Chapter 4
I walked up to the door and knocked once. It opened. That was all it took. There wasn't a secret rune you had to scratch into the surface of the paint or some mystical chant you had to utter. There wasn't an ogre you had to kill. Nope, you knocked. It opened.
The door, from the outside, appeared to lead into a dimly lit brick room. As soon as I closed the door behind Tolus, the place changed. The brick wasn't so much brick as glittering and gold-encrusted marble. The room wasn't so much small as cavernously large and lit with great burning lanterns hung along the walls.
As the room formed, so did the noise, the chatter, and the other gods. Before us was a formidable-sized hall filled with great hewn tables, all packed with gods of varying sizes and descriptions. It was a heck of a sight – and though it wasn't one I’d wanted to indulge in, it was one I couldn't help but gape at. All the color, all the shapes, all the forms, all the power.
There were gold wreaths on the tables and great glistening chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. There were pillars with beautiful winding vines wrapped around them, and each table had its own themed decorations ranging from swords to glistening carvings of wild boar and deer.
Any god could find something here to make them feel at home. There was a table made from gravestones stuck in a dark corner replete with deep dark shadows and several cloaked figures. There were even a couple of scythes leaning against the wall next to it.
I couldn't stop as my eyes scanned the new sight and took in the details. It wasn't in me to ignore them. All the movement – the gods tipping back their heads and laughing, the sloshing of ale-filled glasses, the lithe forms of the wait staff nipping through the crowd – was intoxicating in a way only I could appreciate. To everyone else, the atmosphere, the company, or the reasonably cheap beer might be what pleased them. For me, it was the fold in the fabric of the sun goddess’ dress as she sat at the table opposite me.
I was getting so caught up in the details I didn't notice when Tolus found his friend and waved at him. It wasn't until Tolus tugged on my arm that I paid attention to him. I let him lead me along without question.
Whenever I saw a visually rich, novel sight, I became overpowered. The true power within me – that noted, reveled, and lived for details – grew. With every detail I drew in, I drew in power. Come love or money, you couldn't drag me from something new I hadn't seen before.
I was still in a daze when Tolus stopped pulling me along – an impressive fact, as Tolus looked incapable of pushing a cockroach or lifting a single sheet of paper.
“Details!” someone shouted right by my elbow – and that someone was Thor.
I snapped my head to the side so fast tendrils of ice-white hair fell loose from my bun. My glasses also slipped several notches down my nose.
There he was – bloody Thor. He sat at a giant carved table as you might expect befitted a Nordic God. There were all sorts of gods and goddesses around him, including the forest bimbo from earlier this morning. In usual Thor style, there were several gaudy, trashy goddesses hanging off both of his arms and several more next to him who seemed overly proficient at tittering for purportedly divine beings.
There was also an assortment of other gods from all across the various pantheons of Earth. The one thing Thor/Zeus/Jupiter could be credited with – the only thing other than an insane ability to make husbands jealous and cause riotous bar fights – was he brought the pantheons together. There were many gods and goddesses who stuck to their neck of the woods and mingled only with divinities from their local area. Coming from three of the most powerful and influential pantheons, Thor had a unique ability to draw gods together. Yes, in his current guise as Thor he wasn't technically Zeus nor Jupiter, but that didn't stop him from having the keys to their houses.
Here he sat amongst an impressive variety of Roman, Greek, and Nordic gods. There was such an assortment of helmets, togas, and sandals as you wouldn't get this side of a high-school historical production.
The table was overflowing with food, ale, and gold laurels. Why there were so many gold laurels, I didn't know, but it led to the impression this was a table where the gods were letting their hair down.
Fun aside, as soon as most of the gods glanced up at Thor's roar of “Details,” I noticed everyone start to recognize me. I noticed, because their expressions became progressively less friendly.
Tolus walked past me and waved at a pasty-faced Roman god at the end of the table. How Tolus had a mate on the Thor table, I didn't know. Now was not the time to find out. Now was the time to back away from the mischievous look in Thor's eye.
The Nordic god took a mighty sniff that might as well have sucked his beard up his nostrils. “You do go out, Details. Dressed in a stained set of human clothes,” he noted with a loathing but lecherous look. “You are less of a goddess and more of a pathetic excuse for a mortal.”
