1963-10-31 - Alfablot
Summary: On Halloween the Enchantress releases a long planned for spell, for something, and the heroes (somewhat) stop her.
Related: All of the Asgardian Logs ever
Theme Song: Deal with The Devil
rogue anduvin skali thor brunnhilde amora 


The night of All-Hallows-Eve, of Samhain, of Alfablot, or Halloween as the mortals called it, was ushered in with the usual chill winds and a clear sky above. Stars twinkled overhead, and the moon shone brightly on the mischief makers of the world and ushered in a night for mortals to dress up in various costumes and cause a ruckus.

However, atop of the tallest tower of the tallest building.. or rather, simply the tallest building, Amora stood in all the finery of her true figure. Green clad in armor, hair flying around in a corona of gold and cold green eyes surveying her work before her.

Days ago, mortals had been enthralled and disposed of to create the runic designs that decorated the top of the building like an intricate netting. Crystals of various hues and sizes dotting the base of the lightning rod, just waiting for a lit. And lastly, four massive rune stones stood like guards at the four corners of the top.

If Amora could feel proud of her achievements she might have smirked, however she simply peered up at the sky, checked a watch she had snagged and promptly tossed it over the side. She cleared her throat and raised her hands and started her chanting. Green power wavered over the crystals, which took on the glow.

The power the former Enchantress, dubbed apprentice, held herself was tiny, however, she had been at work amassing it over the last several weeks. In little runes distributed amongst the mortals. Now, with the tiniest of triggers, of words whispered, those runes lit up. All over New York they flared, and people who wore those clothes or owned them in fact. Dropped wherever they were. Feeding the crux of her spell.


There's magic in the working: though the dwarven prince is no mage himself, the arcane is something he is an expert at, his methodology is simply different than that of thaumaturgy, wizardry and spellcasting. But runes? Runes and the current of arcane power? These are things he knows, and where power draws, there is the possibility that someone is weaving an enchantment. And if they may be weaving an enchantment, they may be binding it into stolen uru.

And thus does Anduvin Eitrison, Runesmith of Nidavellir, emerge onto the roof of the building. Tall, for he is encased in the Anduvinanaunt, he emerges bearing a strange, shifting sword. Its edges continually fold in on itself, in constant motion. Ready to face the uru-thieves, he pauses a moment, for what he finds upon the roof is not uru, is not the weaving of runesmithing, but… something stranger.

Ie, Anduvin is like totally, 'buh?'


Little Thor.

Thor had so much fun wandering with the 7 yr old that he simply didn't wish to say good night to the lad. But, bedtimes are bedtimes, and 'Little Thor's mother was adamant. After all, school was in the morning, and all sorts of things had yet to be done before slumber could be sought. Like, homework.

Now, without his little 'sidekick' AND without his giant pumpkin shaped cookies, it is time to find these parties that Rogue had mentioned. One is found reasonably close by to where he'd given his fare-the-wells to the little Thunderer, and even as he gains entrance and is being handed cider, the one doing the proper and fitting offering suddenly collapses at his feet. The glass falls and shatters, sending shards intermixed with cider all over the floor. It's the glowing of the young man that truly gains Thor's attention; well, that and the fact that cider has been wasted!, and …

Rune? Seriously?


24 hours. Behind bars, locked up, interrogated, prodded, yelled at… 24 hours. For nothing. They had nothing on her, so eventually, Hilde had to be let go. But it was a hell of 24 hours and now it's Halloween and she's about as cranky as anyone can get. Late for work, not having slept in two days, all of her restless with the strangest energy around that she's ever felt, it's not a good night. It's making her skin crawl, or feel like ants are climbing inside her muscles. Bloodshot eyes stare out over the streets, trying to trace that strange, awful, all too familiar energy. Death. Death was everywhere tonight.

Hilde is just on the edge of screaming in her restlessness and discomfort when life offers a distraction in the form of someone seemingly dropping dead not five feet in front of her. "Shit." She curses, dashing forward to the collapsed man and kneeling at his side. At least she had her duffle on her, having been headed to work. But she couldn't even see any wounds. Her hands reach for his pulse, "Hey, buddy, talk to me… breathe… Can you hear me?" She asks, prying eyes open to flash a light into them. What the hell was going on?


| "Listen you."

Skali had looked better than she did tonight. Her patience was thin, and it showed in the hastily donned skirt and jacket combination, the lack of effort in even bundling up the brown curls splayed across her shoulders. She hadn't even bothered with lipstick. The festivities of yet another holiday where mortal residents of New York imbibed too much and thus lost their natural born instincts of fear wore on her nerves, the fraying patience further strained by another catcall sounding as she leaned too far over the consulate's desk. Ignoring the intrusion into her purpose here, a finger extended across the polished nameplate boundary of the surface to emphatically point at the estimate that needed to find the nation of Atlantis in due haste.

"I don't have a shower right now. And while that isn't your problem, I can certainly make it your problem if this doesn't get to the right person in a timely manner. And by timely, I do mean tonight. I don't care about your kids party or your cocktail hour-"

While it was unclear if the poor individual was lucky to be spared from Skali's further ire, the sudden rigidity of his spine and wavering balance did pause her tirade. The angle at which she turned her head as she followed his descent from the chair to the ground was pronounced, a little huff of indignation escaping her lips instead of further monologue. It wasn't until the scent of magic hit her nose that she began to back up swiftly, and move for the doors. By the time she had claimed the streets, the number of bodies she had to step over had doubled, her eyes turning skyward to see what celestial battle had provoked this recent rash of narcolepsy in the human populace. She assumed the skies would evidence the issue; these sorts of dramatics were rarely subtle in New York.


