It was not enough.
Yellow eyes gleam a deadly glow as it searched for new prey to savage and feast upon. The hunger bellowing deep within the cage that bore it writhed and clawed; it would not be satisfied. Not until entire realms were led to waste, not until piles of bodies were at her heels, pools of blood miles high.
“I need someone more worthy to face…”
The screams of Midgardians filled the Asgardian with no unbridled joy of a warrior thrown into battle. She could not wage war with those beneath her and weaker. Even as a Berserker, there was still some twisted sense of honor and pride; the lady goddess needed a true warrior’s battle—and if it came to it, a true warrior’s death. That was the way of old Asgard, the way of the warriors of lore. But no sooner were her prayers answered in the form of the thunderer who she had once loved so dearly, and had her heart not been closed to such affection, perhaps such feelings would persist at the very sight of him. There was a slight twitch in her body, blood and bones remembering a face most fond to the heart, but it washed away as her muscles turned in her armor. Her hunger raged. She had found her opponent at last. Armored boots dug into the dirt as the lady made her stance.
Steel cool at her fingertips, biting through armor and gloves. Raven tresses unkempt and a wicked look on her feature, she was a creature of battle.
A servant to the spell that bound her. She served but two—Asgardia and her hunger.
Her hunger would need to be quenched first.
Savage eyes looked over him, warmth or recognition in her gaze long gone. Any shred of thought that he had come for her, that perhaps he did not hate her, that she still had a place in his heart was lost. He could not have come for her, he surely reviled her, and there was no place for her to stay.
She charged at him with a battlecry—fierce, wild, and menacing.
”Lady Sif!" he cried so loudly, as his voice became as strong as the thunder claps of skies above, the sun now gone as his fury turned churned the clouds to cover the earth.
Much of his cry though was to speak beyond whatever curse had befallen her. For this was no Sif of his, not the goddess he fell in love with or the warrior that was held on high in Asgardia. No… This… this was some sort of monster. She seemed so cold as distant. It looked of Sif, but… Certainly, it was not…
“Bring me back the Lady Sif and I may show you mercy, demon!” He was convinced it could not be her, but he still kept himself at arms, Mjölnir ever his faithful companion, battle ever his skill and ever his loyalty to life that made his grip his hammer’s leather handle even tighter. He would try and bring this… evil to it’s breaking point if he must. To save the innocents and… her.
Upon her charge though, it was clear he would have no choice in the matter, he would have to fight. He wished not— He wished he could speak out and pull her from all this… Whatever damage time had done to them, he would only wish to help, not hurt…
But it seemed she had other plans.
Raising his hammer to chest level, the thunder god held it out and awaited her attack, guarding himself and the city as risk. “Damn you, woman! Enough!”
A large part of acting is just pretending. You get to work with these other great make-believers, all making believe as hard as they can.
Marvel Universe Series IV Revisited, Part 14
This is another page that most of the characters didn’t mean much to me at the time, though several…