The majestic city of Asgard stands like a beautiful island in the midst of a sea of darkness, its shinning buildings lighting up even the impenetrable darkness of outer space. Bifrost, the Rainbow Bridge, leads to the city in the middle of the cosmos, connecting the gods of Asgard to the denizens of Earth (which they call Midgard) below. Standing, as always, on guard at the base of the Rainbow Bridge is the ever-vigilant Heimdall, who stands with his arms crossed against his massive chest, while he looks in all directions. His penetrating eyes can see a universe away, and his ears can hear the rustling of a dust mote on the other end of the universe.

Asgard is surrounded by a large, heavy wall, built of material known only to the eternal realm, and designed to protect the citizens of Asgard against the invading hordes of Storm Giants, trolls, and other enemies of Asgard. Although the wall is enormous in proportion and clearly designed as a defense, even it glimmers with a majestic glow.

Within those walls stands the city itself. The buildings are classical in design, truly ancient in years, but remarkably preserved by the power of the realm. The buildings look similar to those that could be found in Viking cultures from the Earth, circa 1000 AD, but larger and more imposing, and more polished, cast in gold.

In a tavern well-known to the residents of Asgard, there is much celebration taking place, as the gods gather together to celebrate their victory over Galactus and the powerful Infinity, and the return of Odin.

Seated in a corner, surrounded by three voluptuous Asgardian maidens, Fandrall smiles, as he tells the maidens accounts of his bravery (exaggerated at times for effect—much to their interest). Fandrall is well known for his ability to weave a story, typically involving his own heroism, and also for his success with the females who come in contact with him.

“Did the cosmic fiend really tremble with thy might?” the blond-haired Asgardian maiden asks, thrilled with his exploits, as she bends over, her large breasts straining against her low-cut dress.

“Aye, ‘tis true,” Fandrall responds, watching the lady intently, as he downs another large glass of Asgardian ale. “But, should be of no surprise. My exploits are well known to the fiend.”

Seated at the foot of the table is Thor, the legendary god of the storms. He holds his arm around the lovely Lady Sif, dressed in a white dress*, as she looks alternatively at Thor and at the others, who are celebrating in the traditional Norse way. Thor looks amused, as he listens to the tales woven by Fandrall the dashing, while lifting a large mug of Asgardian ale to his lips.

[*Old fans may remember this dress from Thor circa #200]

“Fandrall’s exaggerations never cease to amaze me, milord,” Sif intones, as her penetrating eyes look up at Thor.

Nodding, Thor looks at his lovely betrothed. “Aye, ‘tis true,” he agrees. “It is of no matter, however. Asgard is once again free from the threats that hath besieged it of late. We can only rejoice in that fact.”

At the table across from Thor, his half-brother, the god of mischief known as Loki also looks on. However, his mind is not on the events before him, but rather on his own private thoughts.

“How ironic,” Loki silently considers, running his index finger along his chin, as his thoughts drift back to events of late. “I brought Creel and the others here for my own designs, but they helped repel that cosmic cretin Galactus, and his senseless lackey. Now, however, Odin hath returned, and my erstwhile allies hath likewise been dispatched, ‘lest they speak of the truth reasons for their presence in the realm eternal. My plans must need wait…for now. However, there will come a time—soon—when Loki’s full designs will reach fruition.”

Loki’s wife, the beautiful and inexplicably loyal Sigune, runs her hand along her husband’s arm. “Loki,” she utters. “Thou should well partake in this celebration. If not for thy assistance, victory may well hath been in doubt.”

“What know thee of such matters, woman?” Loki responds sharply. “Galactus is but a maggot, and his oafish ally hath met death by the hands of Creel—a mere mortal, though enhanced to formidable levels by my magic. Both would hath gone down in defeat, at any rate. Asgard will never fall to the likes of those loathsome leaches.” Looking at Sigune’s reflective expression, Loki nods in understanding. “Nevertheless, thou doth speak truth. Loki’s place should well be respected today, of all days.”

