Within the universe, there exists three planes; Valhalla, the home of the Gods, Midgard, the realm of Humanity, and Helheim, the home of the damned and demonic. Uniquely in Helheim, many Gods, including Yama and the Lord of Helheim himself, Hades, chose to dwell there. Here in Helheim, a specific location exists that few dare enter and fewer are allowed to go. That place is Tartarus. A prison custom-made to house the greatest criminals and deviants to ever exist. Within its macabre halls rest many souls whose names, when uttered, inspire fear, disgust, and pure contempt. It was here that Brunhilde would find the Fighter she needed for Round Six. Normally, one can't traverse between Helheim and Valhalla without the use of the Bifrost Bridge and holding the position of a Chief God. However, Brunhilde and her sister Geirölul were allowed a temporary path via a Bifrost Portal to retrieve their Fighter. The two were on this multi-colored, translucent path within the portal when the notification that Round Five started hit their tablets. "Looks like Saint Germain and Göndul are starting things off with a bang," Brunhilde said as she watched the fight. Her sister, Geirölul, looked at her own tablet. Contrasting her sister's regal Western attire, Geirölul's dress was reminiscent of a Japanese kimono draping off her shoulders. Under her dress was a black body suit, and she wore disconnected flowing sleeves on her arms. The kimono was held in place by a large black bow, and she wore long white stockings that she paired with a pair of platform shoes that resembled geta. Her deep red hair was tied back in a prim bun, save for her bangs; they were swirled together just above her brow and hung off her shoulders. This ornate hairstyle was finished off with a kokoshnik hat and wing-shaped clips on each side of her head. The most striking feature, however, was her eyes, which had rectangular pupils like a goat.
Geirölul
(5th Sister of the Valkyries)
"You sure it was a good idea to match her up with that weasel?" Geirölul asked as she scowled at the tablet. "That guy's got a bad vibe about him."
"I'm not sure, to be honest. Saint Germain never reveals his hand, no matter what. However, I'm hoping Göndul can convince him to try."
"Man, I hope so. She's got her hands full with that one."
"I agree, but that's why I chose the two as a team. If anyone can do it, it's her."
"And is that why you chose me for this guy?"
"Exactly," Brunhilde answered. "I need the pride of the Valkyries to reign this one in. If we can manage it, he'll be a boon for us in Round Six."
"Who is he anyway?"
Brunhilde stopped and turned to face her sister. Amongst the Valkyries, Geirölul was trusted by all for her unbreakable will and fury. To Brunhilde, she was a trusted confidant and dear friend, more than a sister. "There are many awful people throughout history, Geir. Tyrants, murderers, despots. He…puts them all to shame. This man is so vile and cruel, he inspired tales of monsters. Yet, he is human." Brunhilde's wicked smile returned as she turned her tablet to show Geirölul. "How much of an advantage do you think he'd give us were he to go in Round Six?" The image of the man on the tablet sent chills down Geirölul's spine, but she knew Brunhilde was right. A man like this was powerful enough to convince the Gods his presence in the afterlife was a threat to the status quo they coveted. That realization caused the same grimace to grow on Geirölul's face.
"He's terrifying…But I can't wait to meet him!" The two continued down the path towards the entrance to Helheim. "Why pick this guy anyway? There are plenty of people in Valhalla who could do the trick."
"I don't deny it, but if I were to pick anyone to take Round Six, it'd be him one hundred times over. There are very few human souls imprisoned in Helheim, and he's the most despised down here. He also happens to be, hopefully, the most willing and able. There's no one down there who hates what the Gods are doing more than him, despite what he might say." They soon came upon a swirling vortex devoid of color or light. Above it was 'Helheim, Tartarus VIP Entrance' in runes. "Let's go get him."
Saint Germain fired. The small spread of pellets flew straight towards Nuada. His eyes darted about, counting all the spheres heading his way. Once he finished counting, he knew what he could and could not do, and jumped to his right while keeping his left arm in front of his neck and head. He managed to avoid most of them, but a few bounced off his armor and left arm. Saint Germain pumped the shotgun and released the used round, setting another in the chamber. He continued to fire at Nuada as he kept trying to gain space from him. Each spreading blast barely hit its mark, complete with a small clang against the metal plating of Nuada's armor.
He has to know this isn't working. Nuada thought. What's he trying to pull?
