Players:
Summary: Mjolnir chooses.
Date: July 11, 2020
Log Title: Hammer of the Gods
Rating: PG
The Future — New York City
The days have not been kind to DJ. So many things have happened. Ever since he left the Hunters, broken free of his brainwashing, he has changed. Inside and out, the man is different. Physically, his hair has gone red, like Pele's lava. However, he can no longer access those powers which made him her child. However, he hasn't given up hope for something. As he wanders through some rubble the tattered cloth over his lower face flaps in the wind. His eyes are scrunched as he tries to find somewhere to stay for the evening. Maybe even somewhere that there's still some leftover food. He's really not that picky.
He really has nowhere to go, thus DJ is just wandering the city that used to be his home. He's not afraid of being out in the open… the sentinels won't touch him. Sure, President Kelly or the other Hunters would probably want to beat his ass for deserting, but… he has better things to do than to be a murdering puppet anymore. He should have gone with the Rebellion. But… it didn't feel right. How could he offer assistance, with no powers to do anything with?
Atop the ruins of a nearby building, a figure clad in red-golden, scaled armor, draped in a hooded black cloak crouches, eyes narrowing behind the faceplate of the demonic helmet. I have found him as your leader asked, comes the eerily modulated, almost electronic voice to the child standing not far behind. This is what you wish, Armande?
After last night's attack, things are just odd for Armadne. He hasn't been on the surface in -years- and with the Harbinger leading him to DJ, he can't help but nod. Anger, sadness and rage flood through him as he sees the man who killed his father. The man he was so close with as a child. He's sixteen, so he still thinks revenge is worthwhile and it's in his face. "Yes, I want to see him hurt." They same way he hurts.
As of yet, DJ still thinks he's alone. After all, mutants for some reason tend to avoid him. Probably because his face was everywhere for a long time. As a Hunter. At least he didn't get the M tattoo. He stops, bending over to pick up a long tree branch. Lifting himself, he sticks the end in the ground and leans on it, Yay for broken pavement. He begins to sing softly. "Nothing matters. But knowing nothing matters, It's just life. So keep dancing through…" A song he knows exceptionally well. And his voice, as always, is on key. It was a role he played, but it seems eerily inappropriate to him right now.
We shall see, Thought murmurs, climbing down from the remains of the wall and taking Armande's shoulder in an armored, clawed hand. Close your eyes. The hellfires of Limbo are not for your innocence to look upon. That said, the first clue that DJ is not alone flares to life, as the stepping disc forms beneath the two. A split-second later, another opens in the ruins of the street a few feet away from the ex-Hunter.
Armande wants to send a blast of wind at DJ and the stock, he wants to yell at him. He has no right to sing when his father can't anymore. Then he closes his eyes and slips through with Thought, not knowing what's going on but he -hates- DJ right now and he waits until he can act. The hand on his shoulder keeps him from doing anything though as Thought holds him back for the time being.
As the portal appears, DJ does remember who once used it. His assumption is Thought again. He stops, tilting his head, and stopping his song. He waits to see if it is her before saying anything. He simply leans on the stick, waiting. He brings the cloth over his face down to let his own be fully visible.
DJ, Thought's voice echoes from behind the helmet. You have been difficult to find. The iron grip remains on Armande's shoulder, cloak rustling as a slight breeze kicks up. I would have been content to allow you to live the choice you've made… but I was asked to perform a different task. One that this boy's wishes will serve well. I assume you know this child?
Armande tries to go at DJ, as anticipated, but the grip keeps him held back. "You killed my Dad!" He shouts out as he wants to attack him, not with just his powers, but physically. "I saw you, I watched you kill him!" He shouts as rage is causing him to react, not think. "You used to be our neighbor, Dad's friend, and you killed him!" He says struggling against the hand on his shoulder again.