This drew the usual round of tittering guffaws from the amassed divinities at the table. The two goddesses hanging off Thor's arms tipped their heads back and laughed so emphatically I could see their tonsils – a detail that made their attempt at cruel humor all the less effective.
“Please, girls,” I pushed my glasses further up my nose, “Close your mouths before a giant walks in there.”
The goddesses snapped their mouths shut.
Thor closed his mouth and shifted his jaw. It was a move hardly worth noticing were it not for the way it changed the shadows under his eyes and across his cheeks. It made his face look more alive and yet paradoxically stiffer. It also framed his less-than-pleased gaze. “Do you enjoy belittling your own kind?”
I was about to open my mouth to point out he'd been the one to start the belittling, then I noticed the silence spreading over the table like a pool of toxic waste. It was nasty and deadly.
This, this was why I didn't go to Ambrosia. I was the least popular goddess around these parts, and having verbal cat-fights with other divinities was not how I liked to live my life.
Also, there was the niggling fact that while I was in my office working officially for the Integration Office no one could touch me – or no one who didn't want to end up in Divinity Prison. Out here – in the real world – I was the same as the rest of them. While it was frowned upon to fight other gods, it wasn't illegal. Gods like Thor got away with it all the time.
Thor loosened his arms from around his two twittering golden goddesses and slowly ran the back of his hand over his mouth. It wasn't to wipe anything off – there was nothing there. For someone who ate as graphically and enthusiastically as a pig at a trough, the guy always remained clean.
He stood up.
Damn, he stood up.
He towered over me. He towered over everyone. He also had this unique ability to cast people into shadow even if they were standing directly by a light source. No matter who you were, Thor always blocked you out.
“You hate your own kind,” he said in a low, menacing tone.
The sentiment rang true with the rest of the guests at the table, with several gods nodding so vehemently their helmets came loose and jolted down their faces.
The other tables around Thor were also starting to grow quiet as various divinities turned around for the potential fight. Not that there would be a fight. Thor would bang me on the noggin with Mjollnir, and I'd wake up in god hospital in a week or so.
“She rejected my application for a working visa last week,” one of the gods said from further down the table.
He was right: I'd rejected it because he was the god of famine and he wanted to tour Africa for several months.
“She stopped me from visiting Egypt – my homeland,” one goddess mentioned emphatically as her black cropped hair brushed against her shoulders.
Too true. She liked to make her followers sacrifice cats, and as a proud cat owner, I frowned on that. Plus, it always upset the cat goddess.
Thor spread his arms, his muscles clear and present as they blocked out more of the light. “Look around y
ou, Details – do you have friends here?”
I wanted to point out to him he was a golden-bearded idiot for thinking the assembled gods were his friends. They were the divine equivalent of groupies. They sat at his table and laughed at his jokes because he was one of the most powerful gods on Earth. If Thor fell from grace, they wouldn't offer him a helping hand. They'd find some other table to sit at.
I couldn't point that out considering I didn't have any friends to call to my own side.
“You consistently tread on and get in the way of your own kind,” Thor rumbled, sounding like a clap of thunder. The glasses on the table shook and trembled at the sound of his voice. “You are a blight.”
Before he could finish his sentence with something suitably Thor-like, like “And I will rid you from the Earth with the power of my magical hammer,” or “And I will strike you down with a strike of lightning,” something inserted itself between Thor and me.
Tolus. Tolus stared right up at Thor – at the giant menacing Nordic god who looked as though he was preparing for a righteous and violent fight. Tolus’ eyes didn't stop watering, nor did his frame look anything less than feeble. Standing right before Thor brought home how tiny, weak, and humble Tolus was. The contrast was stark, the difference as plain as black on white.
Yet the look Tolus gave Thor made up for the difference in size. It was that determination I'd seen before. The one that told you that no matter what, he'd find a way to survive and a way to help others survive, too.
The look had an effect on Thor, though the golden-bearded brute was incapable of noting the exact watery-detail of Tolus’ eyes or the way his face glowed despite the shadow Thor cast him under.