Saint Germain pumped his shotgun once more and pulled the trigger, but nothing came out. "Damn! Should've been counting!" He shouted, pulling some rounds from his coat pocket and turning his gun over in his hand. Nuada saw his chance and darted straight towards Saint Germain, his left arm covering the left side of his face like a shield, and Fragarach's point aimed at Saint Germain. Saint Germain quickly loaded one shell into the magazine chamber and four into the ammunition tube. He turned it over in his hands, aimed at Nuada, who was just a meter in front of him. He pulled the trigger. Nuada reached out his left hand… and cupped the barrel of the shotgun. The pellets bounced off his hand and back into the barrel, causing it to burst open. Metal flew everywhere and cut into the Fighters. Saint Germain was thrown back from the blast, while Nuada stood firm, busted gun in hand. With a single flick of his wrist, he tossed the gun aside and started walking over to his opponent. Saint Germain saw him coming, got back up, and ran. Nuada wasted no time and started to sprint after him, but a force erupted behind him and propelled him forward. Despite his desire to end the match quickly, Nuada failed to see Saint Germain pull a small pen-shaped device from his pocket. Saint Germain pushed it as he ran, causing a bomb in his duffel bag to explode as he ran away. Metal bounced off Nuada's armor, intense heat briefly surrounded him, and his ears rang as he slammed into the ground and skidded across the street. His senses were dulled, but he heard the familiar sound of gunfire and felt his arm reach out and grab the bullet out of the air. Saint Germain was twenty meters away from him, walking slowly towards him as he took his next shot. Nuada tried to stand, his arm jerking him slightly to catch each shot as they came his way. He could barely see Saint Germain pull a knife from his coat and clasp it in his hands with his Sig Sauer in a reverse grip. Saint Germain continued to fire, each shot caught by Nuada and thrown away. Just as he caught up to Nuada, he emptied his right hand of the Sig and reversed the knife in his hand. He walked into the range of Fragarach, but it did not matter. Nuada's vision started to come into focus, and he swung at Saint Germain. The slash was pure and simple. Saint Germain flipped his Sig in his hand and rotated the barrel to sit against his forearm. The slash slammed into the gun as Saint Germain aimed a stab straight at Nuada's neck. Nuada caught the blade in his metallic hand, clamping down. The blade began to bend under his grip, and the sig's barrel slowly gave way to the sword. Nuada and Saint Germain could see the outcome.
"You got too cocky!" Nuada shouted. Blood started trickling from his left ear.
"And you forgot to keep track of the time!" Saint Germain retorted.
"CUT!" A loud voice from above roared. The gun and knife vanished from Saint Germain's hands, and a barrier appeared between the two. Saint Germain smiled at his opponent while walking backwards.
"Sorry. Guess that's a wrap for this one. Want to start the next project?"
Nuada stared him down as he regained his bearing. He sheathed his sword and massaged the area around his ear. The ringing sound was still there. He pulled his hand away and saw blood. His left ear was worse off than he anticipated. "Sure. Why not?"
The world around them vanished and reformed into the white dome covered by the blue grid. "Would have been easy for you, this way. Nothing quite like dying in a gritty action scene."
"Maybe, but dying isn't in the cards today."
"You say that now, but fate's not fair. No one expected Baldr to die that way. Mistletoe was supposed to do him in, right?"
Nuada's eyes opened a little. "How'd you know that?" This man knows more than he's letting on. Nuada thought. He was certain of that.
"To you, I know nothing. To me, I know everything. How about I tell you if you survive the next scene?"
The scene began to take shape. Walls began to form around the two, separating them. The walls began to connect and form square and rectangular rooms. Ceilings formed above them, and light began to fade. Details began to form. Nuada was now in a dark, quiet bedroom. Only the crescent moon shining through the large windows gave any light. Old wooden furniture filled the room. A large ornate bed with corner posts, a large dresser across from the bed, and a desk behind Nuada and across from the room's entrance. Guess I should start counting down. Nuada thought.
"ACTION!" The voice shouted. Suddenly, he heard screams and frantic movement from the other side of the bedroom door. Wasting no time, he walked over to the door and pulled it open. He could see a young, blonde woman run past the door just as he looked out into the dim hall. From the direction she ran, Nuada could hear loud, thumping, slow footsteps. He turned to see the source. Walking towards him was a large, heavy-set man in dark blue coveralls, steel-toed black boots, and brown leather gloves. His face was hidden by a white porcelain mask that looked like a baby's face, save for the stranger's right eye. It was yellow and blood-veined, almost diseased-looking. In his right hand was a large axe; his left was gripped tightly around a clump of hair. Nuada looked at the hair and saw its source, or what remained of it.
