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Magni in Hell
When the flash of light had faded, Magni opened his eyes.
He stood on some sort of raised platform, and Dr. Dungeon was nowhere to be found.
The platform was surrounded by debris of all manner. Piles of refuse and demolished machines were strewn as far as the eye could see. The sky was a deep orange, as if the heavens themselves were burning. The acrid smell of smoke and decay permeated the thick, hot air.
“Chock! Vedaku, mokani!”
The voice was metallic and hollow, and boomed from a short distance in front of him. A huge man-like machine, which Magni had taken for a bronze statue of alien origin, took a step forward, and repeated the previous statement. This time it punctuated what was obviously a command by raising an “arm” which ended in what appeared to be a weapon of some sort. Simultaneously, two smaller versions of this machine, each flanking the platform to the right and left, also raised weapons. Movement to his right showed that a group of small men were armed with hand-held weapons as well, and were rousing from their relaxed positions, and watching him intently.
Surrounded. Thought Magni. He smiled. THIS is what he had come to Midgard for.
The large machine in front of him repeated its command and took another step forward. Magni wasted no time. He raised his arms in surrender, then suddenly sprang to his left, colliding with the smaller machine there. The metal was tough, but he easily crushed his fingers into it, whipping the machine around, just in time to catch a barrage of weapons fire from the other small machine. The one in his hands jerked with the impacts, and went stiff. Magni lifted the dead machine and threw it at its counterpart. The crash was spectacular, and both machines tumbled into the group of men forcing them to scatter.
The Norse god’s satisfaction was short-lived, though, as he was lifted into the air and hurled back into a pile of debris by a shot from the large machine. The blast of energy incinerated his shirt, and the heat stung. But though his wind was temporarily gone, Magni was unharmed.
With a growl he grabbed a chunk of metal the size of a small car and hurled it at the machine. The machine caught the make-shift missile with it’s “hand” intending to deflect it to the side. But the debris was not a solid mass, and it entangled itself around the arm, causing the machine to be jerked to the side with the momentum of the throw. Magni sprinted forward and dove at the machine. The force of the impact sent both combatants to the ground.
Though it was over twice his own size, the Norse god managed to get a good grip on the machine’s other limb, which was similarly armed with a weapon. Planting his feet on the machine’s chest he wrenched with all of his considerable might at the limb. With a satisfying screech of tearing metal, the arm came loose. Gripping his newfound club in both hands, Magni began to pummel the head and body of the monstrosity. Soon, the machine was a useless hunk of metal. Magni tossed the arm aside, and surveyed the field of battle. The men were stunned at his brutal assault, and seemed hesitant to attack.
Then a sound came to his ears. It was a high-pitched whine, and it grew louder with each second. Magni looked up and saw some sort of flying machine in the distance. Suspended from it were three more machines, just like the ones he had just dispatched.
Though the thought of battling here until they stopped coming was tempting, Magni knew that if he were to ever leave this place, he would have to figure out who, or what, was in control.
With that, he took off running in the direction that the flying thing was coming from, being careful to keep piles of debris between him and the approaching machine. When it had passed, he paused to look back at the platform. He saw the flyer set the three new sentries down, and then, using grasping arms, pick up the pieces of the previous ones. He turned and resumed his trek. Soon, the flyer flew over his head. It moved along his own path, confirming that whatever he sought was in this direction…