Tyra, Chapter One

(Aurora Universe materials are strictly for Mature Readers over 18 years of age!)

The Fine Print

IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY EXPLICITLY SEXUAL OR VIOLENT MATERIAL, ARE UNDER THE AGE OF MAJORITY IN YOUR STATE, PROVINCE OR COUNTRY, OR IF EROTIC MATERIAL IS PROHIBITED BY YOUR LOCAL LAWS, DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER!

The sexual acts and occasional violence described in these stories are only fantasies and would be impossible for real living people to perform! These stories are strictly for the private non-commercial enjoyment of the authors and of those who share an interest in this genre.

While the names of some of the characters in these stories may be similar to ones used by mainstream comics publishers, the actual characters described diverge significantly from any characters of the same names depicted by any other publisher or author. Their powers, their origins and the explicitly erotic nature of their actions are all unique to these stories. Any resemblance between any character in these stories and real people is also unintentional. This story is a work of fan-fiction if it involves trademarked names from other publishers and is otherwise an original work by the author(s) denoted below.

License is granted to freely copy or distribute this story as long you give the author(s) below credit and that you leave this notice in place on all copies. I explicitly DO NOT grant the right to use any of the contents of this page for any commercial purposes whatsoever! I'm not making any money on this, so you shouldn't either!

It is my goal that these stories, along with my Web page and its contents, will forever be free for reading by anyone of legal age, anywhere in the Milky Way galaxy. However, permission may be requested for use of this material in other galaxies by writing the author and describing the place and purpose for such use.

This story is strictly for us 'grups', for those of us who remember the comic books and their limitations and who dare to go where the comics could not go. And for those of us who still have a fertile imagination, a love of fantasy, a sense of wonder and an appreciation for All The Myriad Ways...

And, most importantly, despite the comic book theme of these stories, they contain erotic material that makes them COMPLETELY UNSUITABLE for younger readers.

Tyra, Chapter One

by Peloquin

The Multiverse.

Not many know its true secrets, and an even fewer number has ever left their own dimensions and returned. But know this.

All the myths are true.

God made the world in seven days.

Woden created the world out of a slain frostgiant.

And all the gods once walked among us.

Over the ages, many advanced races around the Multiverse has claimed that they were the truth behind the old gods, that their appearance on low-technology worlds were interpreted as gods and giants visiting.

In a way, they are right.

But between the infinite amount of parallell universes and higher dimensions, lies the Limbo.

It is infinite, like all universes. It is also populated.

Its inhabitants, if one were to try to compare them to our plane of existence, could well be called angels, gods or devils. And this they are.

Next to Mount Olympos, hovering suspended in the grey void with the marble palaces of Zeus, is Hades, hell of hells and paradies of paradises, not too far away is the Silver City, where winged, genderless angels perform hymns in praise of their Creator each nanosecond, never ceasing.

And a slight way off, is a three billion miles long ash fern, known as Yggdrasil.

At its roots, a small cottage lies, in which three women, one old, one middleaged, and one young, spins, weaves and severs the threads of lives, their true age is beyond that of their appearance. Beneath them, a massive serpentine creature gnaws at the miles thick root, poisoning it with its venom.

A small squirrel runs from the top of the tree to the root, each day, to exchange insults and news between a giant eagle and the serpent.

Nestled in its branches lie many a lands, known as Jotunheim, Niffelheim, Alfheim, etcetera, etcetera.

In one land, dwarves under a mountainrange make wondrous things out of impossible things, in another the frost and firegiants ally against the inhabitants of the land that lies at the very top of the Worldtree.

Asgrd.

A beauteous land, with legions of warriors, constantly in battle with the giants, (and themselves, to keep in shape) though none ever truly dies, each day the warriors are fit and sound, ready to re-enter the war.

And above the warriors, stand the Aesir and Vanir.

Gods all, of infinite might and powers, they have ruled the worlds of Yggdrasil since the beginning of time.

Their war against the giants have been ongoing for only a slightly shorter period of time.

In the center of Asgrd, lies the fortress known as Valhall.

It is a building far larger than anything ever built by man, seemingly made of plain wood, if one were to examine the walls, one would find it was made from spears, tightly wedged together, forming unbreakable and unburnable walls.

The roofs made of shingled gold, the windows of clearest crystal.

She hated all of it.

Being the daughter of a god was nothing if you were not allowed to take place in any battles.

But father had said she wasn’t ready yet, that unlike the warriors of Woden, the gods could die, it was extremely difficult, but they could.