"Thought. I'm… sorry. With no powers… I didn't feel right letting others fight around me." DJ starts to explain when Armande appears. Despite the anger on the young boy's face, his first response is a smile, "You're alive. Thank Pele." He whispers, before the anger begins. He waits, trying to let the steam die down a little before he speaks. "Yes. I did. I know. I was not myself in the head. They took control of me. I only broke free recently." He doesn't deny anything, nor does he try to move away. "And I'm sorry it happened. I wish I could take back what happened. But, what has happened has happened. It cannot be undone."
Thought's hand remains in place, restraining Armande without injury, but neither does the Harbinger attempt to curb the child's fury. Armande. Your father, once, told you stories of the Inferno, yes? When Limbo slipped its leash, and wrought havoc on your city? While the words are spoken at Armande, the red eyepieces of the demonic helmet remain locked upon DJ. The message, silent, but clear. Watch. Listen. This is for your benefit as well as his.
A wind starts to build up around Armande if he means to do it or not, and his hair starts to move along with it. "No, you're not allowed to just say 'I'm sorry'. I'm sorry doesn't bring Dad back. And I wish you could die like Dad did." He says shaking a bit with anger. At the question of Inferno, Armande faintly remembers it. He was six when it happened. "I remember, something about demons and Dad's students and coworkers being turned into them."
"If it would bring Kenta back, I'd give my life. And gladly. But we all know that it can't. I'd hoped you had grown to understand things…" DJ says softly. He's obviously a little upset, but at what, he's not saying. "I remember the Inferno. That was when I met Kenta." He says with a nod. "He found demons attacking me. He came in to rescue me, and we ended up rescuing each other. That's when I discovered my stone form…"
Then listen, child, and hear this tale with your heart. The Inferno was a time of madness and chaos. Men and women were taken and twisted… or enticed, seduced… and given great power, to serve dark ends. They acted as their masters wished for them to act, killed and tortured and destroyed at the whims of Limbo's demons. And when the carnage cleared, child… they had to know what they had done. They would live with their horrors every waking moment, and know that it was by their own hand that so many died. Did your father tell you of these who were turned, child? DJ's plea is answered with a barely noticeable nod of the head, acknowledgment and understanding that cannot be voiced yet before Armande's hatred.
"You're telling me to forgive him? No!" Armande says the wind still kicking up around him. "What would you do if you faced someone who you watched killed your Dad? Would you do nothing?" He says looking to DJ and glaring at him. If he can't hate DJ, who can he hate for it. "I don't…I don't want to." He says and he means, forgive DJ, not blame him. He wants a face to hate.
"Then look for the person behind the killer. Look for the one who turned him into what he became." DJ says simply. "Remember what it used to be like. When you'd stay over." He says, looking to Thought. He tilts his head, really having no idea what brought any of this on. "If you have to fight a battle, fight the right one. Don't fight one that doesn't make sense." He's still not begging for forgiveness, or anything of that nature. He has too much pride for that. He's just stating what he feels is right, right now. "You know I loved Kenta. He was my best friend. Hell, he was like a brother to me. He… He told me to make sure I took care of you. He knew something wasn't right." He looks down, lost for a moment in memory.
Forgive him or hate him, child, your wish will be better served by allowing DJ to live. If you are able to forgive him, then you have the knowledge that he takes his first step to rise above the actions taken, under the President's leash. If you wish to hate him, then you will have the knowledge that your father's murder, your accusing voice, will haunt him for every last one of his waking days. The hand tightens, very faintly, then relaxes. DJ. What will you do, now that you are free?
Kenta shakes his head and says "No." But what he's saying no to is unsure. He does fall to his knees though as the wind dies as he tries to think about things. His head is listening to the reason that they're giving him but it's hard, very hard, to find it to forgive. "I..I don't know." He says as he misses his Dad, a lot. He feels conflicted.
"I don't know. I was going to come to the rebellion, but… I've lost my abilities. Mother had to call her power back. Many of the old Gods without followers don't have the power they used to. She used what she had to free me." DJ offers, looking upwards. "Changed my hair in the process. I've just been surviving for now. If I had weapons… well… I'd be more than willing to do something, since the Sentinels don't detect me… being a non-mutant." He runs a hand through his hair as he considers. "I'm really not sure."