"Well, don't you look friendly?" Nuada said, glaring at the monster. It continued to walk in his direction. "Running around a place like this, killing little kids. It's always stupid, violent monsters like you that get their damn kicks out of depraved nonsense like this." The man stopped and stared at Nuada. He dropped the corpse and began to move, slowly picking up speed. Nuada looked around the hallway, taking in the environment. "Come at me, you oaf." Nuada quickly drew his sword and tossed it towards the killer. The killer tilted his head, and the sword flew past. Getting closer to Nuada, he took his axe in both hands and raised it above him. Nuada rolled his eyes and sighed. The killer did not see it coming. He heard it, but did not see it coming. As the sword flew past him, it began to spin in mid-air. Just before it could touch the ground, the blade changed course and flew back towards the two. It then flew through one of them before landing squarely in the other's hand. The killer tumbled to the ground, the impact shook the masked killer's head and arms clean off, and they fell to the ground, the axe landing with a thud. The head rolled a few meters further and stopped just in front of Nuada. "A one-eyed, ugly bastard who takes joy in suffering." He raised his left foot over the killer's head and stomped. The head gave way with a sickening crunch. "Didn't think I'd deal with two of them in this life, but oh well." He heard footsteps behind him. The same light, frantic ones from before. He turned around to see the source… and quickly grabbed a kitchen knife just before his neck was pierced. The woman, dressed in a purple t-shirt and blue shorts, wielding the knife, stared daggers at him with her piercing blue eyes.
"Thanks for killing the bad guy for me!" The woman said, her voice a familiar tone. "You're my hero, Nuada!" She quickly reached around to her lower back, pulling out a meat tenderizer she tucked into her shorts. She ducked just in time to avoid a slash from Nuada, abandoning her kitchen knife in Nuada's grip. From a crouched position, she swung the tenderizer to the right, slamming it against Nuada's left knee. The blow stung and took Nuada's leg out from under him as the young woman scurried back up and darted past Nuada. She scooped up the axe and reeled up and back, bringing the axe down. Without even looking at her, Nuada gripped both ends of his sword and placed it above his head. The axe slammed down hard, the wood creaking under Nuada's feet.
What the hell is going on!? How is she so strong!? Nuada got his feet under him and pushed back against the axe. The force of the push gave him enough space to spin and return to his feet, his sword point forward. The young woman stared at him, holding the axe in both hands. Nuada stepped forward and thrust Fragarach. The woman parried with the axe handle, the sword's blade going past her left. Nuada did not put his full weight into the thrust, but something was off. He shifted his hips to the left for a swift left slash. The blade flew towards the woman's neck. It got closer with every millisecond, but something was wrong. He started slowing down. The woman saw the attack and effortlessly ducked under it, the move regaining speed as it passed over her. My attack slowed down!? Damn it, what the hell is this place doing to me!? Nuada thought. From her crouching position, she swung up the axe blade right at Nuada's chin. He could see the attack coming. It was easy to see and gave itself away. However, the air around Nuada became thick. So thick, his movements slowed down, but the axe did not. "Crap!" Nuada shouted. He strained with all his might, managing to shift his head back just in time for the axe to graze his chin. Nuada braced himself with his right foot and made one more swing at the woman's unprotected torso. His blade slowed down once more, and the woman twisted the axe around, preparing for another swing.
3….2….1.
She brought the axe down.
"CUT!"
The announcement came from overhead once more. The axe was just a few centimeters from the bridge of Nuada's nose. Sweat fell from his brow and temple as light entered the halls from the bedroom, and everything went white once more. The walls faded away, and the young woman stepped back a few feet and stood, smirking at Nuada with the axe in her right hand. Soon, it vanished from her hand. "Clever. Try to lure me into the path of that creature and hope it'd kill me." Nuada said. "Also, didn't know you were in touch with your feminine side."
