The occasional low rumble of thunder only seemed to confirm it, the sound as unwelcome as the heat. It should have been a physical impossibility, the world Lezard had created too perfect a paradise to suffer bad weather. But it was happening all the same, leaving Lezard with the feeling it had to do with the moods he was suffering through.
It was an odd mix, disgust and desire mixing together. Love and loathing focused together on the one woman who had been able to move Lezard’s heart into feeling. He didn’t hate Lenneth for the feelings that moved through him, though he cursed the people of her past. The men and women who had hurt and used Lenneth, making the Goddess think it impractical to give oneself over to feeling. To living life, to enjoying it.
He had a feeling Lenneth very much didn’t like living. Nor could he blame her if that was true. To go through eternity sexually and physically, even mentally abused? With no one to turn to for safe haven and care? It was torture plain and simple.
Lezard had only had a brief taste of what Lenneth had gone through, but that had been enough. His stomach actually turned, his body wanting to cough up the wine he had been drinking. The bottle which had been dangling from his fingertips, now crashed against the floor. It’s rich red color began seeping into the carpet, leaving behind stains that looked like blood.
There was other bottles on the floor, also empty and shattered. He had been busy, Lezard discovering the disadvantage to his divinity. A God couldn’t get drunk as easily as a mortal, Lezard having drunk enough wine to have killed a human man by now. But his mind was still his own, still lucid and capable of coherent thought. And he hated that.
The urge to vomit passed, Lezard conjuring another bottle to him. The wine was so sweet it was almost bitter going down his throat,but even this wouldn’t be enough to get him drunk. To make him forget for even one moment, the things Lenneth had told him. Or the dream he had had, Lezard almost choking now on a mouthful of his drink.
Dream was too nice a word for what he had experienced. It brought to mind light and happy images, where what Lezard had gone through, had been nothing short of twisted. A nightmare true and true, one that had been enough to tear an enraged scream from his throat. Lezard had actually woken up shaking, his hands making fists as his fingers long to tear into something. Into someone, Lezard recalling the images his dreaming mind had tormented him with.
Dreams of Lenneth were nothing new. Lezard had often lost himself to fantasies, both during sleep and during his waking hours. But where those had been pleasant, downright scintillating experiences, the nightmare had been the direct opposite.
It was made all the worse because it had started out normal enough. Lenneth, looking as ethereal and lovely as ever, standing but a few feet from him. Her warm, inviting smile had let Lezard know that this wasn’t really happening, that this Lenneth existed only in his mind at the moment. That only fired his determination that one day Lenneth would feel for real, and that she would look at him the same way the figment did.
It hadn’t been real, and yet Lezard had been content to dally with the dream Lenneth. To draw near to her in an attempt to work out some of the sexual frustrations that had built up within him. A man of pent up lusts and desires, Lezard had loads of tension coiling within him. It was only natural he sought some kind of release, even if it was not in the way he would have liked.
And so he had moved to approach the dream Lenneth. To take her in his arms and kiss her the way he could not yet kiss the real one. Only he never got the chance, the dream changing. Shadows had encroached upon their surroundings, creeping ever closer until dark hands had grabbed at Lenneth. Dragging the startled Goddess away from Lezard’s reaching hands. Lezard had tried to follow, but while the shadows were fast, he had moved as though trapped in quicksand.
And as he had made his slow progress forward, the nightmare had distorted once more. Until he saw the silver clad figure of the God he had destroyed. Odin, who had looked to be in the flush of life, his mouth twisted into a cruel leer as he had begun to touch and manhandle the now naked Lenneth.
Seeing Odin just near Lenneth was enough to make Lezard’s blood boil, but to witness the once King of all Gods putting his rotting hands all over Lenneth’s body? A rage had filled him, Lezard having tried to call upon the power he had taken from the dead God. But in that nightmare, he might as well have been human, no divine energies flowing through him. Nor had Lezard been able to call upon the magics he had so enjoyed as a mortal, the man rendered helpless to do anything but watch as Odin slapped Lenneth for her resistance.
The sickening sound of her jaw breaking had followed the slap. The only still rational part of his mind had whispered to Lezard that this was nothing more than a nightmare. His mind was building on the things Lenneth had told him, giving to life a vivid picture of the abuse she had talked about. But to Lezard it hadn’t mattered that it was a dream. He knew it had happened for real, though the circumstances and surroundings might have been different.
It was nothing short of a blessing that Lezard had awakened before the nightmare had gone any further. And all because Lezard didn’t think he’d be able to handle actually seeing Odin rape Lenneth. Even just the hint of it, had been enough to have him shaking, his scream echoing throughout the crystal palace he had constructed himself. Lenneth had not come to investigate the source of his anguish, but then why would she? As far as Lenneth was concerned, Lezard was just another Odin, just another tyrant to hurt and use her for his own twisted satisfaction.
