They have been told for countless millennium now, since words were first recorded, but that is all they are, stories. Sometimes it feels like I am a story, a sick and twisted story that I am forced to live for eternity. My name is a story. An account of something once real that has been exaggerated beyond recognition.
They called me Thor, once, a long time ago. The God of thunder. A title bellowed through the streets of Asgard, and this is all that's left of that title. No longer the home that I knew, but a ruined old castle. Dropped in the middle of a place once so full of life that beings across infinite worlds and dimensions sought to conquer it. One by one, we repelled them. That was also, a long time ago.
Now I am alone.
The mortals have died out, as is their way, and the immortals fared no better. Only I. Thor. The God of Thunder. That too has lost its meaning. I am no longer a God. What does a God rule over if nothing is left? What is a God of Thunder if there are no skies remaining? Just dead empty space in place of what I used to know.
When I think about it, it's beautiful. The early seeds of what will bloom to become universes, beginning anew. I wonder if I'll be here when they do, if I will be able to nurture them, protect them from harm. That is my worry, that these worlds will also crumble and it will be because I was not here. I have outlived everything from my past, but even I will die one day. The fear was in never knowing when, the fear now is in not caring when.
I am a defeated God. A man if ever there was a definition for one. I wonder if these worlds will have darkness like mine, and heroes to repel that darkness, to keep fighting so others may live in the light for one more day. I could help, with what little time I have left. I could sire a champion to take them into a new age of light, so that the fight would finally be won.
I suppose it is fitting, that in my loneliest hours I think not of humanity as a whole, or those whom belonged to it that I loved, but of a mix, between the beauty of humanity, and the glory of the Gods. Who else but Hercules, the God who I envied almost daily. A child of the sky and those who walked beneath her. I always marvelled at his strength. Not just the raw power he commanded but also his resolve, he would do much more here than I could. I think of his foe Atlas, who held the skies aloft for as long as the skies were there.
I think of Hercules' father Zeus, much like my own, his temper at times but the love he had for all was not often questioned. I think of his other children, namely Hermes, fun-loving and swift, as if riding on the wind itself. I think of Zeus's protector Thetis, and her son, Achilles. Courageous Achilles, braver than most men I have met. But altogether, they are missing something, the full touch of humanity, their ability to think, to solve, to learn. Who better to add to this makeshift pantheon of Gods and Men than the wisest of those that have lived and passed, good king Solomon. Who saw above the lesser Gods who vied for power and titles,to the one who controls all, to the one who watches over me now. He who remains above all, that gifted lowly Solomon with wisdom that would lift him above religious squabbles, to a point where all men regardless of differences would admire him.
These are the qualities this world needs, and the qualities I will instil in the champion worthy enough to carry them. With the last breath of my life and all those that have been long forgotten, I will oversee the creation of this champion.
So begins my search, and let these new grounds bring forth a worthy successor.