The tallest building in the city — and the world — is the Empire State Building. A blonde in acid green standing atop the radio tower, in effect the most lightning-struck piece of metal in the city, would normally be something to cause awe and wonder. Is this a promotional stunt for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade or the Bugle up to no good? Questions that deserve to be quantified in bullpens around the city are sent through various channels. Those channels probably hit Columbia University where librarians point out every last book, all four of them, on Old Norse and runecraft is checked out to one young woman.

(Hey, she has an essay to write.)

Said young woman happens to watch four of her friends keel over, reads the effects, and goes flying out the door directly for the Upper West Side. An answer might be found in a given mansion she departed from a few hours before. So much for even enjoying her cider, hard-won as it is, which she douses the rune-glowing filmy scarf in and carries it off.

But between the Wildenstein Mansion and Greenwich Village lies a giant glowing beacon to her finely-tuned senses. The borrower of books and sometimes companion of Asgardian gods goes stalking down 33rd Street in front of the huge art deco skyscraper. Scarlett still possesses her Venetian mask, and a handful of quills stolen from a mechanized porcupine. And, it should be said, the cider with its inappropriate garnish. At least Anduvin is somewhat familiar, and she probably shares that 'buh?' expression. An angry 'buh' expression, at that.


The skys above, currently were sparkling clear, and illuminated further by the swirls of green magic that danced above the city in what the mortals would later call an abnormal amount of green aurora borealis. All centered in and around the Empire State building. How strange.

Yet that was where the trail of power led, growing and increasing in amount as each new mortal dropped where they stood, sat, or drove. The magic didn't seem to terribly picky about what the mortal was doing, merely that they started to give up whatever energy they held at the moment.

Atop the skyscraper the winds had started to howl as the crystals picked up and stored the energy, converting it into magic that the Enchantress directed with a wave of her hand and a chanted word. A matching amulet hung around her neck and caught the light that refracted off the runes and crystals, lighting her up in a cruel verdant light.

Amora was beautiful and terrible in that moment as she turned to eye the dwarf prince and the masqued Scarlett. A smile pulling at her lips, "Ahh, and so the actors on the stage arrive. Welcome, please, come in. I've been expecting you. Is this cliche enough for your pleasure?" She tilted her head to the side, shifting her weight upon her heels as one hand settled on her hip.


Thor looks without now, and following the curl of magic that even HE CAN SEE, the Thunderer stalks out, now picking his way through the people as they collapse on the ground. His gaze is to the sky as he comes now, with each step his pace grows more certain, more sure. In echo to his own mood, the skies above begin to cloud over, and in the distance, there is a little bit of that cloud to cloud lightning dancing.

"What is this?" Thor doesn't expect an answer. Not from that mortal that drops as they exit a car, nor from the one that is beginning to panic as their boyfriend falls limp and seemingly lifeless to the ground. As he approaches the center of the tumult, however, his voice grows louder, until eventually it will be able to reach the heavens itself.

"What is this?"


Death. It was everywhere. The dying, at least. But Hilde could taste just how pointless it was to try. There was no reason this man should be dying, but her hands already knew, there'd probably be no way of bringing him back. The whole city was suddenly choking with death, with that power that is swirling around. She remains knelt by her patient, but the frantic working of her hands finally stops. This wasn't something she could help with. She stares down at him for several heartbeats, moisture rimming her eyes, "…Senseless…it's…it's so damn…senseless…" She crackles out, probably to no one but herself. If she had the energy, she'd scream.

Then she's slowly looking up, towards where that energy is swirling. But a few blocks away, that tall, towering building. She stumbles back up to her feet, reshouldering her medic's bag, but it takes a massive act of willpower to get her feet moving. Part of her is drawn there, knowing she has to try and help it, stop it, or there would be so much more dead. She felt soul deep obligated. But another part of her, something primal and deep, wishes nothing but to scream and run away. Her animal instincts are terrified.

So, shaky, walking like she was in molasses, Hilde takes a few steps in the direction of the building. One foot in front of another. Forcing herself to stay up. Not to hit her knees. She must go. But it's a struggle, every foot across the sidewalk is a struggle.


"How exciting. My grandmother already did this," murmurs Scarlett to the son of the Nidavellir, that stone hewn realm, giving a petite shrug of her shoulders. Her tone conveys abject boredom in its deadpan flatness, the unremarkable sight stretching above her reviewed like someone trotted out a bedsheet with two holes cut in it and pronounced it a revolutionary costume. Her forest cloak that served so wonderfully for attending a fancy dress party whips about, an irritated green cat come to life on the winds. Panic would be suitable, but panic lives at the back of the emotional queue.

Her knuckles crackle under her supple gloves, and she gazes way up at the building's crest. Holding that cup of cider seems pointless, so she tucks it out of the way where wind cannot knock over the drink or the scarf. Then she sketches a curtsey formally to Anduvin, despite the madness lashing them with growing winds. "I can take you up there, my lord. Somehow those foci must be interrupted, and in absence of the princes…" Her eyes glow the same auroral shade, incarnating an unearthly plasma green, and the smile is nothing kind. "Time to do it the old-fashioned way."

Hard indeed to neglect the darkening skies, though how much of that belongs to the spell, and how much to the source dreaded elsewhere? If Anduvin will go, she will take him airborne. If not, the danger is hers to bear alone.


The scent was intoxicating in how deeply it settled on the streets, rich and thick as leaf rot that begged to be pounced into. Skali sneezed, her eyes watering as she bent over her motorcycle, pausing in lacing up her boots and shivering. The faint echo of screams suddenly washed out by the sound of a voice left in a life she had fled, the thunder in that question roared at the heavens rattling her bones and hitching her breath. When she ran her tongue over her lips, nerves had chewed a hole in it the organ and she winced.