Armande is released, allowed to sink to his knees. The boy's conflicted nature, for the moment, useful in keeping him from interrupting the Harbinger's mission. There is another choice you may make, DJ. If you truly wish to fight as you once did, then come with me. Armande… you may choose to come as well. Watch, listen. Perhaps, when you are done, you will be able to fully decide between forgiveness and hate. A clawed hand is stretched out to the redhead, steady, with no hint of deception in posture or movements.
It's a hard decision for Armande, stay here and think, or let them do their thing. After a bit he stands up and he looks at DJ, it's a long cautious look. The hate is still there but it's mixed with conflict. "I'll…I'll watch." He says as maybe it'll help him sort out the things in his head.
There's a nod from DJ as he moves over. It's not like he has much of a life right now anyway. "I'm listening." He says with a nod, waiting for Thought to offer her suggestion, whatever that may be. "I never had an opportunity to fight like I wanted. But if I have the ability, I will."
Close your eyes is the only answer given as DJ approaches, followed shortly by the bright flare of a stepping disc. When the pair emerges again, they stand inside the main gate of the ruins of Yankee Stadium. Dust and rubble litter the cavernous hallways, the odd scorch mark here and there, mute testimony of a titanic battle waged here, some years ago. The battle that ended in the deaths of many Avengers, and the capture of several more. Come, Thought says, leading the pair through the ruins. DJ. Tell me of Pele, and how you came to stand for her.
DJ does so, but is not one to close his eyes very often. If he's going to be somewhere, he needs to know it. He pauses briefly after the question. "I was vacationing in Hawaii. I was stopped by a beautiful woman. She told me the story of how Hi'iaka and Kua Pua'a were angry with Pele and thus caused the waves to constantly crash into her island. She told me of the war between them, and I asked her why they would start a war in the first place? Since Kua Pua'a was Pele's man beforehand. She asked me if I'd like to find out, because she would. And I said yes. So, she transformed into… well… herself. She was Pele. She sent me into the waters to figure things out."
This story hasn't been told to Armande before, but it explains a lot. "So, I did. I brought Kua Pua'a and Pele back together after a lot of explanation and pissing of Hi'iaka. And, they said that I looked, danced, and sang like their dead son. And because of that and bringing them back together, I should, indeed, BE their son." He offers. "I never knew what that meant until the Inferno." He looks around. "Stadium." He whispers, shaking his head softly.
And what *did* this mean? Thought's question, oddly penetrating, as much to Armande as to DJ. What did it mean to be the son of Pele, DJ?
"I was the living volcano. I could become every aspect of it, from rock to lava to fire to gas. I simply had to live as she wanted me to. With fiery passion and fervor. And I did… until…" DJ taps his forehead with a sigh. "And now, it's not there. But, not through anyone's fault."
Not your powers, Thought responds, picking around a pile of rubble, of looted skeletons and scavenged war hulks. What did it *mean* to be the son of Pele?
"I stood for nature and for life, but lived in the city. Look after those less fortunate. But, it did have a tendency to leave me a little hot headed." DJ offers a slight smile. "She lived for the dance and for song. Which I gave her in plenty. Being on broadway at the time, every time I performed, it was like a ceremony for her. That was all she wanted. It wasn't hard for her."
Stand for life, defending those unable to care for themselves, Thought muses, glancing back at Armande, Spread joy and hope to honor your mother, and to benefit the lives of all who hear your word… Yes… A noble calling, DJ. Now, tell me. What is the nature of a hero? As this question is asked, the trio emerges onto the field… and if the inside of the stadium is an illustration of the horrors of the war against mutantkind, the field may well be a monument to its madness. In the center of the park yawns a single crater, hundreds of yards wide, its edges shimmering, dirty glass in the full moonlight. All around litter bodies rubble, shells of vehicles and combat machines and Sentinel parts. No one living has stood within this field since the conclusion of this titanic battle… until this night.
