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.
