Mjolnir crackled with electricity as it left Thor’s hand, rocketting through the salty air it grew smaller and smaller as it approached the World Serpent. Thor paid it no mind, he knew it would strike the monstrous serpent, stunning him, and fall the long fall into the ocean below.  This had played out innumerable times. He knew the snake’s gargantuan body would thrash about, flooding the beach with powerful waves as the hammer’s lightning overrode Jormungandr’s control of his own body. Thor did not wait to watch as he had the first few years, it was quite a sight to see his giant nephew flail about, but he had long such lost interest in such things.  

 

Striding along the beach, the ancient god looked for a new challenge, or at least a new sensation.  Thor stopped walking and looked around. Odin was locked in battle with another of his nephews, Fenrir, a wolf so large even Thor could not have lifted him.  Loki and Heimdall were cutting swathes across the battlefield to reach one another. Thor wondered who would win this year. He felt something cold pinch him and heard a dull thud, turning he nearly tripped over his own arm laying in the sand.  With a shrug the mighty god lunged forward, putting his shoulder into the chest of his assailant, knocking her to the ground.  Walking forward calmly, Thor stepped on her head as he might a stone in the creek if he were trying to keep his feet dry, there was a crunch and he sank a few inches, and his foot was no longer dry.  With a sigh he ducked under a slash and took his new adversary by the wrist, pivoting in the sand he hurled his foe toward the World Serpent, where he would sink beneath the waves and drown, paralyzed by Mjolnir’s powerful current.  Continuing forward he caught a glimpse of Loki crossing blades with Baldr, behind them he saw the familiar glint of Heimdall’s armor in the sand. Thor watched as his brother melted away into the beach, he would wake in Asgard in a few days, ready to prepare for next winter.  Thor sighed as he thought about next year.

 

He wondered if Sif would care if he spent it in the woods, of course she would, she hated the way he wasn’t there even when he was there.  He’d hated that too for a few years. Perhaps it would be better to send the boys into the wild, they would relish the challenge as always, and Sif would visit them regularly.  He could send them in the spring, when he no longer had to sit on Odin’s seat. He nodded to himself, first day of spring he’d rescue Odin from the beast’s belly, second day, he’d offer the boys the test, winner could have the hammer, winner could sit on the high seat and rescue Odin year after next and after that one until they grew tired of it, then the loser could take over or something.  

 

His eyes focused on the man charging him, some denizen of Hel he assumed.  The man leapt through the air to tackle the one-armed god, Thor simply caught him by the neck and smashed his forehead against his, slightly dazed he examined the man, recognizing him better now that his nose was smashed and gushing blood.  It was a Vanir god, he remembered this one, he hadn’t supported the Pact and remained in Vanaheim. Thor had killed him hundreds of times. With a whistle, Thor heaved the god into the air, a Valkyrie streaked past the man, severing his head as she went, leaving the smoky remains to rain around Thor and melt into the sand.  Thor coughed. Looking down he saw six inches of a blade sticking out of his stomach. With a grunt he glanced over his shoulder, Loki, he nodded to his brother. They’d be going to rescue Odin together in three months. Loki nodded back, withdrew his blade, and took off to a new target.

Thor took a knee, and sat back in the sand to look out over the sea.  Jormungandr writhed in agony, waves cresting twenty feet crashed against the beach.  Thor thought about the day, he’d only killed a dozen or so, his lowest score of any year by at least a hundred.  In that case his side would surely lose, there was always next year. Thor shivered, blood loss…except not. That cold ache hadn’t taken hold yet, he knew it would, he’d fought through exhaustion and hemorrhage many times.  Next year…Thor thought about next year. He shivered again, now the cold was spreading rapidly through his extremities.

 

Glancing out at Jormungandr again, the thunder god inclined his head.  Holding out his hand, he recalled his faithful hammer. He remembered getting his Mjolnir eons ago, he thought back to Eitri setting it in his lap for judging.  He remembered killing a score of giants to test it, and rushing to Brok’s forge to thank the brothers for crafting it. He smiled softly as he recalled holding her in one hand and watching a tendril of electricity arc to the finger of his other hand, for centuries he’d done that in his most bored moments, or to distract himself from whatever mischief Loki had recently caused. He watched as his hammer approached, slowing somewhat as it covered the last ten yards, she knew he was weak at the moment.

Thor registered the smack as Mjolnir’s handle hit his palm, his fist closing around it out of ancient habit, the jolt knocked him back.  Laying on his back, sand in his red beard, the god laughed for the first time in ages. He hadn’t felt the feeling of reconnecting with Mjolnir in an age.  Long had it been since he’d grown too accustomed to it to even notice the sound, or the jolt in his arm. A good thing to miss in the heat of battle, but Thor was tired of missing it. Laying on his back, Thor hoisted Mjolnir, she was heavy, actually she was the same as ever, his arm was pale and weak.  He felt the weight of eternity in her weight.