“I must agree with thee, Loki,” Balder says. Looking down beside him, Loki sees Balder at the middle of the table, Karnilla seated beside him, caressing his hand in her own. Loki’s thoughts for a brief moment turn to times when her caress was reserved for him, but thinks no more on it. Balder then stands, calling out with his voice, as everyone present turns to look upon him. “Hear me, my friends!” he calls out. “We should well celebrate our victory ‘gainst the cosmic tyrants, but we must not forget who helped us achieve that victory. While I did lie imperiled by some unforeseen ailment, and Thor did lurk on the other end of the universe, fighting the servant of Infinity, Loki did lead Asgard into battle ‘gainst our enemies. He did re-animate the Destroyer, and he did lead our people. His selfless dedication to the golden realm should not go unrewarded! Join me, my friends, in raising thy glasses in a toast to Loki!”

Volstagg looks over at Balder, as if believing that the noble Balder had taken leave of his senses. In front of Volstagg is a mountain of food, much of which he has already consumed. His glass is to the side, as he tears a large portion of mutton leg in his mouth, shaking his head in disbelief. Although Volstagg is not one to normally question taking a drink, for any reason, he finds it difficult to drink to one who has been mostly his sworn enemy. Instead, he continues eating the mutton leg with one hand, while stirring gravy into a plate of mashed potatoes with the other hand.

To Volstagg’s side is his voluminous wife, who also treats herself to the food in front of her, while thinking of Balder that it is sometimes difficult for one without evil to find evil in others, regardless of how prevalent it may be to others.

Odin, perched on his throne with his two ravens seated on each of his two broad shoulders, looks on with interest at the scene before him. He is holding a large goblet of Asgardian ale as well. Standing, he address his subjects in his commanding tone, as his subjects immediately rise to show their respect for their ruler.

“Balder’s words ring with truth and wisdom,” Odin remarks. “Loki did acquit himself well in Asgard’s recent battle ‘gainst Infinity, and the lesser cosmic entities Galactus and Morg. For this, he should well receive our gratitude. As Balder did request, we should well rise in tribute to Loki for his decisions in our time of need. Raise your glasses in tribute to my son, Loki!”

“This is most intriguing,” Loki thinks to himself, while raising his own glass, and looking on with no small degree of surprise as other Asgardians do the same. “My thanks, lord Odin,” he responds. “I did but my duty…which any other Asgardian would likely do under the circumstance.” “I can say no more,” Loki adds, silently. “This attempt at modesty and self-effacing humility doth turn my stomach.”

On Bifrost, the Rainbow Bridge, Heimdall stands guard, ever vigilant against the invading armies of Asgard’s numerous enemies. He knows that there will come a day when a final battle will take place, although he knows not when this will occur. His senses are heightened beyond superhuman levels, to assist him in his duties as guardian of the Rainbow Bridge, and through the Bridge, to Asgard itself.

His hears pick up gentle footfalls before they leave the gates of Asgard, but he pays it little attention, knowing from the sounds of the footfalls that they are high heels, and knowing they are no danger to himself or to Asgard. Soon, his nostrils pick up an intoxicating odor, a perfume that he recognizes as belonging to…

“Amora,” Heimdall calls out, as the lovely Enchantress walks towards him, her hips swaying as she walks, carrying a large plate in his hands.

“Aye, Heimdall,” the Enchantress responds in a gentle, yet seductive tone, walking casually up to Heimdall, who turns to greet her, taking in her beauty with eyes that can penetrate the far reaches of the galaxy. “I thought it an injustice that thee, who spend so much of thy time defending our very way of life, should be so alone out here in this day of celebration.”

“Thy thoughtfulness is greatly appreciated, Amora,” Heimdall responds, taking the plate from her gentle, warm fingers. “Hath thou eaten already then?”

“Nay,” Amora responds, casually gesturing, as two large padded chairs appear on the bridge. She gestures again, as a table, with two large glasses and another plate appear on a draped table. “I was waiting for thee.”

The two sit down, Heimdall placing his sword at the ground (of the Rainbow Bridge) beneath his chair. The Enchantress sits across from him, crossing her legs, as she looks over at Heimdall and smiles.

“Shall we eat?” she asks.

“Aye,” Heimdall agrees, looking over at the Enchantress, his eyes drinking in her beauty. “And I could think of no better company in which to dine, milady. I am glad that thou did deign to dine with me.”

Thor sits in his position, his flagon of ale empty, as a buxom waitress leans over to fill it once again. Thor, however, does not notice her, lost as he is in his own private thoughts. As the events transpire in front of him, whereby Loki is honored for his apparent selfless acts in defense of Asgard. Thor ponders events to which he was not apart, as he was not in Asgard at the time.