Boot falls hammered down the streets, vaulting with a seemingly inhuman ability off of buildings to maintain speed and cut corners. A flash of leather and a sensible ensemble of skirt and dress jacket rocketing past Brunhilde's staggering in sharp contrast. Collecting the necessary thrust underneath her, Skali combined the velocity and ascended to the top of the Empire State building. Nerves disrupted whatever accuracy she normally had, and thus she burst onto the scene with a shattering of glass and a tumble of limbs, panting softly with a pained, "Stop" that was probably directed at apprentice.

Given the circumstances, she didn't sound nearly as intimidating as the thunder god, picking herself up and trying to dust off the glass while looking at the other Asgardians in a perturbed way. Obviously they were at fault for her lack of flying expertise in this form.


As the skies darken with the rumble of thunder Amora grins, a wide spreading of her lips as she raises a her hands from the crystals toward the stones in each of the four corners. Electric green smashed into each of the gigantic stones covered in runes and as the magic flowed into them they grew, twisting, popping with limbs and legs and massive fists. Arcane crackled in their runes, carved deep into the granite as Amora gestured toward Scarlett and the Prince, and then lastly toward the new arrival of Skali.

"Keep them occupied," She murmured, her eyes playing over the darkening skies as she awaited the Thunderer with a decidedly calculated manner, waiting for the lightning to follow the golden prince's arrival.

The golems groaned to life and their roars or compliance followed as the stone worked and magically powered creatures attacked those that tried to halt the goddess' mission. Fists slammed toward each in turn, Scarlett, the dwarf prince, and Skali. Little care given to monologuing or explaining herself. After all, Amora had things to do, magic to steal and direct.


As Thor approaches, so does the darkening sky. The cloud to cloud lightning becomes more pronounced, brighter even, as does the Thunder god's voice yet still from the sidewalk stories and stories below. The play of power isn't lost upon him, and the signs of the runes are everywhere. The only problem is that he has very little understanding of what the lighting runes actually portend. He knows the names of each; after all, it was Asgard that give the Norse their primitive alphabet, only to bring it further along. Echoes still remain from the past, but…

"Enchantress!" Of course he can be heard from his spot on the ground! "What is this game you play? Cease this and restore those of Midgard lest you be punished for your transgressions with more than a simple lesson from an old tutor!"


If Hilde doesn't push through the wall of fear and breath-stealing energy around her, she'll make it to the fight by the time her oldest children turn six. Maybe. But it's hard, her senses that were always a bit weird, a bit off, and more than a bit attracted to death suddenly screaming like everything is on fire. Death is everywhere, an ocean, a tidal wave instead of a trickle through the normal streets. She's trying to navigate that tide, but failing for a few moments. Then, from somewhere deep, there is an anger. An anger she also doesn't understand, but it is… even more overwhelming.

How *dare* someone violate the sacred right to die, the natural course of death, and take these people before their time? How DARE she?

And then a trickle of a roar raises up in the often rasping, quiet Hilde's throat. It starts as an almost growl, but as her feet begin to pick up speed, her lips open more, and then she is screaming. Roaring. It's a sound that echoes down the street, meant to call a hunt or the other hallowed dead from the fields of Valhalla. An ancient, angered scream, and she's suddenly running full tilt at the building.

Of course, once she got there, she'd still have to take an elevator. The annoying details of being mortal. But right now it looks pretty epic.


"What else, she's bored!" Whether a syllable of the redhead's shout actually makes it down to Thor and Brunnhilde remains to be seen. Scarlett's recourse to elevators and solid, American-engineered stairs is defying gravity. Buffeted about by the winds will alter her course, albeit less than meets the eye. The girl who dances on cloud-tops knows a thing or two about atmospheric updrafts and cyclonic activity, and she accelerates on a vertical trajectory interrupted by sudden switchbacks and revolutions to avoid being dashed into the front of the building.

Pity she doesn't have her umbrella. The awakening golem unfortunate enough to try to reach her might learn the hard way she moves quickly, and cares nothing about gravity. When a stony fist flies at her, she lurches back beyond the railing into thin air, performing a nearly inhuman back bend to avoid having her ribcage staved in. Luring the construct out over balances it, and hopefully sends it toppling over the edge towards street-level. Should it fall, she drops to catch her foolish prey. Failing that, obtaining a handhold on its leg while still atop the building achieves much the same purpose.

The Midgardner just armed herself with a bludgeoning weapon, the next best thing to a hammer or pointy-ended pick. She might risk much, but she spins to hurl the construct to smash into one of the gems. Fight rock with rock, right?


Skali takes a few steps back, her lips peeling back in a snarl despite human form as the golems rise out of the flesh of the building. As the jab struck out at her person, she sidestepped it with enough ease, speed a natural ally of the otherwise average Asgardian. Yet no attack was made, a glance cast sideways at the other puppets in this play to ascertain where allies lay and if this was truly a fight she wished to sink her teeth into. The last foray into being a hero had gone poorly, and she had the bathroom contracting bill to remember it by.

Another swift move to one side as the fist of the construct crumbled her previous perch, and Skali called out to the puppet master who rose to former power on the sigils glowing under their feet. "I see you are balancing the scales, Amora."

Another splintering crash and a little yelp as the blow came too close for comfort and she aimed a kick at the golem's leg in defense after pivoting out of the way of impact, "Something more subtle may have sufficed given the current climate though."