“She has never trod on me, nor gotten in my way,” Tolus said plainly.
“What?” Thor looked down at the tiny god before him.
“You said that Details treads on her own kind and always gets in their way – she has not done this to me. You also called her a blight. I have seen blights, great god of thunder, and she is not such a thing. She is a goddess,” Tolus’ tone was so plain and simple you couldn't help but be drawn in by it. It offered a gentler, easier alternative to Thor's booming, belly-shaking voice. One that promised less violence and a whole lot more peace.
Thor stared down at Tolus, expression hooded by shadow.
Knowing Thor, he was deciding which window he was going to throw Tolus through.
I slowly reached out a hand, latched it all the way around Tolus’ bone-thin arm, and pulled him back. “It's okay,” I said through a clenched jaw. “You can leave this to me.”
I wasn't being brave and suggesting the small-time goddess of details and full-time divine immigration officer to Earth was going to be a match for the triple-god of thunder and victory – I just didn't want Tolus to get hurt. And hurt he would get – badly, judging by the look on Thor's face.
Still, the fact Tolus was willing to stand up for me was nice. It was more than nice: it was comforting. Thor was right, due to my job, I tended not to get on with all the other divinities. They saw me as a hindrance to their grand and inappropriate holiday plans. They couldn’t appreciate I had a role to play: I kept Earth safe from them. I kept the people and the planet free from the devastating god-wars that once raged here. Back in the bad old days, the human and animal population had been forced to put up with all sorts of outrageous situations and punishments. Having their livers picked out by eagles, rolling rocks up hills for eternity, having their crops and villages trampled and destroyed by giant wars – you name it. Letting gods run amok was always a bad thing.
Now it was different, and it was different because of a functioning customs and immigration system. No longer would we blithely allow destructive gods entry to the planet so they could attempt world-ending wars. No longer were gods allowed to demand whole fields of innocent goats to be put to slaughter. No longer did the people of Earth have to put up with world-covering frosts, storms, or earthquakes every time a couple of brutish gods got into a fistfight.
There was relative peace because the gods were kept in check – okay, there wasn't that much peace, but at least none of the human wars involved never-ending winters, world-sized cyclopes, and more blood than could fill the Pacific Ocean.
I didn't expect any of these gods to appreciate that. To them, Earth was still their playground. But none of them played nice, so Earth was off limits to that kind of fun.
I clenched my fists. I could feel a little of my power returning. True, I couldn't produce lightning and I had no chance against Thor, but that didn't mean I was going to give into him easily.
“You are a brute, Thor,” I said strongly. I wanted him and his assortment of divine groupies to know he hadn't won. I also wanted Tolus to know I appreciated the save. “As for all your whineging about visa applications and rejections, need I remind you that while you swan about starting bar fights and finding bimbo goddesses to giggle in your ears, it's the Integration Office that keeps Earth peaceful. Or would you prefer to have Loki, Seth, or a gaggle of cyclopes stampede into your party and step on your beard? You speak grandly, Thor, but remember it's the immigration officers – and no longer you – who keep the evil spirits at bay.” With that, I decided it was best to retreat.
Yes, I’d stood up for myself, but I could also see the sparks collecting in Thor's eyes.
“Loki,” he roared.
Oops, I had touched a nerve. I shouldn't have mentioned the one-time cherished friend who’d gone on to betray him and try to kill his whole family.
“Okay, Tolus,” I said with a squeak, “I suggest you run.”
Tolus was a lot smarter than I'd given him credit for, and didn't resist when I pulled him towards the door.
I hoped we had time before Thor blew up and sent his hammer soaring through the establishment to strike me dead.
Oh dear, why had I mentioned Loki?
I pulled Tolus towards the door. This was going to come back to hit me in the back of the head....
Somehow we made it to the door before Thor got it together enough to send Mjollnir our way singing its happy and murderous tune.
I grabbed the handle and yanked it open with all my might – and luckily for me the handle was made out of strong stuff, because I didn't yank it off or crush it into dust. While I was a small-time goddess, and I couldn't count on god-like strength, I still wasn't human.