The young woman snapped her fingers. Her figure began to ripple and spasm. She grew taller, her clothes longer, and her features sharper and older. Her figure contorted and grew lean and rigid as Saint Germain returned to his original appearance. "I've done my fair share of crossdressing. For the theatre, of course. Back in the old days, female roles were played by men. However, I cannot help but feel you're just not getting into this."
"It's not a play. It's a battle."
"And yet in both theatre and war, there is always conflict and a series of events. Improv pops up now and then, and sometimes the script changes. As such…they are far more similar than you're willing to admit."
Nuada dismissed Saint Germain's argument in his mind. However, in both scenarios, he kept getting caught off guard. Is it the rules of the match doing this? Is he using some kind of ability on me? How was he changing form and clothing? "I don't know how you're doing this, but I will find out."
"I could tell you."
"And have another lie thrown in my face? Pass on that."
"It's only a problem because you're not playing your part. But hey, be the one-note actor. I'll just outperform you."
"What the hell is he doing?" Set said in a hissing whisper, seething in his seat.
"He's being made a fool of," Yama said before putting a handful of popcorn in his mouth.
"Thank you for stating the obvious, Yama, but why is he doing it? He knows how Setting works. I gave him the rules ahead of time so he could understand that he needs to play into the scene. Who would put an armored God in the middle of a big city action film or a slasher flick?"
"It's because he's bored." A familiar raspy voice said from behind the two. Their eyes widened, and the two turned around slowly to see Zeus, followed by two of his sons, Ares and Hermes. Both had arms full of candy, popcorn, soda, and pretzels.
"Zeus! What brings you here?" Set said, jumping to his feet.
"Did you not get Hermes' message? I wanted to show my appreciation for the matches so far and join you for Storytelling." Zeus said, smiling, stroking his beard. "You've done far better than I expected!"
"Ah. I must have overlooked it. My apologies, and thank you." Set ushered the three to the seats next to him. Like his and Yama's, they were thick-cushioned and a deep red, complete with drink holders. The three sat down as Set pulled out a remote. A small table rose out of the ground in front of the seats, giving his guests a place to set down the two small mountains of snacks they brought. Ares and Hermes spread the food out while Set returned to his seat. He eyed a soft pretzel, but Zeus snatched it up before he could even start to reach for it.
"Sorry, Set. I paid for these. If you want your own, you have to pay."
"You're Zeus. No one would believe for a second you paid for all that." Yama said.
"Anyways, I digress," Zeus said, ignoring Yama. "He's bored. I imagine he hoped for a more sporting challenge than someone like this Saint Germain." He took a bite from his pretzel, Set eyeing with slight disappointment.
"Why would that matter? He's fighting in a life-or-death battle. Why be concerned about boredom?" Set asked nonplussed.
"Nuada's fought more battles than most Gods I know. Monsters, Gods, Demons, Humans, Angels, and everything in between. He's fought so much that he now has the gall to have a standard when it comes to fighting. If it's a challenging opponent, he's able to fight in good form. A weakling or trickster, he gets bored. When it's someone he hates…" A murderous aura erupted from Zeus as he grew a nasty, toothless grin. "That's when he's at his best and absolute brutal." The aura vanished as quickly as it came.
"Lord Nuada is a genuinely honest person," Hermes added. "Despite what some may say," Hermes looked at his father. "Nuada is transparent with how he feels towards people. If he likes you, you know it. If he hates you, you know it. If he wants you dead, he'll kill you himself." He made a glance at Set. But you already knew that, didn't you?
"It's what makes him so reliable. He never hides what he feels or thinks." Ares said.
"True…I just wish he took this seriously. Even a fight like this demands it." Set said.
"If this Saint Germain can prove himself, Nuada will bring his best. However, something's bothering me."
"What, Lord Zeus?"
"I know the Valkyries are fighting alongside these Humans, but I know for certain none of them can do what he's doing. Normal humans can't do that."
"You think he may be something else?"
Zeus shrugged and continued to eat his pretzel.
On the other side of the arena, Göll stood alone, dumbfounded. "What the heck's going on here!? Where's he getting these clothes!? Why's he turning into other people? None of this makes any sense!" Göll yelled, scratching both sides of her head. She could not make heads or tails of what she saw, but continued to piece together what she saw before. "The last two scenes were something like an action and a…slasher movie? Man, Hlökk's better with these kinds of things." She could picture Hlökk acting haughty when bringing up a topic Göll knew little of. "It's not my fault I don't spend all my time sitting around drinking tea, acting like a know-it-all!" Göll caught herself. Acting. "Wait, he's acting! That's it! He's playing along with the scene. That must be why he's outdoing someone like Nuada. He made himself an action hero and…a woman?"