Laughter, laughter follows Thor's commands and Amora throws her hands up toward the lightning rod that was the spire of the building as the clouds overhead darkened with the Thunder God's rage. "Oh, no, I have not broken a single law. For those that fall are true worshippers of mine. As the treaty of the Gods has decreed, none shall touch those save the ones that worship them. And they bare my mark, Thunderer. They are /mine/! And the strength of their lives flows not to me but my crystals. Thusly do I not break the All-father's decree as it is not in me, nor is it /my/ magic, merely at my command; for the moment. By letter of the law I have broken naught! Their souls when they pass shall belong to Hela's realm, as decreed by the treaty, a fitting tribute for the festival." She called back at the Prince of Asgard.

"Come halt me, if you can Odinson." The goad was intentional, though no emotion flowed from it.


The giants were indeed, slow, but tough. Not once did they crumble to their baser elements, merely reassembling as needed with green currents of energy. One hit, two hits, a limb lost or hit and slowly, it started to reknit itself together. A stubborn guardian but one that was slow and determined nonetheless.

At least, until Scarlett lures the creature into tumbling down and over the edge of the building. Yet that left one more golem for the redhead to fend off, and Amora shouts an order to stay within the bounds of the tower's roof. A correction too late to correct the fallen and now utterly shattered golem that rested on the ground, well beyond the power of Amora's spellwork to heal.


Thor shakes his head, those that fall around him move not, and he takes a deep breath. "There is no cause for you to send those to Hel. We all have our followers, and it is not for us to take their souls as our due." As he speaks, his hand is set out so that Mjolnir may find his path to the Thunderer, and when it does, there is a larger flash of lighting that lights the dark, clouded night.

When hammer and Thunderer are one, immediately does Thor begin to spin the runic weapon, and in the next heartbeat, lets it fly; its target is one of the runes so very close to the Enchantress. Perhaps to disrupt the sigil's light, countering it with a burst of his own. "By letter of our law, no. By the law of those upon Midgard, it is not to be, Amora."


It might be fate or pure LUCK which saves Hilde's life from the tumbling Golem that has spilled over the side of the building, but she gets inside the doors exactly two seconds before that massive block of stone body collapses and crumbles on the ground with a LOUD crack, shattering all the glass of the windows and doors around her. Glass rains down on Hilde's back, but she could care less at this moment, she just keeps moving. Up there. She needs to get up there.

She barely hears the protest of the security guard she's running past, but she thinks to pick up her medical bag, waving it momentarily at him as she yells, "Medical emergency, the roof! Get me up there. NOW!" Hilde is not generally an intimidating woman. Creepy, but not intimidating. Now, however, she seems to have gained the charisma and strength of someone twice her tiny width, like there is a barrel chest behind her words she simply doesn't have. The man trembles a moment, but the flips the switch, the door of the express lift coming open. She runs in and hits the top button. A moment later, she's barrelling up, up and up.


As the limb gives way under Skali's blow, the wolf god stumbles backwards and winces. At least the blow had earned her a small measure of damage, even if it had send shudders of pain up her ankle and into her own knee. The woman was on the verge of gloating as the runes glowed, sending bands of light through the creature she faced, regenerating the injury before Skali had even shook out the pain in her own limb.

"Oh come on."

Continuing to backpedal, her ears perk at the command shouted from the Enchantress, and instead of dodging forward, she fled backwards and into the open sky. The wind walker balanced among the currents whirling in the impeding storm, testing the boundaries of Amora's command. Assuming the golems were still grounded, she shook herself off and took stock of the current forces at their disposal.


Whatever the Norns weave tonight, it isn't forgiveness or patience for such affairs. Scarlett will consider collateral damage later, when she isn't dancing among the runes to spare lives and spend a little of the luck gifted to her. Patterns emerge somewhat from her assaults, hinting at her experience with martial arts. What might be rare outside Chinatown is a little less so among Asgardians.

She sets her heels to the ground and awaits the golem coming to her, its peer having gone over the roof. No matter, her open palms positioned outwards and knees lightly bent. The construct surely seems heavy and ponderous by comparison, so much larger and heavier. Nothing prepares her for Mjolnir's hurtling path, though it brings the first smile of the hour to her lips, and then she waits for those strikes to open the creature's guard up. A blow striking her upper arm ought to crack bone for the noise it makes, sending her back and birthing a bruise impressively shaped and coloured in hours to come. But the redhead uses her lesser stature to advantage, turning as it hits, her hands wrapping around its forearm together. Fingers don't even touch, curled in as tight as they can. A vehement, forceful wail splits the air over them both as she centres herself, flinging the golem over her shoulder and into a rune-cut gem as hard as she damn well can. Thor's lead is one to follow on her second attempt to break the spell, plunging in to hammer at the facets until they crack and the energy runs awry. She does not regenerate; she just has the benefit of fighting on her own home turf. Maybe.


It would be a mistake to think that the golems were anything else besides a distraction. For that was all they were. The second the hoped for lightning lit the rod atop the spire the humans had put onto the building to make it the 'highest', proved to be the very thing that the Enchantress desired for her spell. The light of the crystals flared to a blinding point (if the lightning strike had not been enough), and was gone just as quickly as pre-prepared spells light up the sky and shoot magic upwards into a beam of lime energy that seemed to vanish at some point beyond eyesight.

Amora's lips moved quickly, directing the spell work and massive amounts of power like a director choir or symphony only she could hear. Her fingers moved with complicated signs, and so the arcane energies consumed all of her attention and focus.

Thor's hammer, and Scarlett's flipping, throw of the golem, find their homes and shatter the energies held and trapped within both runes and crystals. A thunderous sound, a cacophony that shook the building down to the steel beams and concrete that held it up. The spells don't immediately come undone, however— Amora's chanting and directive motions seeming to be enough to hold onto the power that flies freely in the air around her. The amulet of matching crystal glowing with a swirl of magic that spins in a hurricane of arcane upon the rooftop. At least, for the moment.