Regardless of his awesome god powers, Thor couldn’t strike us down with thunder or hammer us to death out in the street. He couldn’t display any super-human powers out in the real world.
The cool night air hit us, buffeting so welcomingly against my hair and face I almost considered finding out who the god of night-time breezes was and sending him a bunch of flowers.
I closed the door shakily once Tolus had made it through. I sucked in a lungful of air – something technically unnecessary considering I wasn't mortal, but I did it nonetheless. Breathing and eating were things gods and goddesses had to do to fit in with the human population, and were proscribed while divinities were staying on Earth. Not breathing and not eating were sure signs the walking talking apparent human before you was more apparent and less real.
“Oh my,” Tolus glanced back at the door behind us, “He became angry at the end there.”
“Ha.”
“Should we....” Tolus kept his eye on the door.
“Get out of here before Thor comes out and beats us to death in a legitimately non-god like, but still painful way? Yep. Sure.” Still keeping a grip on Tolus’ bone-thin arm, I pulled him along the street.
This would go down as the dumbest thing I’d ever done. Well, maybe not. In my days as a younger goddess, I’d done some extraordinarily foolish things. When my powers had been new to me, I would often wander in a complete daze through the forests and cities for days on end. I had accidentally walked right into cyclopes more times than I could count. Back then, I’d grown a rightful reputation as an airhead. Over the years that had changed. As humanity had begun
to take a finer eye to the details of the world, I’d become more powerful and better respected. I had also become far more logical and far more rational.
In the world of gods, however, I was still only somewhere near the middle. I didn't have raw power like the forces-of-nature gods, and nor did I have mythical weapons like Thor. My true power could only be utilized when I was used in conjunction with other things. Knowing and appreciating the details of something was one thing, but it was how you went on to use those details that mattered. You get me in a room with the god of logic and a couple of gods of maths and physics – and we would make an unbeatable and nerdy team.
I wasn't about to wait around outside of a god-bar while Thor was seconds from busting down the door and cracking my skull on the off chance some maths-loving gods would chance upon me. Nope, now was time for running.
Ducking into the alleyway beside the Ambrosia, I kept a firm but not bone-breaking grip on Tolus. I figured our only chance was to get far enough away from the Ambrosia that Thor would become too bored to track us down. It was a small chance, but it was all we had.
“Do you think I should give it a couple of minutes before I return?” Tolus asked, his voice punctuated by his ragged breath as I dragged him behind me. “Only that is where I’m staying tonight.”
Damn, I'd forgotten about that bit. “Ah, no – a couple of minutes isn't going to work.” A couple of hours wasn't going to work, either – Thor could, and often did, hold a grudge for eons. “Um you should stay in my spare room tonight.”
“Oh, if you think that is for the best.”
“Ha. Let's put it this way: you will be less likely to wake up from a hammer blow between the eyes if you bunk in my spare room.” I kept pulling Tolus along, not confident he could sustain a suitably Thor-avoiding pace on his own.
“I see.”
“Thor holds a grudge,” I pointed out needlessly, “And a magical hammer.”
“He does have a temper. But I do not find him to be overly disagreeable.”
I almost stopped and turned around. He didn't find the brute of a Nordic god disagreeable? The same god who’d virtually stared us to death with his disemboweling gaze?
I held my tongue and kept pulling him along. “Damn,” I suddenly spat as I took the time to note my surroundings. I was taking us in the wrong direction. In order to get back to my house we would have to go back the way we'd come. That would take us face-first into a singing hammer. “We need to double back. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I've taken us the wrong way.”
We ground to a halt, and I admonished myself with a few quick curses. Damn Thor for putting me in such a tizz that I'd forgotten where I was going.
“Oh...” Tolus appeared to appreciate what this meant. “Why don't we take one of the flood drains?”
“Sorry?”
“The flood drains – the ones we were down in barely an hour ago. I believe we passed an access only several blocks back – we could climb down said access and find our way to your house that way.”
I looked at Tolus then shrugged my shoulders. That sounded like a reasonable plan. Why go around or through when you can go underneath?
We made our way back to the drain access Tolus had seen. As we climbed down the ladder, I felt that exact same feeling: the one that told me I was entering something. Something I wouldn't be able to turn away from again.