And the giants didn’t care what they killed, as long as they killed.

He should know.

He was one.

Oh, she knew none of the other gods, or at least only a few of them, knew that their own god of battles was a giant. He never told them, and they never asked, although they had given him some strange looks when she had been born, with pointed ears, like a giant.

Once, when she was only a century old, she sat playing in the garden of their house, he had sat down with her and spoken of their true heritage. She hadn’t understood it then, but she did now.

The giants had always belittled and humiliated him, for being the runt of all giantkind, (he was well over nine feet tall, like a dwarf to the giants) so he had finally left, ending up as a soldier of Woden.

Woden knew, of course. The Allfather knew everything, thanks to his ravens and his eye in the Well of Allseeing.

But the god of warfare himself had made the young giant a god, and given him the role of god of battles, for his prowess and might far surpassed any giant’s.

And after a few millennia, he had married one of the Vanir women, and soon they had borne a child.

Herself.

She had always looked up to her father, even when he went into his moods.

When he did, however, it was hard, as he drank copious amounts of mead, closed himself in the library and almost always wrecked every bit of furniture.

Then again, his moods had stopped abruptly only two millennia ago.

The day he was almost killed.

The gods had finally found a way to bind the Fenrir wolf, the beast terrorizing the lands of Asgrd.

But it required them pretending to trust it.

And the man who once took care of and tended the beast as if it was but a large dog, was her father.

Father never spoke about that day, but the other gods, especially the god of poetry, Brage, kept singing his praise whenever they had the time, almost as often as they praised Tor, or Woden himself.

Apparently father had played with the beast, like he did when it was younger and smaller, putting his hand in its mouth, scratching it behind the ears.

And when the chain of impossibility used to chain it caught around the neck, the wolf bit down.

Her father now had a sort of device on the stump, where he could put any manner of weapon or prosthetic.

Usually, he had a giant battleaxe attached to it.

When he was at home, though, he had a blackgloved wooden hand, as if he wanted to make it look normal.

She’d asked him about it once.

He’d sat her down at the kitchen table, telling her that if she ever had the choice between betraying a friend and winning a battle, or losing the battle but keeping the friend, always choose with her heart.

Again, she hadn’t understood it then, but she thought she understood now.

And then there were the boys…

She knew she was one of the best looking women in Asgrd, apart from Freya of course, but she was the goddess of Love, so no contest there, really, more often the Love goddess encouraged her instead of competing.

And there was Tjalve, Tor’s manservant, once a young boy with an ego the size of Yggdrasil, now a serious, handsome young man. She didn’t know if her feelings were returned, although he did have a tendency to always accompany Tor whenever he visited her home...

She stood, stripped to her smallclothes, and looked at herself in the mirror.

Long, dark red hair, inherited from her mother, a minor goddess, one of the valkyrie.

A button nose, from who she didn’t know, it made her look pretty, the boys assured her. Maybe so.

Large, green eyes, without iris or pupil, from her father’s giant side. Her length was also an inheritance from her father.

Her strength, and powers, though, were from the godly side, giants might be bigger than houses, but none of them had the raw strength of a Vanir or Aesir.

A firm, muscular body, with quite an impressive chest, her legs could do with a little exercise, though, and she simply had to eat a little more so as not her abdomenal muscles would be so defined, Asgrdian men liked their women a bit plump. Not that she was, though…her giant pedigree made her body hard and overly muscled, she had bigger arms than most of the young men, although they never pointed it out to her. Still, nothing to do about that, she couldn’t escape from her family traits…

-Tyra?

She turned, seeing her father standing in the doorway, his eyes filled with sadness.

-Yes?

He came in the room, ignoring the fact that she was almost nude, he’d never been one for prudeness. Slowly, as if he was tired, he sat down on the stool next to her nighttable, rubbing his eyes with his remaining hand.

-I heard about your little…prank.

She froze. Blast.

-Father, it was never supposed to go like that, I didn’t think…

The roar from her father surprised her completely, she wasn’t used to him screaming at her.

-YOU DIDN’T THINK? BY THE HELL’S OF HEL, YOU ALMOST GOT KILLED!

As he calmed down, she quickly scrambled into her blouse and skirt, buckling the bronze belt around her waist.

-Look, Tyra, they named you after me for a reason, you’re just as headstrong and pigheaded as I once was.

She started to protest, he wasn’t pigheaded!

-Yes I am, girl, don’t talk back to your elders! But the thing is…the thing is, you inherited a lot from your late mother. And she was an emotional woman, a wild woman, but also a stupid woman.