It was the fear that Lenneth might be right even just a little, that had set Lezard to drinking. To trying to examine all his actions, to trying to find the justification for what he had done. Lezard kept on trying to reassure himself that there wasn’t any true wrong in pursuing Lenneth the way he had. But guilt he hadn’t been aware of before this night, was eating at him. Hissing at him that he was no better, seeing a woman he wanted, and moving to take her at the cost of so many others. But he had never meant to hurt Lenneth, even as he fought and killed countless others. Even as his actions rewrote history, setting the world onto a new path, an alternate reality where only some lived while many others never came into existence.
The hard look at himself, at his actions? It was doing nothing to reassure Lezard. Not when he remembered how determined he had been to catch Lenneth, going so far as to try and build a mortal vessel to house her soul. To trap her in a cage of flesh, to make her the same as him, and easier to hold.
Did the fact that he had attempted those things out of a misguided love truly excuse him? He knew it did not. Just as there was no excuse for not learning more about Lenneth, about seeing her past, rather than chasing after the image he had had of her. But then, Lezard hadn’t wanted to think about her having a life before him. He hadn’t wanted to consider that she might have friends, family, even a lover. Nor had he wanted to think that in taking her, Lezard would be ripping Lenneth away from whatever life she had had.
The more he thought about it, the more upset he became. Until it reached the point Lezard needed to know everything about Lenneth. About who she was, what she had done, who she had known. It would be an extensive invasion of her privacy, but when rated against what Lezard had already done, what was one more crime against his Goddess? And Lezard needed to know, if only to reassure himself that he had inadvertently done Lenneth some good in going after her.
But in order to learn about her, it meant seeing into her past. Into experiencing the bad along with whatever good she had had. Lezard didn’t fear much, but learning the extensive details of her abusive past? It made him hesitate and turn to drink, as though Lezard was trying to nerve himself through extensive amounts of liquid courage. But how many bottles of wine had he had so far? He had lost count, far too many ending up as no more than broken shards of glass on his floor. And each bottle brought him no closer to doing that which he HAD to do.
How much longer would he sit in the dark, needing to do know, but fearing the truth? He could put off the learning forever, and still be plagued by doubts and uncertainties. Still be floundering for the absolute reassurance that he WAS better than Odin and the others of Lenneth’s past. And yet he held this need to protect himself, to hide from the truth of Lenneth’s long life. Lezard could keep denying it wasn’t as bad as he feared, and almost believe that lie so long as he didn’t turn to the past. It was the coward’s way out, and Lezard felt he was anything but a coward.
Draining dry the bottle in his hand then smashing it against the floor, Lezard rose from the chair he had been reclining in. Glass crunched under his bare feet, the minor cuts and scrapes healing almost instantaneously as he walked. The shadows of the darkened room seemed to flee at his approach, a few solitary candles lighting on the table. Their flames flickered, shedding light on the items that lay scattered across the wood’s surface. Lezard ignored everything in favor for reaching for a cloth that was so dark a purple it might as well have been black. What looked like a crystal ball was revealed when he jerked back the cloth, the light colored stone as big as a human child’s head. But it was no crystal ball, but something infinitely better.
The Philosopher’s Stone.
It looked so unobtrusive, so mundane. With just a glance, no one would ever guess to the power it held, the wealth of information stored within it. For the last several years of Lezard’s mortal life, the stone had not only granted him the secrets of the nine realms, but had been the reason for much of his power. It had granted him the forgotten spells, the ancient and forbidden magics the Gods themselves had tried to destroy. It had led him to wondrous places, told him of the time machine in Dipan, even granted him the knowledge of how a mortal could become a God. But most of all, it had shown Lezard HER.
Lenneth.
If he hadn’t been so nervous, so apprehensive about what he was about to, Lezard would have smiled. The memory of that first sighting, always stirred something in his heart, Lezard falling in love with Lenneth all over again each and every time he recalled that moment.
Of course, back then he hadn’t noticed the look in her eyes. That emptiness that she used to guard against the hurts being done to her. He had been too busy having the very breath knocked out of him, Lezard suckered punched by the beauty he beheld inside the stone.
He realized now that moment had to have been a rare one for Lenneth. A rare time when she was granted a minute to herself, Lenneth standing on the steps of a chapel that overlooked a field of green and white. Light had been shining down on her, Lenneth lifting her face up to feel the sun’s heat. Her hair had never looked more vibrant, the silver giving way to the sapphire highlights that always shone brighter in the light. She hadn’t been dressed in her Valkyrie armor then, Lezard mistaking her for an extraordinary beautiful woman. He wouldn’t even realize it was Asgard he was seeing, until another Goddess literally floated over to Lenneth.
The philosopher’s stone wasn’t good at conveying sound with it’s images. Whatever the one Goddess had said to Lenneth, was lost to him. But it hadn’t mattered, Lezard already in love and forming the start of an obsession. That obsession would only grow when Lenneth’s armor formed over her clothing, Lezard realizing what she was by the feathered helm on her head. From that point on he made it a point to learn about just what a Valkyrie truly was. Low level Goddesses who did the grunt work of the Asgardians, Lezard never dreamed there was another side to the tasks that burdened Lenneth. Lezard knew now he had been careless, that he had allowed himself to be satisfied with surface answers rather than dig harder for the truth.