As we descended, I tried to notice-away my uncomfortable feelings. Being the goddess of details, by noticing details, I could often disarm or change a situation. If I didn't like some emotion or action, I could concentrate on all those facts and figures that went into making it appear real, and that took the edge off the whole thing.
“These tunnels are remarkable,” Tolus’ voice echoed as it bounced off the round walls of the tunnel. He sounded like he was coming from all around me. “For a human invention, they have a god-like feel.”
“Oh, they get it right sometimes,” I tried to blow the comment off. I didn't like the way that conclusion sat with me. “They still remember some of the things we taught them back during the eons of god-rule. The architect of these tunnels probably found a book on sacred architecture,” I mumbled, realizing how silly it sounded to suppose a human would use divine geometry to build a system of flood-tunnels of all things. When it came to cathedrals, temples, and other spiritual buildings I could see the use of divinely inspired proportions, but drains were another thing. “They probably accidentally hit upon the right shapes and patterns, or perhaps the god of sacred buildings has branched out to work at the city planning office.”
“Hmm.”
“I should be able to get us home from here,” I said, mostly to be reassured by the sound of my own voice. For a goddess, there wasn't much in the human world that could scare me. I was technically immortal, with emphasis on the technically. While I'd be okay if I came across an angry homeless guy with a homemade potato gun or a confused and lost alligator, there were other creatures who could set my teeth chattering. Monsters, frost giants, denizens of hell – there were plenty of beings who could pose a threat to a goddess. There was a bloody menagerie of them. For every god and goddess, there was whole armies of giants and god-hating meanies.
While the Integration Office did its job and mostly did it well, it was never outside the realm of possibility that an evil creature could slip through the net. Frost giants were not unheard of in Scandinavia, and I'd recently read a report about a cyclopes still sleeping in one of the underwater caves off the coast of Greece.
I began to walk faster. I hadn't read any reports of creatures coming to this city – and certainly not taking up shop in the flood drains – but that didn't mean much. Maybe one of the deep-sea oil rigs off the coast had dredged up something old, angry, and immortal, and the darn creature had been washed into the drains during the wet season. And maybe said denizen of the deep was watching Tolus and me as we awkwardly loped our way through the tunnels.
“I wonder,” Tolus said, voice too loud for my comfort, “Whether we should abandon this plan and climb up the next drain access we see?”
“Hmm,” I squeaked. Tolus was feeling what I was. As a god used to surviving despite the odds, I would be wise to follow his lead. “Yep. Let's get out of here.”
I realized it was odd that, upon our earlier visit, neither Tolus nor I had felt these exact exquisite feelings of unease. I also realized that the longer we stayed down here, and the farther forward we traveled, the more the feelings grew. That told me one of two things: either we were moving towards something of considerable immortal threat, or said threat was making its own way to us.
We ran, and this time I didn't have to latch a hand onto Tolus’ arm – the god was as spritely and energetic as a racehorse. We found an access and scrambled up it.
I let Tolus go up the ladder first. Contrary to what Thor believed, I was not a treacherous, god-hater. When it came to the safety and welfare of other divinities, I could be as generous and caring as the charity goddesses.
Both Tolus and I scrambled up the ladder as fast as we could, and I made a mental note to call the Integration Office as soon as we were clear to let them know of a possible breach in customs. They would send a divine clean-up squad straight away to flush out whatever evil had made its home down in the dank tunnels.
Tolus shifted the top off the drain entrance – displaying the strength his immortal form had by default, despite his paper-thin body.
He jumped lithely onto the street and made a gurgling noise. I dismissed it as a choked-throat “Yippee“ for getting to safety.
I shouldn't have.
I crested the entrance, my head popping out onto the street above. I stared straight at a massive pair of legs tucked neatly into light blue jeans. I slowly looked up the legs until I noted the T-shirt, the golden beard, and the righteous, crackling gaze.
“Oh you are kidding me.” I had run from the Ambrosia, then gone into the flood drains only to come back up right outside the Ambrosia.
I hung there, still half on the ladder.