"Mostly the same. Protection. Acting with honor. Finding ways to do what is necessary, even if it costs your life. I… was still learning that when…" DJ shakes his head. "When they warped my mind." He glances to Armande. He's not denying. That would be beneath him. "To stand when no one else can." That's the only way he knows to put it.
Armande. What is a hero?
Listening to the two, Armande is rethinking his hate as new things come to life. Then, the question directed at him catches him off guard. "What's a hero? My dad. The X-Men, the Avengers, you Harbingers. People willing to fight what they stand for, willing to put their lives on the line for others. Someone who believes in right and will do what they have to to do the right thing. Someone whose brave and courageous." He answers.
From the mouths of babes, Thought says quietly, amusement managing to penetrate the otherworldly echo of the Harbinger's voice. Leading the pair through the ruins of the ballpark, she crests the lip of the crater, turning to face DJ. DJ. If you are given the power to raise arms against the enemies of the good and the free, will you fight even as the last breath of life passes your lips? The Harbinger's voice, suddenly greater than simply loud; it carries the ageless weight weight of destiny. Will you be the warrior that stands before all the legions of Earth and beyond, daring them to pass even as you deny them a single inch of ground? Will you raise your voice in defiance of all who would crush the hope of freedom beneath their heel?
"If I still had my power, I'd already be doing that. Once my head was on straight, I knew what I needed to do. I just didn't have the means." The man says with a nod, planting his feet in the ground. "That's what Pele would want. And it's what Kenta would want me to do… so that Armande doesn't have to. He's still too young to be in the middle of all of this." He looks to Armande. "No offense. But I may not have said the words, but I took his final words as a promise inside. And I'm going to keep it."
Within this pit lie the shattered dreams of men, great and small, who believed as you have. Who swore as you swore. Who gave no quarter to the very end, and died striking a blow so terrible that across all the years, none dare to approach this ground. Within this pit rests the power to strike your enemies and lay them asunder, Vulcan son of Pele. If you would truly take up the fight once more, then descend, and claim your right of valor, as once claimed right of blood. Stepping to one side, Thought draws the eldritch Soulsword, holding it up to the mask in salute as the Harbinger awaits DJ's actions.
He really doesn't know what's in there, but what else is there? DJ doesn't know and doesn't care. Instead, he walks towards the crater, making his way up the edge of it to see the dirty glass inside. As of yet, he's not noting anything, but if a Harbinger says there's something there, then there must be SOMEthing that can help. "If I can do something to help… I will." He states simply.
Deep within the center of the crater, something… sparks. That's the only word that can describe the sudden tiny point of light that blooms, jumps bare millimeters, and disappears.
As he makes his way down, DJ tilts his head slightly to see the spark. Lightning? Energy? Total opposite of what he was used to. But he doesn't care. "Whatever it takes." He states, quickening his pace to make his way to the point of light.
Thought descends as DJ passes, taking up a position next to Armande. This night, child, you see a thing few are ever blessed to witness. A fallen hero descends, wracked by the suffering he could not work to halt.
It's a long, perilous journey down the crater, a minefield of broken pipes and stonework, glassed soil and slagged metal. But no bodies… no bones. As though the power that scoured this pit clean of all life burned too brightly for any human remains to bear.
DJ is not a stranger to getting hurt. The life of a dancer can be hard. Broken ankles. Twisted wrists. Cuts and bruises. It's all a part of the business. And making his way down is no different. Before he's down at the center, he's gained a few scrapes and cuts, some deeper than he expected, but he'll live. He's sure of it.
Armade just watches, he's not ready to forgive yet but maybe he's ready to put aside his hate. He feels a little empty inside, a sadness, as he watches but at the same time he sees the man who DJ was, the one he grew up with. The guy who used to come over to their apartment and sing and play music with his father, the man who used to come to his birthday parties, sometimes spend holidays with them. Armande finds he's actually curious what's about to happen next and leans forward to watch.