"The role is 'The Final Girl.'" Brunhilde said as she and Geirölul made their way down a dimly lit spiraling staircase. Brunhilde watched the fight as she walked, her stride unimpeded despite the diversion.
"The hell is that?" Geirölul asked.
"According to Hlökk, the Final Girl is a classic character in old Slasher Films. Normally, the last female character alive is hunted down by the slasher, only to be the one who kills the slasher instead. Saint Germain must have found a way to use some of his old powers thanks to Göndul."
Geirölul stopped. "Hold up, Hilde. His 'old powers?' I get you're trying to be mysterious and all that, but it's getting annoying. If Göndul's power "Wand Wielder" isn't what's doing it, then what the hell is?"
Brunhilde stopped a few steps below Geirölul. Her face hardened, and her eyes squinted. "Geir, I'm not trying to be mysterious. The truth of the matter is we're in enemy territory. As much as I want to divulge Saint Germain's power, I have to be careful since they may be spying on us."
"Is he that strong?" Geirölul raised her left eyebrow.
"He was…years ago. The years have not been kind to him, which is why he's paired with Göndul. Her ability to generate magical energy is giving him a much-needed boost in power. However, he may or may not be as strong as he was before. All we can do is have faith in him."
Geirölul stared her sister down. Even at her worst, Brunhilde had a hard time rivaling Geirölul's ferocity and pride. After a tense few seconds, she exhaled and closed her eyes. "Whatever. Let's get this over with."
Brunhilde's expression softened, and she smiled. "Agreed. I don't want to be down here any longer than we need to be."
"Göndul, if there ever was a maiden considered fair, she is paltry in comparison to you." Saint Germain whispered into his watch. Nuada looked at him, puzzled.
"You're too kind, but right now is not the time for flattery."
"Life's too short not to spare kind words." Göndul chuckled a little. Saint Germain looked down at the watch's face. The hands on the watch showed 12:04. The two activations of his Völund, Quick Costume Change, used little if any magical energy. He still had plenty to work with. The last two scenes worked to his favor, but he knew eventually, Nuada would catch on.
The floor beneath them began to sway and tilt. Both looked around, trying to figure out what was happening. An earthquake? Something tunneling under them? Their questions were answered by the sounds of wood creaking, seagulls crying overhead, and the sound of waves crashing. A familiar salty smell wafted through the air and mingled with the smell of wet wood and rope. The floor beneath them turned a deep-brown color and looked like strong Georgia Oak. A mast appeared out of the corner of their eyes as a vast, blue ocean spread out into the horizon. The sun shone down from above with the occasional small cloud offering a small respite. The unfurled sails were taut from the wind and carried the massive wooden ship that was their arena along the ocean. Behind Nuada appeared the Ship's bow, Saint Germain the aft. The ship's wheel sat a level above the two, reachable by two ladder wells on each side. Dozens of the ship's crew ran around them, working the ropes, carrying boxes, and prepping cannons on the ship's port and starboard.
Saint Germain saw it first. Cutting through the water and heading their way was another massive ship, its sails a deep black. "Guess it's time to get into character." Saint Germain said. He slowly walked over to the mast and out of Nuada's sight. As he came around, his clothing shifted once more. His ensemble was replaced by brown pants, a gray sleeveless shirt, black boots, and belt, and a brown tricorn over his gray hair. On his left hip was a cutlass' scabbard, his right hand bearing the blade. "Ready."
Nuada sheathed his sword. Quickly, he undid the fasteners under his armpits and shook off his armor. He then kicked off his boots, going barefoot, and removed his chainmail while keeping his blue pants, gauntlets, shirt, belt, and sheathed sword on. "Same here."
Both old men smiled defiantly at each other, readying themselves. "ACTION!"