The golems that had been attacking Scarlett and Skali don't let up in their assaults, slow as they were to lumber and knit their figures back together as they were. They continued on their last directives, stay on the roof. Keep the others occupied. There was little thought to them, little beyond the commands worked into their framework.


The floors don't move fast enough for her, even if the elevator is absolutely state of the art. Hilde is practically clawing out her own head, things screaming in her skull she doesn't understand. And then the lift dings, that gate opening out into the scene of utter chaos on the observation deck beyond. She stumbles out, eyes a bit too wide and glassy for someone who is totally sane. No, there's only scraps of sanity left in Hilde's skull, rolling around with the shades of the dying and far too much energy. She half falls, half tosses herself onto the deck there, trying to piece together what is happening.

That's when she sees Amora, and any rage she was feeling completely dries up in pure, panicked terror. Trapped animal instincts in the back of Hilde's brain go off and she has no clue why, but the sight of the woman is enough to make her body rebel. She turns to run, trying to claw her way back into the elevator. It's just her luck that the strange energy and damage to the building has completely killed that lift. She took the last ride up for tonight. There is no getting back down.

"…no….Nono no no no…" She breathes out, over and over fingertips rattling at the elevator's gate. "Fuck me no…"


Establishing the boundaries of the battlefield, Skali floated quietly for a moment and collected her wits. Brute strength combined with a modicum of skill seemed to be in the favor of the other combatant, Odinson still hurling commands unheeded from the distance below, whilst her own golem seemed perplexed as to how to continue attacking Skali if she was no longer on the roof. The sound of the elevator 'ding' drew her focus briefly to the newest combatant, who appeared to be a misplaced janitorial agent or perhaps secretary now trapped among gods. If Skali felt empathy, perhaps her compassion would have been nerved. As it stood, she smirked before distracting back to the task at hand.

Landing back on the rooftop, she darted right, then left, the golem's fists falling in rhythmically timed blows that seemed sluggish in comparison to how quick the woman was. Dancing from foot to foot, she lured the creature trained on her towards the remaining golem, who was staggering around and seeming to turn his focus upon the poor individual who had recently become stranded here.

Skali's golden eyes rested on the panicked person with an impatient, "RUN" barked out in command, just as she leaped to land on the shoulders of the secondary stone beast. Balancing precariously while the brute waves his arms in comically worthless fashion, she shifted from first one shoulder, than the other, until her original assailant caught up and predictably tried to smash her despite her current perch on his comrade.

Waiting for the last second, the wolf god tucked and rolled as the two golems collided in a burst of stone that would take a while to recover from, and would have liquefied her bones had she not been quick enough.


Thor knows enough about runes to know when he's shaken them and broken their particular hold. Mjolnir returns immediately to his hand with a *whack*, and immediately the Thunderer begins the spin of his hammer in order to gain a little bit of altitude. He's done with being on the ground; he can't do anything more, really, from that vantage, and with the golems taken care of?

Into the air, then, Thor flies, finding footing once he's up on one of the outcroppings of the building nearest Amora. The grey skies with the lightning creating a lightshow gives him more than enough light to see by. "Amora! I would have thought you learned your lesson by these poisoned runes. Cease your spells!" He's giving her one last chance.


One golem down, a danger removed. Skali's skillful disassembling provides the redheaded bohemian with a degree of flexibility in the situation she did not possess earlier. Taking a larger block of the deconstructed golem, she plucks that up with fairly little effort and goes airborne, launching herself up with a good kick. Gravity defied means a rapid trajectory spiralling anticlockwise about the lightning spire that surely attracts nearly every wandering eye from Midtown — at least those not focused on the fireworks and eternal darkness spilling from Central Park. Scarlett zags with her addition, sweeping up the height of the metallic spire opposite to Thor.

Absolutely nothing to see there, nothing in the least. Though she might be close enough to the spell-charged conduit to determine whether the stone conducts any of that energy or can be safely hurled into the surface to ruin the runes. Hey, it's a legitimate strategy while the prince acts.


Whether the mortals stared up at the sky or at the fallen brethren who had dropped in utter stillness, the Enchantress cared not. The vibrant, arcane, light continued to beam upwards into the sky above, a neat vortex of spinning power that picked up in speed with the Thunderer's heightened powers upon the weather. Amora didn't seem overly concerned with the fallen golems, much less with Thor's movement, or the new arrival to the rooftop.

Rather, her focus was entirely on directing the magical energy upwards, chanting continuously and holding her arms toward the heavens. Above, the sky seemed to warp faintly, like a mirage. But otherwise nothing else seemed to happen.

Amora's gaze flickered only briefly to note the discarded golems slowly reknit themselves back together and she gritted her teeth faintly in irritation. A twist of her wrists and the image of her person, and the crystals blurred briefly, and suddenly there were four where there had been one of her. An illusion simple in nature, but elegant and powerful in design.


No escape. Why did that feel so familiar? No escape, trapped in a box. Darkness. Struggle. For another moment or two, Hilde can't even breathe, the blind, animal panic running wild in the back of her skull. But there are other things there too — strength, the guardian of the dead, sacred duties she keeps even through her mortal life. Whether she knows she does it or not, she does. And right now, those duties are being twisted. Violated. The dead are being manipulated for no noble end. It's that thought which finally gives her the courage to turn around and face the woman who is the key to her nightmares.