Before Thor could reach down and crush me, something happened. I winced, expecting the attack from above, but it came from below. Something rushed up from underneath me – something fast, something that went swoosh in an evil way. That same something wrapped itself tightly around my middle.
Before I had time to register it – before I had time to scream – the thing tugged on me with immortal strength. My hands were ripped away from the ladder, and I plummeted back down the access tunnel. Only when I was about half way down did I bother to let out a scream. It was short, it was sharp, and it was mostly stifled due to the horrendous pressure of the thing around my middle.
I slammed into the bottom of the tunnel. It wasn't enough to kill me, just enough to daze me.
The grip around my middle was only growing tighter. With my face pressed into the dank dark water of the tunnel floor, I desperately tried to figure out what was going on.
Being the goddess of details, I wasn't good with fast situations. I was more inclined to quietly note every single leaf on a tree – I was less inclined to immediately reach for the axe when said tree turned out to be an enchanted demon.
I could feel the fact my hair had come undone and was stuck to my face, a few strands spreading out in the water below me. I could also feel the fact my glasses were shattered. The broken glass and frames were sticking into my flesh.
None of this was enough to kill or harm me. What was enough, however, was the growing grip around my middle.
The tentacle began to pull me backwards. I could feel my hair drag through the cold water and stick to my face and clothes.
I could feel the exact pressure being exerted around my middle – the way it slammed up against my power and forced it back.
I could smell the sharp scent of earth and an acrid bitter aroma that sat above it. It smelt like burnt bones.
The tentacle began to twist me around. The increase in pressure around my middle stopped. It was still strong enough to keep me in place, and to keep my meagre goddess powers in check – but it wasn't about to kill me anymore.
As I twisted, I realized what the thing was going to do. It was going to turn me around until I came face-to-face with it. It was going to stare at me in an I'm-going-to-eat-you-in-a-second way before promptly gobbling me down.
Before it could go through with its plans, something soared down from the access tunnel above. Several things did.
They weren't things. They were gods.
One after one, five heavy-set gods plopped down into the dank water of the tunnel. Though they had bypassed the ladder and jumped the considerable height, they hardly hit the tunnel floor with much force – not as much force as physics would have liked, anyway.
As the tentacled-thing turned me, I caught a glimpse of the god at the lead. I already knew who it was: Thor.
The question was, was Thor in such a mood that he would kill me first then the sea monster – or would he kill the monster and leave me until last?
Before Thor had a chance to do any posturing, the creature reared up – trying to show its impressive height and girth in the confines of the tunnel. Though the tunnel was large, the creature was massive, and I heard a squish as the top of the thing smashed into the concrete above.
As the thing rose, it took me with it, and soon my head pressed right up against the ceiling, my body still as limp as a dead flower – but I had the pleasure of my face being smooshed into dank concrete to go along with it.
“Sea monster,” Thor roared from somewhere below me, “Denizen of the deep.”
I wanted to scream at him to get the hell on with it – but I couldn't make a sound with the grip around my waist, and I still wasn't sure whether Thor would attack me first. I hoped he wouldn't....
The sea creature wasn't all that enthused by the prospect of listening to a Thor-rant either, and began to move.
He was retreating – the blasted sea monster was acquainted with odds, and didn't like the blond-bearded ones that carried magical hammers.
The thing moved fast, astoundingly fast considering how darn huge it was.
Thor shouted something suitably godly from behind like, “Hey, wet-one, get back here!” but I could no longer hear him. The sensation of being tightly gripped by an immortal tentacle as the humongous owner of said tentacle launched itself down a flood drain with all the speed of a bullet train, was too distracting.
I wondered for a fleeting second where this thing was taking me, whether it was going to find some nice junction somewhere it could peacefully and quietly gobble me down.
It didn't get the chance. From behind, I heard a familiar whistle. I instinctively winced and tried to duck – though I could hardly move.
I need not have worried. Thor's hammer did come screaming out of the blackness, but it wasn't aimed at my head. It sliced right through the tentacle that held me before boomeranging back to Thor.
“You are right to flee me, sea monster.”
It took a second for the tentacle gripping me to fall free from the body of the sea monster – it felt like I was on a seesaw gently slipping down. Then gentle turned to quick and violent, and the tentacle, with me still attached to it, slammed down to the ground.