Kissing her gently, he admired her runework…Eitri was a fine engraver.  He let his arm fall to the side, feeling the leather wrap on Mjolnir’s handle in his palm, and the cool sand on his bare arm.  He coughed violently, his body spasming. Resting his head back in the sand, he took a few deep breaths. Enjoying the salty air.  Taking a powerful breath, he closed his eyes, nodding once, nodding again, nodding a third time. On the third nod he braced himself, his whole body pushing against gravity as he gave a mighty heave, casting Mjolnir into the air.  It wasn’t very high, in times long past he had walked the streets of Asgard absentmindedly tossing the hammer much higher and catching it as he made his way around. In happier times he had wandered Midgard, amusing mortal children by tossing the hammer out of view at the beginning of a meal only to make a show of forgetting it afterward then catching it after a long search through the children’s toys.  The hammer did not fly high this time, he had thrown his boys higher on occasion, when their mother wasn’t looking of course, but the hammer soared high enough.

At its apex the hammer hung in the air, suspended for one perfect instance, before the weight of the head turned it around, and it began the plunge back to the beach.  “This is Mjolnir, she’s a hammer, you can throw her and she will always hit her target.” That’s what Eitri had said, it had always been true, it will always be true. Mjolnir whistled as she fell, she normally whistled as she flew, most things do, but never so loudly.  Her high pitched whine cut through the cacophony of the battlefield. Everyone was interested, this was new, new was rare. Everyone turned to watch as Mjolnir fell, and they puzzled as she fell strangely. The unliftable hammer seemed to fight gravity, it was losing badly, but it was certainly fighting.  Everyone listened as Mjolnir screamed. Everyone watched as Thor raised his hand. Loki smiled, Thor did like to die hammer in hand. Thor did not call his hammer to his hand. He raised but one finger to her. A single arc of her lightning sparked, bridging her to him one final time. Thor smiled, the energy was warm.  

 

Mjolnir’s screams died.  There was a deafening crunch and a tremor through the beach.  Then there was nothing. The silence was painful.  The air was still, the seabreeze didn’t dare blow. Thor’s body did not melt away.  He did not vanish into the sand.

And then Sif began to scream.  The goddess ran through the armies, no one wanted to stop her.  She ran a long ways, she had been across the field. When she reached her husband, she threw her body over his.  Her body wracked with sobs and grief and loss. A ways down the beach, Loki fell to his knees, holding his face in his hands as he too cried.  This was his fault, he should not have left Thor to bleed out peacefully. Loki looked around for Thor’s sons, but he saw no hint of Magnir nor Modi.  They had already been slain. Loki resolved to tell them himself, he hoped he would be reborn before them, he did not want them to wonder where their father was, and he certainly didn’t want them to find out from Sif.  He would tell them, they could kill him in their grief, he would be okay with that. He’d be reborn with his sons in the fall, spend time with them, then Magni and Modi could kill him again on the Winter Solstice, and again when he was reborn.  Loki offered Thor’s body a smile, Thor would like that, he had often killed Loki to make himself feel better.

 

Odin walked slowly across the beach, everyone moved from the old god’s path.  He stood next to Sif, looking at the horizon as he tried to keep his eye off Thor’s body.  Closing his eye, he stood there for a moment, offering a last thought for Thor. Tightening his hands around his spear, Odin lifted it over Sif, the tip hovering just below the base of her trembling skull.  She would find peace in her dreams, she would feel better when she woke from the Sleep. With a godly effort, Odin buried the spearhead. It was quick, Sif felt nothing. Odin looked back at the horizon as Sif melted into the sand.  Turning he looked around him. No one had the will to fight anymore. Those who had been fighting simply gestured to one another, the rules of the cruel game were clear, but no one wanted to win anymore. Next year. As always, their hopes for escape lay with next year.  Across the battlefield the sides killed one another quickly.

 

A Valkyrie crept forward, driven by old instincts.  She bent to touch Thor’s shoulder, to return him home.  Odin caught her by the arm, wrenching it hard as he shoved her away.  She landed hard in the sand, baring her teeth at the Raven God. Odin reacted in kind, brandishing his spear at her.  The Valkyrie backpedaled, quickly removing herself from Odin’s sight. Odin shook his head as he finally glanced down at Thor.  Odin’s rules were absolute, Thor had not died Worthy, he could not be returned to any of the places for the Worthy. Hel would have to claim the body.  Odin glanced over his shoulder as Fenrir padded toward him. Even he didn’t have the will to finish the fight today. What was the point. Odin cast his head back, his eye piercing the heavens, glaring up at the one who started all this, the one who bound them all within the rules of His cruel game.