It is within all heroes to fall, Armande, Thought continues. They are mortal, and they champion mortal causes. When a hero falls, he must make a choice; does he accept his lot, and attempt to make a life among mortals? Does he fall ever deeper, and pervert the ideals which once made him great? Or does he brave hardship and struggle once more, and rise again?
A cloud breaks, revealing the full face of the moon. And glimmering in the center, a great hammer, wrought in iron and stone, carved with ancient runes of power.
In the center of the crater rests Mjolnir, fabled hammer of Thor.
Having never been much of a hero follower, DJ really doesn't recognize the hammer. But, he can still sense a little bit of the power from it, with what's left of Pele's gifts. He walks over to it and bends down. "A hammer?" He asks. Reaching down, he moves to grip it, unsure of how the hammer can help. He doesn't know the legend or the power. He simply sees electricity down there, and now a hammer.
If a hero chooses to rise again, Thought says to Armande, faceplate fixed on the lip of the crater, //he proves that while a hero might be mortal, the ideals of a hero are not. And it is the ideals, child, that make gods of men. Because heroes rise and fall, live and die. But the ideal, the legacy of heroes past and future, is as immortal as hope itself.
As DJ takes hold of the hammer, the clouds rumble overhead. Within DJ's mind, a booming voice is heard. WHO SEEKS TO GRASP THE HAMMER OF THE GOD OF THUNDER?
Hearing the voice, DJ is NOT a stranger to telepathy. "The name is Damien James Daniels. DJ. Son of Pele. Formerly known as Vulcan. I was told that this can help be join the fight. To stop those that are destroying this country, this world, and too many lives to count." He doesn't raise his voice. He wraps his hand around the hilt, getting a firm grip. "And if this hammer can help me save them, then I WILL have it." He states, moving to raise his arm.
There is an instant of titanic weight, more than even the strongest of superheroes could possibly lift, more than any single weapon of stone and metal could realistically weigh. But it's only for a moment, and as DJ raises the hammer high, a bolt of lightning streaks down from the clouds, crashing into the weapon with unearthly force. DAMIEN JAMES DANIELS, SON OF PELE, THY HEART IS STRONG AND TRUE, THY CAUSE WORTHY OF THE WARRIORS OF GREATNESS. THY MOTHER HATH GIVEN HER BLESSING, THUS NO LONGER ART THOU VULCAN, NOR DAMIEN JAMES DANIELS. THOU ART THOR, SON OF ODIN, GOD OF THUNDER, THE GREATEST WARRIOR IN ASGARD AND MIDGARD! RISE, THOR, AND TAKE THY PLACE AMONG THE TRUEST WARRIORS EVER TO BE KNOWN!
As the lightning strikes and the voice intones, DJ can't feel the change, but he knows something is going on. Body shifting, clothing changing, hair growing. The traditional alterations. His voice when he speaks, has taken on a deeper timbre, resounding greatly as he does so. "Verily. I rise." He says before he can't help but laugh a little. "I hope I'm not expected to keep up that speech consistently." He looks up towards Thought with a grin. "Now. Point me to where I can help."
The demonic helmet bows in reply, heart swelling upon witnessing the rebirth of a god. Some things, not even the most jaded heart is proof against. Seek out Iron Man, Thor… And prepare. Heroes are rising once again and more will come. The Avengers shall assemble once more, Thor… And they will need their beacon to bring them together…
"Of course. And with them, we will bring down this regime and bring the country back to an elected official that doesn't… that… hmm. That lies less and has people's best interests at heart." DJ… no, Thor states. "Thank you. And tell those you work with that I AM fighting for what I believe in." He says with a nod, instinctively swinging the hammer into the air, to carry him skyward. It's been a while since he's flown on his own just for the joy of it. Now, he'll get a chance before he finds something to unleash a new elemental fury upon.
