did you want to see me about? War’s going to shit already?” The other man's eyes narrowed behind his round glasses. “Do not try the patience of the Reich. This is business of national occult security, and a matter exclusively for the Sorcerer Supreme. Do you lose faith so easily?” Constantine snapped his free hand, and with a whiff of sulfur, his cigarette ignited. He took a deep draw. “I'm less of a faith guy, more of a results guy. What results do you want?” Himmler coughed. “Mjolnir. The SS report three intrusions in the past month by this so-called ‘Thor’ imposter. None vital, but my confidence is… tested. You were supposed to secure the relic. What happened?” “There's someone screwing with me,” Constantine said. “I don't know who, but they've found a trick. They can't beat me with sorcery, but they're watching my wards, finding weaknesses.” “Weaknesses?” Himmler’s stare grew colder. Constantine gave a puff on his cigar. “You wanted me to build wards around Berlin. Cocked-up streets, water pipes, whole thing’s ass to build around. Not my fault the city is a trash heap.” ~~~ London, September 1941 Lunella sat in the attic of the shop, or what was left of it. Every now and then, she thought of the kind couple who ran it, selling old books and oddities. She'd come in on weekends, and they would always have something to captivate her mind. The shop was a trove of strange old tales and deep secrets. The bombs had changed all of that. Now, all that remained was a hollow shell, and the amulet that Lunella had found in the rubble, emblazoned with a lidless eye. She pulled it out, setting it in her lap and resting a hand over it. Sight of the unseen, bring me vision! The building blurred, and her spirit tumbled into astral space, suspended between realities. She felt a familiar pull, and let the mystical currents lead her, until she found him, the mighty warrior spirit and the human who accompanied him. “It is well met, Oracle,” said Thor. “Shall we begin?” ~~~ Berlin, November 1942 Small bolts of static electricity trickled into the snow as Wanda moved, wrapped in a cloak. As she dashed out of an alley, she felt a sudden whispered warning, and ducked back undercover. She heard the crunch of SS boots in the street, and breathed a whisper of relief. Good save, Oracle. Thank you. Now, pay attention. We're routing through a point in the sewers, and I'll need you to move fast. The ward-layer is catching on to me, and he's laying traps that shift. Because of the water, he can't ward it all at once, but he switches smaller wards very, very quickly. We have small windows to get through. Oracle, make this simple to understand. How can I break these wards? Please don't complicate this, Thor, Wanda thought. I'm having a hard enough time with two of you in my head. When I say move, you move. ~~~ Wanda, an inhuman strength surging through her legs, sprang forward, a corner of her cloak sparking and sizzling as a ward snapped shut behind her. She clawed up the rungs of the tower, fetid fluid dripping from her, until she reached the top. With a surge of lightning, she melted the drain cover, rolling out onto the street. Great, we're in, said Oracle. Get inside, and we're good to go. Grab the hammer, smash out. The good part of the plan, Thor mused. Wanda said nothing, but jumped up at a window, smashing it with the might of Asgard. As she regained her feet, she saw a strange sight before her eyes: four warriors with ancient armor and weapons, a spectral hue to their skin, bones visible. They turned in unison, raising their weapons. Lightning crackled around Wanda. No, Thor cried, this can't be! What are those? Oracle asked. They aren't spirits, but they aren't mortal creatures. Einherjar, Thor said, rage rumbling in his voice. Great warriors given new life to fight for Asgard. They've been enslaved. Together, Wanda and the prince of Asgard screamed, charging the first warrior. ~~~ The Sorcerer Supreme snapped into physical awareness, dropping onto the floor. Intruders. He flew forward with a snap of his fingers, calling bracelets to his wrists. Wind rushed down the halls, bearing him to the source of the intrusion. For a moment, his blood froze as he beheld the sight. The Einherjar wandered aimlessly, their weapons broken, and in the middle of the room stood a young woman, eyes shining bright, crackling with electricity as she reached for Mjolnir. Constantine held one hand up, gathering curses and the names of demons in his mind, preparing to unleash his onslaught. “Az—” The woman slid her fingers around Mjolnir, lifted it, and swung it into the air. In a split second, the weapon smashed into Constantine’s chest, and he could feel a cracking sound. The woman lifted a hand, and Mjolnir returned to her. Constantine saw two things before passing out. One, the lightning pooling around the head of the hammer. Two, the curtain of pain and light that washed over him.

Berlin outskirts, January 1939 The men huddled around a cart, coat collars turned up against the chill. The van behind them had ceased making a dull thudding noise about two hours prior. The rumble of a car engine drew their attention, as a gray open-roof Mercedes-Benz approached from down the road. When it arrived, there was a hush of silence as the cart’s attendants caught sight of the passenger. His military boots crunched against the ground, and with his right hand, he adjusted the glasses in front of his gimlet eyes.  The man was dressed in the harsh uniform of the SS. He turned to the men, who immediately snapped into a Nazi salute. “Heil Hitler!” “Heil Hitler,” he returned. “Guten abend. You have, I presume, brought the relic and the potential vessels?” “As promised, Reichsführer Himmler” one of the men said, “but I do not understand entirely. If this is a weapon, why are we giving it to these worms to wield?” “Let more intelligent minds consider that,” Himmler replied. “We have determined that the relic requires an empty vessel to fill. Who better than those who are not even human?” He snapped a finger, and pointed at the van. “Bring the first subject.” As his subordinates opened the doors, training guns on the people inside, Himmler looked down at the cart. He pulled aside the cloth covering the artifact, revealing a hammer inlaid with ancient runes and designs. Our true heritage. With the power of the gods, the Reich will prevail. So far, they had only been able to move the weapon through the aid of inferior beings; the obvious conclusion was that it allowed itself to be carried by those suited to such a menial task. The process of testing was mundane and repetitive: they would drag one of the Romani creatures before the hammer, the vessel would take hold of it, and nothing would happen. Himmler personally executed each candidate upon failure. It was the second such trial this month, and the Führer had begun to grow impatient. The last candidate had to be pulled to the cart, her skirt covered in mud as she dragged her feet. A gust of wind caught her burgundy scarf, whipping it across her face. For a moment, Himmler could only see her eyes, filled with feral rage. When he commanded her to wield the hammer, she spat in his face. “Go to Hell, shithead.” He sighed, the gun barked one last time, and her body fell to the ground. “Take the relic back to High Command. We will explore other options.” “And the bodies, Reichsführer?” “This is why we have a forest. Get on it.” ~~~ whosoever should wield the hammer… Wanda’s world was filled with night and pain. She felt her senses disintegrating and slipping away, until all that remained was nothingness. ... should they be worthy… Then there was rage, and sorrow, and regret. Another presence, there in the void, a hand that reached to her. “Shieldmaiden. I have finally awakened. In your anger, I have seen the evil which besets this world. Far too long have I slept. I wish to return to Midgard, if you so will.” ~~~ “Um,” one of the men said, looking down at the body they were carrying, “that's not right.” “What are you talking about?” one of his compatriots replied. “No time to stare at a corpse.” “No, I mean—” The electrical flickering around the body resonated with sheets of lightning in the sky. Bolts struck once, twice, thrice, four times, and Wanda stood facing the last man. “WHERE HAVE YOU TAKEN THE HAMMER?” ~~~ Wanda Maximoff is Thor, God of Thunder