“Could it indeed be that Loki sought only to defend the realm?” Thor thinks to himself. “In truth, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to know that my half-brother did act in Asgard’s defense. Why should he not do so? After all, he rightly despises Galactus and Morg, and would not allow such as they entry into Asgard’s gates. And yet, something gnaws at me. Something is not quite…”

“Thor!”

“Thor!”

“THOR!”

As Thor awakens from his private thoughts, he sees that Sif is busily trying to get his attention. She has a concerned look in her eyes, but is relieved to see that Thor is returning his attention to her, and the events that are currently transpiring, and not merely lost in his own thoughts, seemingly lost in his own private world.

“Aye, Sif?” Thor asks, somewhat distractedly.

“Milord,” Sif intones, regaining her composure as she continues, “I was but asking thee about thy thoughts on this celebration. Hogun and Fandral were there with us, and something about this is not right.”

“Once again, milady, thy thoughts and mind do intertwine,” Thor offers, nodding in agreement with Sif’s conclusions.

“Lord Odin seems to want to honor him, though,” Sif points out.

“Aye, but was not Lord Odin asleep at the time?” Thor asks. “In his Odin Sleep? And did not Lord Odin himself choose to place Balder in command in his absence—for the very reasons we now suspect Loki?”

“That is all true,” Sif agrees.

“What did happen to Balder?” Thor asks. “Balder did speak of a mysterious malady—some illness that struck him? Does no one know the cause of this malady—or what kind of malady it was?”

“Nay, milord, and naturally, we all thought that Loki might be behind this mysterious malady, “ Sif recalls, confirmation of Thor’s own thoughts dancing in her eyes. “Just as you must be thinking now.”

“Thor!” the unmistakable voice of Lord Odin calls out, commanding in his tone, and all in the room turn initially to the sound of his authoritative voice, then to Thor, the object of his hail.

“Aye, Lord Odin,” Thor responds, getting immediately to his feet, even as Sif looks on with interest. “Thou did call me?”

“Indeed, my son,” Odin responds, gesturing to Thor, who starts to walk up to Odin’s chair, even as a small area at the front of the room clears. “We hath decided that, in this day of celebration, to have Asgard’s finest warriors engage in a contest of strength.”

“Aye, milord,” Thor nods in appreciation, always interested to see such contests.

Emerging before Thor and Odin are two warriors, with no weapons, and wearing no body armor.

“Thunar and Dakon,” Odin continues, “stand before thee, ready to engage in unarmed combat. I thought that thee would enjoy starting this contest.”

“Aye, Lord Odin,” Thor agrees. “’Twould be an honor.”

Soon, the two warriors start to grapple, each trying to get the upper hand on the other, matching strength in a force of arms. Soon, Dakon starts to get the upper hand, pushing Thunar to the ground.

However, Thunar sweeps out his leg, tripping Dakon, who in turn falls to the ground. As he does so, Thunar is upon him, preparing to pin him into submission. Dakon sends his leg up towards Thunar, who is hovering over him, kneeing Thunar hard in the chest, driving him back.

As Dakon prepares to press his advantage, he leaps towards the staggering Thunar, driving them both to the ground, as Thunar breaks the fall with his back. Even as he falls, however, he rolls with the fall, using the momentum from the fall to push his legs forward, flipping Dakon back behind him, where he lands two yards away, slamming onto his side, his right arm slamming against the ground to catch his fall.

As Thunar rushes over to Dakon, the latter blocks a blow intended for Dakon’s head. Dakon responds with a forearm to his opponent’s mid-section, doubling him over. Before Dakon can continue his advantage, however, Thunar sends out his knee into Dakon’s chin, stunning him and driving him back with great force.

Loki looks on with interest, taking in for a moment this ceremony, which is at least partially being held in his honor. He draws his glass to his lips again, taking in another drink of ale, even as he takes in the festivities around him.

Suddenly, however, the festivities are interrupted by the sight of Heimdall crashing through the wall, and slamming into the two warriors who were fighting before Odin and Thor!

Thor immediately takes his place before Odin, prepared to defend him against any unseen attack. He does not have to wait long.

Through the hole in the wall walks the imposing figure of Ulik, his pounders glittering in the glow of candlelight that fills the room. As he walks forward, his is followed quickly by an army of trolls.

“Your celebration is over, accursed ones,” Ulik announces. “We have come to take this land, even if all of you must first die!”

To be continued…