He would get that truth now, a grim expression on Lezard’s face as he held his hand over the philosopher’s stone. It lit up, then flickered as though hesitating in response to the wordless command Lezard was giving it. Almost as though the stone was reluctant to show him the truth, as though it feared it was something Lezard’s mind might not be able to handle. He almost scowled then, knowing whatever it showed him, he had to be strong. To not only withstand the knowledge, but to accept that part of Lenneth’s past so he could somehow help her heal from it.
“Show me.” Lezard growled out loud, forcing his will onto the stone. Again the light from within flickered, a loud whine of noise sounding. The stone seemed to tremble in place on the table, as though it was attempting to fight his commands. Lezard continue to impose his desire onto the stone, until it had no choice but to show him or splinter apart in the process.
Images began forming, speeding by to fast for him to focus on any one. He’d catch a glimpse of a face here and there, or see bodies moving. His stomach would cramp upon the realization that repeating over and over was the sight of Lenneth, her body often pinned down, or otherwise violated. It shouldn’t have mattered by whom, but Lezard was taking careful note of the faces, making a list of names. Any who ended up on that list was as good as dead, Lezard making a vow to himself then and there to personally see to the end of all of Lenneth’s previous tormentors.
As lists went, it wasn’t a particularly long list. But it was still sizeable, several noteworthy names on it. That included the Queen of Nifleheim, the Goddess Hel having been one to hold Lenneth at her side for nearly half a millennium. Lezard was almost looking forward to ending Hel, though a part of him wished he could think of a punishment horrid enough to inflict on the Goddess before sending her to oblivion. But anything he could devise, was something the Queen would surely enjoy, Hel having proved to be sick and sadistic. It hadn’t been enough to rape Lenneth, to beat her. She had tortured her, and allowed several demons at a time to take their turns hurting Lenneth. And all the while Hel had watched, a twisted smile on her face, the queen sometimes naked and being pleasured by those same demons as Lenneth screamed.
As inventive as Hel had been, she ranked second compared to Odin. Lezard supposed it was the betrayal of trust between a creation and its creator. Between those that should have been a family to each other. Lezard may not have been able to hear the words, but he saw the betrayed look in Lenneth’s eyes, the confused hurt on her face as Odin had his way with her. It wasn’t just that one time. Odin had been almost crazed, alternating between raping and beating Lenneth. Instilling if not obedience in her, then the hopelessness of her situation. Making her think there was no escape, that she would never be free. Training her for the trap he was laying out for his arch rival Surt.
It made Lezard angry, made tears come to his eyes. He didn’t know what was stronger, the sick feeling of revulsion in him, or the rage that had no true outlet at the moment. Odin was dead, his very soul shattered so that there was no possibility of his reincarnation. And yet for one moment, Lezard wished it wasn’t so. And all because he thought the death he had given Odin, the ending of his very existence had happened too fast for what had been done to Lenneth.
Nor did it make Lezard feel any better to know there were others like Hel, who still waited for his vengeful hand to fall upon them. Not when he knew no matter how many he killed, how many he tortured and turned their abuse back on them, it would never wipe away the scars left on Lenneth’s soul. She would always bear the pain of what had been done, remember the numerous crimes committed against her. Lezard would remember too, forever touched and changed by what he had born witness to. His love and admiration for Lenneth hadn’t lessened, but it had changed. It had become stronger, Lezard marveling at how she had survived her long eternity of near endless abuse.
He thought he understood everything now. Understood it and felt ashamed for ever thinking it would be easy to heal Lenneth. To have even compared the healing to the task of displacing Odin was unthinkable now, Lezard realizing to heal Lenneth’s scars would be a hundred, no a thousand times more difficult than becoming a God.
Realizing what a fool he had been, Lezard turned away from the philosopher’s stone. The candle flames flickered, the shadows seeming to swarm closer to the lights. With just a thought, Lezard let the flames die, the fledgling God stalking from the room. Heading unerringly to the room Lenneth occupied, Lezard NEEDING to see her.
She wasn’t there, Lezard being forced to track her through the crystal palace. Until he came to the very rooftop, the sky of his world having opened up to rain down a heavy relentless pelt of water. The storm that had been threathening all night, had finally come and he hadn’t even noticed until he stood outside, the rain soaking his skin thoroughly, his pants clinging to his legs. It was there, that he found Lenneth, the Goddess standing on the very edge of the roof. She was clad in a nightgown, the thin fabric a light gray in color. The rain had soaked it to the point the gown had turned translucent, Lenneth’s body easily seen through the wet fabric. Lezard’s mouth went dry at the sight, watching as the Goddess stood with her head tilted up so that the rain washed over her face like a torrent of tears.
She hadn’t noticed him, hadn’t even acknowledge his presence. Lezard would be gone long before she did, but for now the God just stood there and watched. Watched and wondered how one woman, how any woman, let alone one as extraordinary as Lenneth, could have endured so much for so long on her own. She was strong, stronger than perhaps anyone has given her credit for. But even she had had a breaking point. It had to have been reached for Lenneth to have systematically shut down her feelings and emotions. It would be a problem dealt with on another night, but before Lezard could be ready to tackle that, he had a vendetta of vengeance to carry out.
Asgardian Pleasures 
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