Her eyes almost popped out of their holes. Stupid? STUPID?

-Don’t give me that look, you know she wasn’t the brightest of the valkyrie, that’s why she died…I still miss her, and love her, but she was a few supplywagons off an army…and so, I’m afraid, are you.

She said nothing. How could he sit here so calm and call her stupid!?! How could he be so cruel!?! She…what…

-Oh, please, I love you, you’re my daughter, and a fine one, I would never want another child even if Sigrid had borne me another, but…I’m not saying you’re actually stupid. You’re not. Neither was your mother. You just can’t…control your feelings, is all. And, as much as it pains me to do this, Woden has suggested, no, ordered, actually, that you be banished from Asgrd, Limbo and our dimension, and spend a few millennia on Earth, or Midgrd as it was once called…

Banish her? Take her away from the endless war, the glory and honor of the battle against the giants?

-Father, you can’t do this to me!

Her father sighed deeply, and for the first time in her life, she saw him cry. Huge, steaming tears rolled down his cheeks, hissing slightly as they fell to the wooden floorboards.

-It isn’t my decision. Heimdall awaits out in the yard, he will take you to the rainbow bridge, where you will have to walk the final path yourself.

Just as slowly and painfully as he had come into her room, he left, leaving her to pack her things.

Heimdall took one look at her and raised his eyebrows, his horse shifting nervously beneath him.

-And where do you think you’ll be taking those?

He pointed to her baldrick, where her broadsword and great axe Skullsmasher were securely placed.

-With me, of course…

The guardian of the dimensions shook his head silently.

-No weapons. Not even ordinary ones, and I doubt the axe is a common weapon…

Well, it was a bit magical, but…

-None? None whatsoever? What about my suit of armor?

Heimdall sighed and leaned forward in his saddle, taking in her packing with an amused glance.

-No armor, no knives, no warhammers, no spiked gauntlets, no weapons. Besides, where you’re going, they wouldn’t be of much use anyway. The mortals have come up with things far more ingenious than the singing weapons of the dwarves…

Finally, all she had left was her sack of clothing, a bronze comb and a few golden coins.

Heimdall grinned, helping her up behind him in the saddle, her head more than two feet above his, even sitting.

-Well, then, lass, off we go…hold on!

The horse was one of Sleipner’s offspring, a sleek, black mare, running faster than the wind itself, although not as fast as the eightlegged Sleipner himself, it was fast enough.

It only took them a few minutes reaching the rainbow bridge.

The elder god helped her down, dropping her sack in her arms, and turned to leave.

-Wait! What’s it like, Earth? Is it dangerous?

He turned in his saddle, grinning.

-Not to you, I wouldn’t think. There are one or two who might be able to almost match your strength and resilience, but you’ll have nothing to worry about.

She took a brief look at her clothes and sack, frowning slightly.

-But what about my attire? Won’t I seem odd?

His grin faded, slowly, replaced with compassion.

-Well…you won’t need to worry about that, your clothes will not be a problem, although they might become more suited to your…personality, and your money is no problem either. The only odd thing about you will be…well, you’ll see…and please, don’t worry. You’ll see for yourself. The bridge will drop you in a place where your appearance will not seem too odd, and as for your language, well, you won’t be speaking Ancient Norse to their ears…

Again he turned, and rode down the trail. After a while she could hear him singing. What was that he sang? Something about a woman in the sky with diamonds? Heimdall had always been strange. Tor said he spent too much time in the mortal world.

She looked at the bridge of colored light. It was translucent, and didn’t seem possible to walk on. But gods had used it for ages, so she supposed it would work for her as well.

The first step went well.

As did the second.

On the third step she noticed something that made her head spin, for each step she took, not only did she travel miles, but the familiar green fields of Asgrd started to fade, some sort of grey and black…city overlaying it, like two glasspaintings above each other, but not quite.

The fourth step made Asgrd even smaller, the strange city clearer.

The fifth step caused her to stumble out in a small alley in the city.

Mikey had just finished the rounds for the day, all his girls had scored paying cutomers, so Mikey would be able to afford to pay this month’s rent. Business was booming.

Yes, Mikey was a pimp.

But he didn’t wear overly excessive jewellery, call his girls "baby" or did drugs. Mikey considered himself a business man, and wore the Armani suit to prove it.

He was just about to unlock his car, a burgundy red Trans Am, when a flash of light in the alley nearby caught his eye. Sauntering over, he considered what it could be. A mugging? Nah, gunshots didn’t flash so much, besides, it’d been too silent.