White knuckled, she begins to hug around the side of the observation deck, keeping her back against the the wall and trying to blend into the shadows despite the chaos all around. At least she was thin and strange, she seemed to melt into the darkness like she always belonged there. As she moves, her free hand continues to dig into her bag for the tranqualizer she knows is there. She knows the feel of the vial and she has plenty of syringes. There it is. Hilde drops to her knees in the shadows, taking a deep breath to still the shake of her hands as she grabs a syringe and, after removing the protective top, shoves it into the top of the tranquilizer bottle. She pulls back. Too much. More CC's than any human should be given, but this woman isn't human. Something in her knows that. So she drains the whole damn bottle into the syringe.

Her ice eyes reflect death energy and power swirling all around them as she creeps closer, trying to get to Amora without being noticed. She's half crawling, syringe in hand like a dagger. And then, right at Amora's feet like some supplicant, Hilde strikes. She stabs that syringe HARD at her thigh, moving to push plunger with the motion. As long as she gets it in the meat of the woman, the medic isn't being gentle this time.


This was beginning to feel like a demented game of whack a mole. Skali had taken a queue from the other combatant, and seized a piece of golem wreckage to bash to pieces the parts attempting to regrow at her feet. Dancing between the growing pile of rubble, the Asgardian's brow wet with sweat as she swore at the inconvenience of perpetually regenerating foes. Focused on the task at hand, she ignored the destruction of the sigils and crystals, and whatever weird duplication stunt the Enchantress had pulled. What did she get herself into? She should have just driven away.

Golems were in her pay grade though, and thus she endeavored to keep the three down that had already fallen to pieces even if it distracted her from the larger goal of stopping their regeneration by attacking the source of power. Apprentice though Amora may have been, Skali could feel the magic swirling around them in the marrow of her bones, and the wolf had no intention of trying such a creature's patience. Her sense of self-preservation was too prevalent.


Thor is up and in place, but he catches Brunnhilde's movement out of the corner of his eye as he begins to spin that hammer again. "Amora! This is enough!" He doesn't want to do it, he doesn't; nor does hie know what the other has in store for the Enchantress. All he knows is that he has to break a connection, and while Brunnhilde makes the go at Amora, he turns to strike at the lightning rod that is being used to channel all the energy. He sets his arm back and throws the runic hammer at the rod, and flying true, should break the iron conduit, hopefully disrupting the stream.


Four illusions? Four makes for an easy game.

The golem-boulder is dropped onto the lower flank of the building somewhat carefully. Scarlett descends at a fast enough speed to plunk the heavy weight down on a flat surface last visited by a cleaning crew fifteen years ago, several floors below the rest of the body. At least one of those disenchanted constructs is now surely missing a torso, letting its jumbled legs and arms and head roll about without proper central connection.

She no sooner is free of her burden than pops up, a cork adrift in a witch's brew. Her braids snap as she blisters through the night sky, jackknifed midair, hanging forward to gain a quick sense of Hilde's position relative to Thor and the Amora. A short pivot drops her immediately before one of the illusions and her hands snap out to grab at Amora #2's arm. When the accursed horror of her gift fails to kick in, she can solidly discount that as the legitimate one. Amora #1 is bound to be the next, as the redhead dances and swivels through the wreckage in a blur past the troubled medic.

There will be time for regret afterwards. For now, it's process of elimination to find living flesh and let the blissful oblivion of Scarlett's benighted being take hold.


If the Enchantress could feel annoyance, then surely it should have been written over her features. She had accounted for various people, powers, strengths and likely attacks from the Thunderer to his brother, to his brother's favored weapon. Even taking into account the possibility of other powered individuals appearing and causing a ruckus to her plans.

However, she had hardly accounted for what looked to be a mortal swinging a needle in her direction.

Perhaps the fates favored the underdog in all of this, and as the needle hits home into meat and flesh, the golden goddess twists round in shock. A sound peeling from her lips as she whips around and grabs for the mortal's wrist with a sharp, harsh and unforgiving movement. "What. Was. /That/." She hissed, pausing in her spell work to pull the woman up by her, undoubtedly broken wrist (if Amora caught her that was).

Then the blonde glared, and promptly threw the woman at Rogue without further ado. Even as Amora reached down to pull the needle from her thigh and toss it aside. Her green eyes illuminated by the power she wielded and directed about her narrowed on the sight of Thor.

"Please, come, Odinson. Tell me how wrong it is for me to not break a single law of Asgard's and yet still merit your wroth. I'd love to hear your reasonings." She drawled, watching with a dispassionate look as Throw sung the hammer and threw it toward the spire channeling the power she'd been directing. Her focus had been distracted by the mortal's actions already, but she didn't seem overly concerned about it in the least.

Rather, she threw up her arms, a shield of green light surrounding her to shield her from the back blast of arcane energy that blew from the destroyed lightning rod. The power blasting outwards in all directions violently.


Hilde's plan really didn't go any further than knock the woman out. But who knew if the woman had ANY sort of mortal physiology, and it's clear she wasn't backing OUT of there any faster than a mortal could, so the spidery blonde is easily caught by the woman whose face alone sends every instinct panicking for Hilde. Why, she has no clue, but the fight is frozen out of her as those hauntingly familiar eyes turn on her and wrist is caught. It's only the sharp stab of pain, running all the way down her arm, which jars her from it. That's broken, if not shattered. She clinically knows those feelings. She tries to scramble back, shaking her head, lips fumbling mutely.

But hell, Amora doesn't even give her time TO explain what it is. Suddenly, Hilde's boney framed body is being tossed in the direction of Rogue. She curls in on herself, especially around that broken wrist, trying to protect that and make as small an area to hit Rogue as possible. She'll hit caster then the floor, the world spinning around her, all wind knocked from her narrow chest.