It landed close to Thor, so close that he could have easily caught me. He didn’t bother to try.
I hit the ground with considerable force, the tentacle pressing me hard into the dank concrete. It somehow still had a grip on me – even though it was no longer attached.
The sea monster gave a great and terrible cry, a sudden and violent burst of acrid air escaping from its fang-covered mouth.
The scent of the thing surrounded me, but I still couldn't move under the grip that enclosed me.
“You are right to scream, too,” Thor added casually.
I felt a tentacle swipe down from above and noted the giant press of air it brought with it. It didn’t flatten me – it headed for Thor instead.
Thor dodged out of its way and hooked a powerful arm around it as it passed. He twisted up until he stood on the thing and ran along its length – back to the head to which it was attached.
I heard a sharp, loud, oddly welcome ringing. Thor brought his hammer up in a great arc and slammed it right into the center of the sea monster's less-than-attractive head.
The thing let out a great cry and a gurgle that sounded like water going down the drain, before unceremoniously falling over.
Thor lithely jumped off, landing easily in the dank water without a splash marking his clean jeans.
“Ha,” he chortled. “Totally beat you, you stupid sea monster.”
The relief washed over me.
I was safe.
....
Except the tentacle – the heavy oppressive one that blocked my power – was still attached to me.
Thor stared up at his handy work, Mjollnir held over one shoulder, his other hand clamped firmly on his hip. He looked pleased with himself. Why wouldn't he? He'd single-handedly taken down a giant sea monster, while the most I'd been able to do was note how exquisitely strong it had been while it had dragged me off into the darkness.
Before I could indulge in self-pity, I felt something odd: I was moving. Or rather, the tentacle holding me was. It wasn't moving in a twitching way, nor was it growing limp and letting me loose. Nope, it was dragging me down the tunnel as if the fact it had lost 90% of its body – including the important brainy parts – was a minor setback.
Due to its horrendous grip, I couldn’t call out for help.
Thor was too enthused with his victory to bother looking down at the skulking tentacle sneaking me off down the tunnel. Instead, he was poking one of the attached tentacles with his hammer like a child prodding a dead animal they find in the woods.
The thing was quick. I had enough time to catch a last fleeting glance of Thor tipping his head back and shouting that this was the perfect way to finish off a night, before I was pulled around a bend in the tunnel.
; I’d never, in all the time I’d known Thor, wanted him to take the time to stare down at me more than I did now.
He didn't – he was too busy being victorious, which is what he lived for, after all. Saving small-time detail goddesses from autonomous tentacles would be an annoying side note to him.
I tried with all my might – with what power I could spare that wasn't keeping me alive – to call his name. It wasn't a name I usually wanted to shout unless it was followed with a well-placed insult, or the words “Your application for a visa is rejected due to your uncontrollable and riotous behavior.”
Now was different.
“T- T,” I managed, my mouth barely moving. “Thor.”
There, I said it. By the time I had, I was already too far off to be heard.
Or I thought I was.
Something came whistling out of the darkness, and it wasn't an overly jolly janitor – it was Mjollnir.
The hammer headed straight for me, and I was genuinely worried Thor was going to kill me – then the thing stopped dead in space and dropped right on the end of the tentacle, pinning it in place.
The tentacle couldn't scream – it didn't have a mouth. The sentiment was there in the way it thrashed. But no matter how much it tried, it couldn’t get free. The weight of Mjollnir was legendary.
I heard heavy footsteps approach.
My face was pressed into the wall of the tunnel, my lips and cheek smooshed as if someone had my head pushed up against a window. As such, my field of view was limited.
I still saw Thor make his slow way over to me. The other gods were behind him, all sauntering in that particular way only macho gods can.
Thor had one eyebrow raised. He stopped a half-a-meter from me and stared down. “Now.”
It was a preamble, but a preamble to what? I kill you, Details. I leave you here to rot. I take the opportunity, considering you are pinned to the floor by an immortal tentacle, to flick you in the nose.
Several of the other gods laughed – macho laughs, because they were in we-kill-monsters-mode. This was not a time for giggling or twittering.
