colored water.
He half-floated, half-swam to the other side. His slime interacted with the
river water to produce a toxic stew that bubbled and smoked. Fish floated to the surface belly-up. He climbed the far bank and searched among the abandoned buildings. Before long, he found a garage with a poorly repaired door. He paused for a moment to savor the high that thievery always gave him, then tried the door. It was locked. He hurled his weight against it and the thin plywood shattered inward.
Fafner slid into a room crammed with electronic gear, computers and machinery. His mind instinctively put a price on each object then calculated the re-sale value of the equipment. Unfortunately, there weren't any buyers on this world.
A small alien who looked and dressed like Mime sat in front of a computer screen. "Who . . . are you?
Fafner ignored the question. "You must be famous genius called Alberich."
"What . . . what do you want?” Alberich's forehead had a gray circular wafer stuck on it. Many gold wires, dots and bars were embedded on the dark material. Tiny red, green and blue lights flashed in mysterious patterns.
Alberich wore a beanie-like helmet of the same material. The cap was festooned with antennae, metallic bulges and more flashing lights.
Fafner clicked his teeth and slithered forward. ~~~
Wotan, Lord of Asgard and God of Death, wandered amid the concrete debris of an abandoned town. He hadn't visited Midgard in centuries and the changes shocked him. What was once a thriving village, now was a wasteland. Everywhere he looked, he saw the same destruction.
In the distant past, thousands of warriors had dedicated their battles to him every day. Shamans had offered sacrifices in his name. Alas, few remembered his name any more. Only the magical power of the Rhinegold kept Wotan from going the way of Horus, Baal, Zeus, Jupiter and countless others. Usurped by new gods and without worshippers, these old gods weakened, faded away, became historical footnotes and moved to the Old Gods Retirement Village. Just thinking about living in the Village made him shudder. That was worse than being destroyed.
Wotan stroked his long, black and gray beard while looking around. As far as he could see, concrete and asphalt had replaced trees and soil.
The god wore a blue cloak over tan trews and white linen shirt. A wide- brimmed hat concealed his missing eye, his broad nose and his full head of hair. For a walking staff, he used his spear, Grungir. Runes covered the shaft of the spear. Drawn so fine, the runes were almost invisible.
Two ravens, his messengers, squawked overhead and flew in circles.
Wotan's half-brother, Loki, walked a few paces away. "What's their problem?” He pointed to the ravens.
"Munin and Hugin are dismayed that there aren't any large trees to perch in."
"It is hard to believe this was once a dense oak forest, but the forest hasn't surrendered. It’s fighting back.” Loki indicated a sapling growing through a crack in the asphalt covered street. ”Hmm, I wonder where the women are hidden.” In case he met a toothsome one, Loki had dressed in his best clothing: a sky-blue tunic, red hose and a forest green cloak. He
was short and slim with wind-tossed red hair and a bushy mustache of the same color. His amber eyes had dark circles under them.
“There are only a few mortals left. Diseases, wars, famine, all have taken a bitter toll on the mortals."
“So, why are we walking through this wasted area?” Loki kicked a loose piece of asphalt.
"Great events are afoot, and you must play your part in them."
Part 1: Das Rhinegold
Start from the beginning