Everything blurred. One moment Skali was battering to pieces what may have been part of a Golem's waist when the magic imploded across their battlefield and the wave of green energy slammed into her being. Completely unprepared, her frame was rocked off of destruction strewn perch, slamming into the ground and rolling unceremoniously a few paces before disappearing off the edge of the Empire State building.

Somewhere in the midst of hurtling towards the ground, Skali reflected on these last two efforts to play hero and began to doubt an aptitude for the job. Instinctively, her battered frame was already twisting and reshaping, bones locking into new placement as the skin split and fur rippled across the raw musculature that cold air whistled across. When she hit the ground, it was with four paws and a burst of pulverized cement, reflexes having transformed her on the descent into a more flight-proven frame that turned on the brakes well before impact.

The massive black beast shook itself off with a growl before launching back towards the rooftop. Now she was irked. At least her and Amora had that in common.


Two illusory Amoras failing to fall to a caress leave two more. One of them assuredly counts as the real Enchantress, and Scarlett wheels immediately as her fingers closing on the blonde fake's shoulder affirm what she already knows. Her burning eyes narrow as she stalks through the battlefield, barely touching the ground, trusting in her airborne abilities far more than gravity. Trials by peridot fire often reveal the true character of a person, and she is no different. The goddess' wrath inflicted upon a thin woman last seen comforting the dying evokes a frisson of emotion darkening her face, hardening the resolve already forming there.

Two things save Hilde a trip over the edge. Relatively long practice among seidr users and the sharp peal of intuition cause her to duck away from Amora, throwing her arm in a protective line against her face and holding out the other bare hand to block something. A wave of power forcibly shuttling Hilde towards her allows diagonal interception. The arms wrapping around the fallen medic's shoulders and chest offer a measure of security as they both tumble another time, the floor of the rooftop terrace left behind when Scarlett goes up.

"Hold fast," she whispers to Hilde. "I swear not to drop you. Do not touch my face, whatever you do."

A rapid spin rotates them back to upright rather than drunkenly swaying 1,400 feet or so above the ground, give or take a bit. Her rage can stand for a moment. She trusts Thor's won't.


Thor watches as the others are taking their turns, and once the tower is down and gone, Mjolnir's already returned to his hand. He's on Amora now, having given the warning. The clouds above are dark, the lightning dances in the sky still as the Thunderer sends his hammer back out, now at Amora. He's not seen the signs of her weakening, and there is no way that he's going to allow this to continue.

"Do you really believe that the All-Father or Karnilla meant for you to do this, Amora?" He doesn't particularly care if a law was technically broken or not. Those of Midgard had been used to strengthen the magic, and while she wasn't wielding it within herself… as far as he knows and understands, anyway, this is just a giant loophole!


The magic lingers in the air, even as the blast clears by Amora in her shield. Her ability to draw and spin the ambient magic the only thing holding the green energy in place still, even as the energy of life and magic returns to those fallen far below the battling gods, and mortals. Yet the blonde didn't seem concerned, her eyes merely focusing on the sky above where the ripples of magic began to fade, a cruel smile pulling at her lips as the clouds spread over the place and hid whatever had caught her eye.

Then Thor's hammer slammed into the magical shield, and Amora dropped it, knowing that it could not hold against the legendary hammer. A blink, and she had teleported up behind him. Her voice cool and liquidus in tone.

"Meant? The very fact that I still stand and am not felled by the token Karnilla holds over me is proof enough she either cares not, or thinks you capable of handling such things. No? And when did the All-father last care about mortals or their realm, Odinson? Or shall I remind you of how he cast aside your mortal pet before as unworthy?" Her brow hitched upwards, and she reached out to brush a hand over Thor's shoulders. She seemed, at least for the moment, perfectly confident in her ability to not be flattened out utterly.

And then she staggered. A widening of her eyes following as her leg seized up and she found herself tilting harshly to the side unexpectedly. She hobbled backwards, struggling to keep her balance as her head started to spin. "Wh-what?"


Well, maybe it's LUCK she got thrown at Rogue, because tumbling onto the side of the building and the deck below was WAY nicer than going over the edge. She grunts, all the wind gone from her, but she nods mutely to Rogue's words. She understands, at least. Not the face. Even if she dimly recognizes the woman from that awful car crash, there isn't time for catching up now. She sinks down to the ground, aching now, but still conscious and not overly injured other than that wrist.

"G-go…do…do your thing. She's drugged. Tranquilizers. I…dunno how long it'll last on her… gave her enough to kill an elephant…" The thin medic rasps out, though she's picking up her head just in time to see Amora stumble, and some odd, fierce happiness rises up in her chest. Vengeance. Righteousness. This is what that woman deserved. They are far stronger feelings than Hilde normally has about the living, but a cold, strong smile dances across her face in Amora's direction. Victory.


Mjolnir returns to his grasp in the next second, and Thor holds it aloft, ready for another attack. He's got his arm back when suddenly Amora is no longer where he'd believed she'd be. Looking around, he calls out, "Amo-" but it dies in his throat as she reappears directly behind him. That whole 'Jane' thing is a wound still. He wouldn't say that he doesn't still care for Jane, it's just.. he's seeing more and more that it wouldn't have been fair to bring her into this life.

Thor catches the light contact of her hand upon his shoulder, and as he spins around to take hold her her wrist now, Amora finds it difficult if not impossible to keep upright.. and then the spinning.

"Amora?" Thor is actually worried.