Peering into the alley, he saw…

-Whoa, mama!

Seven feet, at least, of sheer beauty.

The woman was big, with rippling muscle everywhere, a butt that made Cher’s look like a saggy old bag, breasts to make Anna Nicole Smith and Pammy Anderson look like flat planks of wood, and legs that went all the way down…down…down…she was simply stunning!

And for the first time in his entire career as a pimp, he called a woman "baby".

-Hey, baby, whatchoo doin’ in this parta town?

Tyra turned towards the voice. He hadn’t spoken her laguage, but rather in something that reminded her of a mixture between the Celtics speak and the Latin usurper gods, the ones the Greek gods kept complaining about.

But she had understood it perfectly.

-Are you addressing me?

The words coming out from her mouth were the same language as his!

Mikey thought about leaving it, but then he reconsidered, after all, that karateclass he’d taken could beat any big musclehead, and this girl was just too fine to let loose on the streets without a "owned by Mikey"-sign.

-Hey, baby, with a bod’ like that, you could make some serious greens, if y’know what I mean…

The woman gave him a confused look.

-I do not understand, what are "greens"?

Oh, man, this was too good to be true! She didn’t say anything about his comment about her body!

-Y’know, cash, dead presidents, mon-ey!

The woman frowned for a second, and he took the opportunity to watch her chest move as she breathed.

-Are you suggesting…that I…sell my body…for money?

He nodded vigorously, finally she got it! What a bimbo!

And as suddenly as he had started nodding, he felt a sharp, searing pain from his groin.

He screamed.

Tyra squeezed the little ratty mans balls a little further, almost laughing at his whimpers.

-Listen to me, you little rodent, if you ever suggest such a thing to any woman again, I will return and forcefeed these to you…mashed…

The man whimpered again, but nodded a second time, frantically clawing at her hands.

She released him, and he crumpled to the ground, sobbing.

-Pathetic.

She looked at the keys he had dropped, picked them up and took a look at the little red emblem hanging from them. The man looked up, fear shining in his eyes.

-You want my car, man? Take it, it’s yours!

She frowned at him.

-Car?

Picking him up by the neck of his oddly shaped vest, she carried him out of the alley, and made a gesture at the outside.

-Tell me, little rat, what is a "car"?

The man stared at her, but the fear outweighed anything else, and he started pointing at the big metal machines passing on the hard road.

-Uh, those are cars, we use them to go places fast…

Strange world. Why not walk, or ride horses? It would be far less noisy, and a lot cleaner. She could feel the dirty air searing her lungs, it did not harm her though.

-Oh. And which one is yours, the one you wish me to take?

He pointed at a sleek, red "car" by the side of the road. She carried him over to it, and held him up above it.

-Tell me, mouse, how does it work?

-Uh, we-well, uh, the engine makes the wheels spin, causing it to roll forwards, uh, look, you nuh-need a mechanic for any further explaining…

Ignoring the last comment, she ran a hand along the side of the car, it was shiny, and smooth to the touch.

-Where is the "engine"?

A trembling hand indicated what looked like the front of the machine. She smiled softly, took a step forward, and ran a hand through the soft metal of the car. Her hand caught something metallic, greasy, and she pulled it out, straight through the metal, tearing it off. The little man screamed like a little girl, gibbering about "my Trans-Am…"

Dropping him to the ground, she used her free hand to start pressing the metal into itself, not very hard, the metal was softer than an elves arse back home, (interesting saying, she would have to ask about that some time) and soon it was a mere fistsized ball of metal scrap. She put it back in the machine, and turned back to the man.

-I wouldn’t know how to use it. Good bye.

As quickly as he could, Mikey got to his feet. This bitch almost neutered him, choked him, and then she totalled his car! Fumbling in the glove compartment he got out the heavy pistol he’d bought the other year.

-Use this, bitch!

He fired ten shots at the woman, the entire clip. He hit with every shot, he’d practiced daily with it.

But the woman just turned and walked up to him with a cold expression on her face, not even flinching when hit.

-You annoy me.

She pulled back her arm.

The last he saw was a fist headed for his face.

Walking down the part of the road obviously used for walking, she took the opportunity to look at herself in the large windows of what looked like shops.

Her clothes certainly had changed.

Her bulky, baggy blouse had become a small, almost nonexistent piece of sleeveless, elastic fabric, stretched across her bosom, with a decolletage Freya herself would be proud of, she didn’t think there was anything whatsoever left for the imagination, the "top", she found herself calling it, ended just under her breasts, folded under them, the whole thing looked positively indecent. She liked it.