The sound of distant cannon fire roared into the air. Saint Germain blitzed at Nuada, starting his assault with a thrust. Nuada stepped to his right while keeping his left arm close to his body. Saint Germain twisted his wrist and brought the cutlass' edge parallel with the deck, and continued his attack with a left slash to Nuada's head. Nuada leaned to his right and rolled his left shoulder up, parrying the slash off his shoulder and over his head. Nuada took the small opening and thrust with Fragarach. Saint Germain saw the attack and stepped back, the tip of the blade barely missing his throat. Nuada stepped forward and thrust again, but Saint Germain parried it to his right. Saint made a quick right slash at Nuada's face once more. Nuada hopped back and slapped Saint Germain's cutlass to his right with Fragarach and followed up with a left slash of his own. What came next was unexpected, at least to Nuada. Saint Germain got his sword back in front of him and raised the pommel, catching Fragarach's weak on the strong of his sword. Saint Germain stepped in, pressing his weight against Nuada. Nuada managed to slide Fragarach up and match strong against strong, the two of them now blade-locked as the ship bowed back and forth. The sound of cannon fire erupted around them, and a source was getting closer. Far faster than any ship could normally. Neither gave any ground as the other ship got closer, and the Fighters' spot came in range. "You're better than I thought, Thespian," Nuada said snidely.
"One picks up a trick or two when in the business! I've lost count of how many times I fought my way out of a swordfight! Sometimes like this!" Saint Germain reached his left hand behind his back, out of Nuada's line of sight. From his belt, he pulled a flint-lock pistol, primed and ready for firing. With a flick of his elbow, Saint Germain brought the pistol right under his other arm, completely hidden by the blades. He pulled the trigger, and the shot fired.
Right into Nuada's left hand. "Good try." Nuada grabbed Saint Germain's collar and reared back. His head flew forward, and his forehead slammed into Saint Germain's face. Nuada then kicked his feet out from under him, sending him sprawling to the floor with a loud thump. "Now you're done." Nuada flipped his sword into a reverse grip and stabbed down. As he started the stab, something caught his eye. Saint Germain was smiling. He could not help but be concerned by it. He just stopped a sneak attack and took his footing. Why was Saint Germain not worried? A salvo of Cannon fire came from his left. Without looking that way, he finally realized why. Nuada sighed. "Crap." The two of them were in the crosshairs of one of the cannons, and they just fired. Nuada's arm snapped straight to the left, and a tremendous force slammed into his palm. Nuada pressed against it to keep from falling over as his feet skid on the wood as the cannonball pushed him along. He slammed into the side of the ship, his upper body starting to lean over the side. Exerting as much strength in his back as he could and clamping his legs firmly against the ship's railing, Nuada pushed back against the force and righted himself up. He took a glance around the deck. Saint Germain had run up towards the bow of the ship, sword in hand. "Let's see if you can see out the back of your head." Nuada reeled his left hand back. Stepping with his right foot, Nuada twisted to the right and threw the cannonball. The force of the throw displaced the air in front of him with a loud boom. The ball flew, faster than any cannon could fire it, and headed towards the back of Saint Germain's head.
What happened next, Nuada could not explain. Nothing up to that point could explain it, save for the fact that maybe Saint Germain was far more a man of his word than Nuada wanted to admit. Before the ball could reach him, Saint Germain reached back behind his head, aiming as if to catch the cannonball. It was not the fact that he reached back that alarmed Nuada. It was the fact that the arm Saint Germain reached with…was mechanical and silver. Saint Germain caught the cannonball in his hand and used the momentum to go into a right spin. Getting his footing just right, he tossed with ball with the same force as Nuada at the other ship, striking the ship's hull just below the water. He then looked up at Nuada with those same piercing blue eyes, but now with Nuada's face and hair. "Got to admit," The other Nuada said in Saint Germain's voice. "Not how I wanted to figure out that damn trick of yours." The other ship began sinking, the crew screaming and running for the lifeboats.
Nuada sprinted towards him as the crew around him cheered at their victory. They began crowding around him and Saint Germain, and it was not long before Nuada lost sight of him again. Not this time. Nuada thought. His silver iris began to glow, and a picture appeared in his mind. Sight From Heaven! He could see the top of his head and the crew moving around him. He went completely still, surveying the erratic movements of the Sailors. No patterns, no focused movements. Where are you!? I'm running out of time! Nuada then saw it. One Sailor was moving away from the crowd. And they wore a brown bandanna. Nuada broke through the crowd, keeping one eye on him from above and one in front, and drew his sword. He managed to reach the Sailor, grabbed him by his mechanical hand, and turned him around. He then stabbed his sword into the Sailor's stomach, pulled it out, and held him up. "I caught you!"