In a moment that counts, Scarlett's nature is torn. She gently floats over Brunnhilde, keeping her hands well away from the medic's possibly torn clothing and most definitely that limb broken by Amora's retribution. "Stay. I will return." It's not quite an oath given in blood but the nearest thing they have when the energies of a spell run rampant through a dangerous vessel and the golem might well reassemble at any moment. Her dress may be worse for wear, and that precious Venetian mask dropped at ground level, but the cloak still remains somewhat intact and she drops it to drape gently over Hilde to at least give her something warm to hide under.

Then the only matter is circling towards Thor, giving him a broad opportunity to see her coming. That means Amora will too, but it scarcely matters. "With all respect," her voice is tight, the only suggestion of emotions seething under adamantine and diamond bands, "she harmed my people, your highness. She used their lives to fuel her spell as she would have blighted Asgard at the blot to express her wrath." Head dipped, her hands curl at her sides into fists.

"My lord, look out there and you will she has taken your privacy and anonymity. This will not stand without notice," she murmurs quick and soft to Thor. "But you can end it peaceably. Do not let her poison your realm's good name. Please."


Amora had hardly the agency to avoid Thor's grasp, and he snared her wrist soundly. She blinked at him, her brows furrowing briefly before she slumped forward. Her knees gave out and she swooned, green eye widening briefly as she struggled against the intoxicating and overwhelming urge to simply go to sleep. "IThorwh-at..?" Her voice slurred and her eyes rolled up into her skull as she dropped. Just as her spell had done to others. She was out cold.

Whatever magic had lingered in the area was well beyond her grasp now. Every mortal round the city limits that had been under the spell's domain would awaken within moments of the Enchantress' slip into sleep. Most blinking awake, exhausted, but alive and seemingly unharmed. There was many a confused shout, or cry all over the city as people came to.

Whatever the spell had been, it was broken now. The golems now crumbling into dust and carried away on the wind as if they never were. Save the clouds and thunder that rumbled at Thor's presence, all seemed to have returned to order as it had been.


As the woman swoons and the magic is dropped, Hilde remembers what it is to *actually* take a deep breath. She hadn't realized how much that deathly energy was pressing in on her, making the world like soup, muting everything and, indeed, stealing her very air. Now she rolls over onto one hand and her knees, gasping for air for a few seconds as those last threads of energy trickle off of her and she shakes everything clear. Thank the Gods. Eyes shining with water, she slowly stumbles backwards, to her feet. She can stand. Mostly. She stumbles half drunken in the direction of her dropped duffle bag.

"…She…should be okay… she still breathing?" Hilde calls over to Thor and the unconscious woman. She swears, if she's going to need to bring the woman back on top of knocking her out, she'll be pissed, but she did dump a LOT of that tranq into her system. "I…I just gave her knock out drugs…" The spidery medic explains, though she's still watching the others with too-wide eyes. All of this felt so strange still, like that distant music she can never quite hear. It's never been this loud and yet this far from her fingertips. She uses her good arm to shoulder her duffle again, broken wrist kept curled against her middle.


Thor catches Amora as she goes down and cradle-carries the slender Asgardian. Two-handed carry turns into a one-handed carry as he manipulates Mjolnir once again and leaps off the side of the (freaking!) Empire State building, only to land with a rather resounding *crash* on two feet. (That'll leave a mark on the sidewalk!)

Once down, Thor sets his hammer to his side once again, and is ready to address Rogue. "She will be brought home once again," he begins. "She may have broken laws of Midgard, but she is still one of our own, and as such, she will be brought home."

'Hilde's question gains a nod from Thor, and a ghosted smile, "I thank you for your quick thinking. If you had not done so, this battle would have gone on longer, and who knows what would have transpired." But! "I must bring her back before she wakes. I will return at my earliest opportunity to bear tidings."


Amora tumbling over into unconsciousness satisfies whatever concern immediately arose in the redheaded bohemian's mind. She nods to Thor, albeit not without a distinct sense of concern still painted. "I mean the news media, my lord. Anyone with a camera pointed at here will be seeking her. I do not wish any of you subjected to being judged by the court of public opinion, especially if they draw immediate conclusions on faulty knowledge." Scarlett wrinkles her nose, worry still plainly drawn there.

"I shall let your brother know what happened, soon as I can locate him." That being said, she floats back down to the top of the building where the wreckage lies among them. Hilde's state is still rough, to her eye. She nonetheless holds out her hands to her sides. "I am Scarlett. Would you like me to escort you down?"


The woman looks up to Scarlett, now slightly shying away. Much like a hurt animal, she doesn't care for the touch of anyone. Thor's voice, power, his disappearing from the top of the building, it's all more than a little overwhelming. She keeps herself curled slightly away, not getting too near any of these ridiculously powerful people. "…Uh… I think I'm fine. Thanks. I…I can manage. I should…go…" She stammers out, turning for the lift.

The very broken lift.

She swears beneath her breath, unbroken hand rattling at the gate a bit, but it seems she may have to take Rogue up on that offer after all, "Any of you know how to fix an elevator? I…I gotta get out of here. Need to get… to work…" But with her wrist like that, chances are she won't be working for weeks. She curses. "Get this splinted up and get to work…"


"Ah.. yes. Call it some Hallowe'en trick. If you find my brother, have him attach illusions as… things that can float in the sky." Balloons? "He'll know how to approach it. Should things go ill, it would be best that he was told beforehand so he could do something about it."

Thor looks up now into the sky, and the dark clouds are beginning to clear, the lightning having left only a scant few minutes previously. "Heimdall!"

The sky opens up in a completely different way, and a brilliant light shines down, only to leave a runic design on the concrete and street, and Thor and his charge are nowhere to be seen. Gone to Asgard, leaving the city behind to slowly wake from their dreams and return to their lives.

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