Now the tentacle was pinned, its grip waned. I was able to concentrate on my powers. I tried hard to draw in all the details I could.
The way the concrete pressed into my face, the way Mjollnir looked solid and immovable as it pinned the tentacle, the way the other gods stood behind Thor, and the way Thor's T-shit was clean despite the sea-monster-in-a-flood-drain battle of moments before.
There it was. I could feel the power.
I didn't bother telling Thor to get this tentacle off me. I didn't try to plead with one of the other gods to let me free. I was going to do this on my own.
I turned my full attention on Thor. I watched the way he stood – the way he planted his feet with equal balance, the way his back was straighter than a tower. I saw the shadows play across his face, though there was no light down here to warrant the difference between a shadow and a highlight. I looked at the way he stood there, hands clamped on his hips as he stared back at me.
He was clearly watching me too – noting every hilarious detail of my face smooshed up against the concrete. Noting the way my usually criminally neat hair was a wet mess plastered over my face and back. Hell, he was having a good look at my torn blouse and my mud covered neck and arms.
Watching him watch me – noting the way he looked as he noted the way I did – created a sort of feedback loop. My power surged. I was a goddess of details – and while I was sustained through those details, I still oversaw that same faculty in others.
I doubted he was doing it on purpose – Thor was darn dim witted.
I cut through the strength of the tentacle, pushed back into it, and pulled free. The thing thudded to the ground and sent an unwelcome spray of water scattering over my body and face.
Thor watched me as I rose to my feet, then he crossed his arms and laughed.
I took a needless breath and stared down at the tentacle.
“This must be a big night for you, Details.” Thor opened his hand wide and his hammer shot straight into his grip. “Insulting gods and being hunted by sea monsters.”
He hadn't forgotten about that, then? Part of me had hoped the rare opportunity to fight a bona fide immortal sea monster on Earth would have been enough to quell his temper for at least as long as it took to gloat.
My sides ached and my head was filled with a thick heavy fog. I didn't have a scrap of energy left to engage in any hearty banter with Thor.
I swayed on my feet.
Thor narrowed his eyes.
“What's a sea monster doing in these tunnels?” one of the other gods asked.
“It's a little cramped down here,” another noted, more worried that the poor sea monster had been forced to put up with a painfully small abode, and less worried about the fact sea monsters in human flood drains was a bad thing.
Typical god behavior – they never wondered what the flow-on effects to the rest of the world would be. That's where the Integration Office came in. The office was set up to ensure the smooth and seamless integration of gods and goddesses into human and alien societies. The Immigration Office was only one arm of it. There were customs and the police, too. As soon as I told them – or as soon as I had enough breath to tell them – the office would be a hive of activity considering the fact an ancient immortal sea monster had somehow infiltrated a human city.
I put a hand up to my middle. My fingers brushed against the torn, wet, and muddy fabric of my blouse. I checked for blood. Yes, gods had blood. Unlike humans, it was not red – it was crystal clear. Also unlike humans, losing blood wouldn’t kill a divinity. Only losing the source of their power would. Still, blood was a useful indication of injury.
I brought my fingers up to my face. Though there was no light, I could still see, and I could see blood.
“You think the Immigration Officer,” one god started, stressing the word immigration as if it were the worst insult he could think of, “Would mind if we took the sea monster's head as a trophy?”
Ah, yeah, yeah she would. I didn't bother replying out loud. I stood and tried hard not to fall over.
Thor shifted his jaw around, took a sniff, cracked his shoulders, and shook his head. “The Immigration Officer is about to faint – you can do it while she's unconscious.”
Before I could splutter and tell Thor what I thought of his hilarious statement – I fell over.
Thor didn't step forward and catch me. He let me fall.
As I fell, I shut down. Unlike a human, a god does not need sleep. They do, however, when the situation calls for it, have to slip into a regenerative reverie – a reverie I was falling into regardless of whether I wanted to stay conscious long enough to stop any enterprising god from dragging a giant sea monster head back to his Earth apartment for an impressive mantelpiece decoration.
I didn't have a choice in the matter.
I noticed one last detail – Thor looming over me – then I conked out.