"Caught whom?" Said a familiar voice from behind. All the noise from before vanished. Nuada turned around and saw every member of the crew eyeing him in bewilderment. Among them, near the back, was Saint Germain smiling. "All you caught was an innocent cabin boy." All the Sailors grabbed swords and whatever they could get their hands on. Nuada looked at the young man being held in his grip, the light fading from his green eyes as blood poured from his stab wound. Disbelief arose from the back of his mind; the young boy, barely fifteen, had red hair beneath his dirty bandanna. "Now you've caught the attention of an angry crew. Good luck." Lost in the moment, Nuada could only gently lower the boy down and lay him on his back. Nuada then stepped away, letting a few of the crew run up and grab the boy. He inhaled deeply and released it.
3….2….
"Come at me. You'll die quicker than him." Nuada said calmly, his eyes wide open in pure fury. The whole crew charged him, enraged. Nuada crouched down, guarded the left side of his face and chest with his left arm, Fragarach's point aimed where he last saw Saint Germain. This stance, born from a lifetime of constant battle, became one of Nuada's signature techniques. Akin to the phalanx of the Spartans, Nuada's stance, while seemingly defensive, was in actuality a technique of raw, unstoppable offense. This was one of the techniques, combined with the greatest physical strength of the Tuatha de Dannan, that earned Nuada's title as a War God. The technique's name?
Tintreach Airgid.
1…
With as much strength as he could muster, Nuada kicked off the deck and barreled forward. The force of his dash rivaled the cannon fire. A resounding boom erupted behind him. The ship's deck split under his dash, the force shooting through every deck and caving through the hull and keel. Every poor soul in his way was smashed and pulverized as if by a speeding car. Blood splattered all over him, but he continued his charge. He cleared the crowd and leaped forward, readying his sword to stab through Saint Germain's heart. Saint Germain froze, incredulous at what he saw. Nuada thrust Fragarach, and connected with an invisible barrier just centimeters in front of Saint Germain's chest. The collision caused the barrier to vibrate furiously, but it held.
"CUT!"
Nuada thrust again, hitting the barrier. Saint Germain did not move. Again, he thrust. Nuada's face began contorting with rage, spittle coming from his mouth. After three more powerful thrusts, Nuada finally stopped. The world around them began to fade back into the white dome. He looked down at Fragarach. It was clean, with no sign of blood or chipping. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, opened them, and walked away from Saint Germain towards his discarded armor. He grabbed each piece as he went, putting on his boots, chainmail, and then fastening his breastplate. He then sheathed his sword and sat on the ground, glaring at Saint Germain. "I think I went too far that time." Saint Germain said as his suit reappeared.
"You may have," Göndul responded. "Nuada's protective of children and hates seeing them suffer."
"Paternal instinct and whatnot. Now the hard part's about to start."
"He's not holding back anymore?"
"Even worse. He probably hates me now. I've dealt with people like him before. Hurting him is one thing. Hurting something he cares about? Might as well be writing my obituary." Nuada continued to stare at him, waiting.
"Have you figured out how much time passes between the set pieces?" Göndul asked.
"Hate saying it, but it does not look like it's a set time. The bigger the scene, the longer it takes to break down and come up with another. I could use a breather to be honest." He looked down at his watch. Two transformations, with one far more elaborate than just a wardrobe change. The watch now read 12:18. "Damnit, nearly a third gone already?"
"A partial transformation into Nuada ate far more magic than planned. Adding on the prosthetic and scanning Nuada's other abilities, it was a risk worth taking."
"Agreed. Argetlam: The Silver Shield, a defense technique that reacts and blocks all projectiles autonomously, and Sight from Heaven, a vision ability that lets him see in his mind a picture of the area around him from above. Calls me a charlatan, but he's the one using cheats."
"Was that all?"
"…No. There's still more in that head of his I couldn't grab, even when I turned into him. Gods are harder to read, and I only got those because they're the only moves he's been using."
"Then we still need to research him. Get into the mind of the character." Göndul said, slightly enjoying herself.
"Well said. Let's keep at it then."