Her sensible, brown skirt had become a garment of rough, blue cloth, cut so they started below her bellybutton and were torn off just below her crotchline, buttons sealed them in a way she found even more indecent, were they made so to make going to the privy easier or to make...ahem, easier? A plain leather belt held them in place, although she wouldn’t like to think what would happen if she sat down too quickly.

Her laced collar-boots of leather had not changed, although she remembered them being slightly shorter, now they ended mid-calf.

And her lovely earrings, the two rings of pure gold spawned by Woden’s Draupner, the living ring, were the same as always. She felt her ears. Still pointed. Looking in a mirror, she saw her physical appearance had not changed in the least.

How could she fit in here? She was a giant, well, half-giant, half-god, but still!

Taking a look around, she noticed something soon enough.

The humans here looked so strange in many cases, that she supposed they wouldn’t notice her if she was green with two horns on her head.

The only looks she received were appreciating male (and some female, that made her slightly uneasy) ones.

Soon she found a small green area, beautifully laid out lawns and trees, curtailing the foul air. (And heat, ye gods, it was hot! If it weren’t for her being unable to sweat without physical exertion, she would have!)

Looking into her sack, which had turned into a green bag of a stiff cloth, with strange buttons and bands of tiny hooks put together, these she found very amusing, and spent a few minutes just pulling the little openers up and down, before she read the texts on the buttons.

"Vegas or bust"? Who was Alfred E Neuman, and why had he such a stupid grin? And why were there buttons with simple text combinations, like this, "DC Comics"? Strange.

Opening the bag revealed that all her clothes were of completely different cut than they had been, for example, her dressing gown for dances were replaced by an extremely short, one piece dress, black, without anything covering the top of her bust, or her shoulders, her cloak had been replaced by a leather coat of a strange cut, and her walking shoes were replaced by a pair of white shoes in a strange material, with the text "NIKE" on the heel.

What was NIKE? Were they magic shoes? She thought not, they hadn’t been before she came here, so…

Her gold comb had turned into a form of brush, still gold, though, and her coins had been transformed into thick wads of paper with the number "1000" on them. Some form of money? Probably. Maybe this was their common currency? But why they wrote thousand on them she didn’t know, maybe money wasn’t as much worth here?

Ah, well, she might as well take a closer look at her surroundings…

Kara Zorel paused in mid-flight. She could see a pillar of smoke coming from South Central, far off, not unusual, but something told her to check it out.

Coming closer, she saw a totally wrecked Trans-Am on the side of the street, burning, a policeman stood next to it taking notes, not too interested in putting out the fire.

A bit down the street stood an ambulance, and her…special…eyesight revealed an expensively dressed young man being carried on a stretcher into the ambulance, his shoulders and neck kept in place with a restrainer, obviously it was broken.

Flying over there she caused quite a commotion, she did not often venture into this area of Los Angeles.

-What happened?

One of the policemen turned and smiled at her, pushing his hat up with his pencil.

-Well, seems little Mikey here tried putting his moves on someone out of his league…

She gave him an incomprehending look.

-What are you talking about?

The officer waved a hand in the direction of the wreckage.

-Well, Mikey, the weasel on the stretcher, saw a flash of light in an alley, and went to investigate. The little pimp is so stupid you wouldn’t believe it.

A raised eyebrow was enough to prompt him on.

-Well, seems what was in the alley was a pretty lady, and he suggested she should join his stables…she grabbed him by the balls, squeezed a bit, and then continued to onehanded smash his fancy sportscar into a fancy piece of junk. The engine is about the size of a large apple, now. Poor Mikey then decides to shoot the lady, with an unlicensed gun, but the bullets hit their target without leaving a single wound, and the woman gets really mad. So she punches Mikey through the porn shop over there…

A wave towards a demolished shop nearby.

-…and then just walks off.

She shook her head. This was truly strange. Had the Arions returned again? Or was it something else, some new heroine or government made clone of herself…

-What did the woman look like?

The officer took a look at his notepad.

-Well, according to Mikey, she was more than seven feet tall, had a huge, burred up mane of dark red hair, and a body to make you look like Maggie Thatcher. Hey, that’s what he said…

-Allright, officer, I’ll see if I can find the woman for you…it shouldn’t be too hard, with a description like that…

And besides, beating a defenseless man like that was cruel, even if he was a criminal jerk…she never resorted to those kinds of methods when she took on smalltime crooks, it wasn’t necessary…

(Aurora Universe materials are strictly for Mature Readers over 18 years of age!)