"Good grief, this place smells!" Geirölul said. She and Brunhilde were making their way through a tall, stone hallway. On both sides, Geirölul could see each cell held a single occupant, but some were bound in chains secured to the walls, others were able to walk free in their cells, and others were completely immobilized, save for their heads. The one thing they all had in common, however, was that none of them tried to talk to them. It was an unspoken rule within Tartarus that unapproved communication with anyone was a punishable offense tailored to the criminal. Many of the prisoners saw their contemporaries suffer horrific punishments ranging from burning, gouging, dismemberment, and freezing. Some were even eaten by the monstrous beasts roaming the grounds of the fortress, regurgitated, then healed. These events lead to an unspoken truth in Tartarus. Silence is golden.
Near the end of the hall, the two finally stopped. In the cell in front of them was a human man, his body bound to the wall by metal chains connected to shackles on his wrists, ankles, and neck. His old clothes tattered and discolored, his hair unkempt and matted, his fingernails long and twisted. However, his deep brown eyes were wild and alive. As the two looked in to see him, his eyes met theirs. Pure dread and horror washed over the two. They would not comprehend why, but the image of a massive skull trying to bite down on them invaded their minds. Neither knew the other saw the same image at that time, but they both would never speak of it again. Her whole body shaking, Brunhilde pulled out her tablet and tapped on the screen. She brought up a text document and showed it to the man in the cell. "You have permission to speak, as granted by Yama, the Jailkeeper of Tartarus, and Hades, the Ruler of Helheim," Brunhilde said, fighting back the instinctive fear clawing at her mind.
"…Wonderful…" The man said, his voice a deep basso profundo. "Been too long since I had something…like a simple conversation. Are you the one who requested my services?"
"I am. Humanity is currently at war with the Gods for its right to live for another millennium. Will you help us?"
The man in the cell leaned to the right slowly, his back and neck popping. He then leaned to the left and popped it some more. He then leaned back against the wall and stared lazily at the two. "For an ungrateful people? I will pass. Find someone else."
"I can't. No one else fits the bill quite like you."
"How am I so 'special?'"
"No other human has inspired such pure and raw fear as you. Even the Gods fear you. Why else would they put you here?"
"Irrelevant. Find someone else who wants to die for your crusade."
"I have plenty of those. No…" Manic energy began to exude from Brunhilde. "I need someone who hates Humanity. I need someone like you, who hates Humanity like no other, to fight in Round Six and reignite that same horror and dread you inspired so long ago."
The man stood up from his bench. He rolled his shoulders slowly as he walked to the cell door. He stood 30 centimeters over Brunhilde. "Do not flatter me. Many like you are full of flowery words, but they're liars. Liars, thieves, and betrayers." The dread returned and crashed into Brunhilde. "Leave here before I get out and show you what I do to people like you."
Geirölul's eyes darted from her sister to the man and back. Pure unbridled fury erupted in her soul, and a few veins began to show on her brow. "Oh, screw this." Geirölul got between her sister and the prisoner, reached through the bars, lifted the man, and slammed him into the cell door. She extended her arms and slammed him again. "Listen here, you rabid mutt. My sister and I did not come down to this hellhole to be intimidated by a man in chains. Two warriors on our side are already dead, and another is putting his life on the line right now. Now I don't give a damn about your issues with Humanity, but so help me you better hope I cannot get in this cell." She stared straight into his eyes, refusing to look away. Brunhilde watched her sister stand up to the monster in human skin in pure awe. Geirölul lowered him down and stepped away. The man stepped away from the cell door slowly.
"You're not scared of me?"
"Frightened as hell, but that doesn't mean you get to mess with my sister."
The man continued to stare at Geirölul, his wild eyes scanning her. After a few seconds, his gaze and bearing softened. "...It seems I misjudged the present company. Who are you?" The man asked slowly.
"I am Geirölul of the Valkyries."
The man bowed deeply and lowered his head. "Forgive my impetuousness, Geirölul. My time here has done a great deal of harm to my social graces. Meeting genuine souls...is such a rare thing here."
"Don't flatter me, and stop wasting my time. Are you going to help us?"
The man stood back up, smiling softly. "I will. Whatever you need from me."
Geirölul's wicked smile returned. "Perfect. Now we need to get you out of there and begin working on our Völund."
"Working on our…what?"
"It's the power we Valkyries use to give the Einherjar, Humanity's Fighters, weapons and abilities to fight back and kill the Gods."
"Killing Gods? And you're fighting by my side? Seems too good to be true, but why not? Let's see what we can do."
Vlad Dracul Tepes
(Romania)