"What madness! Action, Horror, Adventure! It's a romp through all kinds of genres! I can barely follow such a multi-story mash-up mayhem!" Heimdall roared. "Nuada's power has blown through each scene, but Saint Germain's wily ways are keeping him out of the Silver Arm's grasp!" The scenery came into focus. What was once a blank white space became a large room. Tall walls appeared and took on a deep blue hue, connected by an eggshell ceiling. Portraits of men and women of varying ages and plaques appeared, lining the walls in a perfect circle. The floor beneath them became wood, polished so well they could see their reflections. To Saint Germain's right and Nuada's left, a beige mat appeared and sat flat on the floor. Banners unfurled above them, each of them carried a single phrase written in many languages as they hung above them: 'The body is a weapon that must be learned.' Thresholds opening to deep blue hallways appeared on each wall, and the sound of footsteps could be heard echoing from each. The two's eyes darted from one hall to the next, scanning for the source. Before long, they could see them; dozens upon dozens of young men and women wearing matching gis and belts of various colors, marching in perfect step and rhythm. They flowed into the room like serpents and lined themselves around the mat, forming four perfect rings save for an opening right next to Nuada and Saint Germain. All of them stared at the two, waiting. Saint Germain touched his watch with his left index and middle fingers. The watch face glowed a soft red. His clothing began to ripple and nearly liquify, wrapping itself around Saint Germain in a purple and brown blur. It expanded, billowed, and then became snug; his shoes were gone, leaving his feet bare. What was once a suit became a purple gi with a brown belt, his blue button-up now a normal t-shirt, and his hat a brown bandana. He smirked at Nuada and walked through the gap towards the mat. Nuada stood there, breathing deeply, and stared down at his armor and boots. He rolled his eyes and undid his armor as before. Slowly, but confidently, Nuada removed his chainmail, breastplate, gauntlets, boots, belt, and sword. He wore nothing but his blue shirt and pants. He stared at Saint Germain, rolled up his shirt's left sleeve, and tapped a few points on his shoulder. Three small valves popped up. Saint Germain's eyes widened. Nuada, without looking away from his opponent, turned each valve. Right as he turned the last one, his entire left arm fell to the ground in a heavy thud with only the arm's connecting port remaining.
Heimdall wanted to say something, but he refrained. The story was unfolding, and saying anything would pull away from the scene. He knew very few in the audience knew the significance of that Silver Arm, at least to Nuada. Its history, the power it possessed, and what it meant for Nuada to discard it. Zeus knew, Odin knew, Set knew, Týr knew, and many Gods within the upper echelons of Valhalla knew. Argetlam became synonymous with his kingship and his struggles not only to regain it, but maintain it amongst the constant battles with the Fomor and the internal struggles with his family. Nuada with Argetlam was a king; without it, he was a War God.
Nuada walked through the gap and stood opposite his opponent. His lazy glare barely contained his contempt. For the first time in this battle, Saint Germain stayed silent. Further verbal barbs would likely do more harm than good. Rather, he spread his feet with his right foot forward and lowered his center of gravity. He then extended his right arm out, his open palm aimed right at Nuada while he kept his clenched fist by his hip. Nuada formed a palm-up knife-hand and stepped his right foot forward barely off the ground, subtly turning his body to avoid exposing openings. The moment his right foot touched the ground, a heavy and powerful stomp shook the floor and walls. Some of the pictures fell off and shattered on the ground, dust came off others, and the crowd shifted and wobbled. Both Li Shu Wen and Týr felt it ever so slightly, and the hair on their necks stood up. "ACTION!"
Saint Germain pushed off with his left foot, shooting him forward as he spun his waist to the right. He entered into his ideal range and fired a compact left straight. The form was perfect, and despite his aged appearance, great power was behind the strike. Just the fist passed into the interior of Nuada's knife-hand, Nuada parried the strike away to his left. Saint Germain did not lose his balance and followed up with a right palm strike hidden by his parried arm, pulling his left back as he struck. Nuada swats it up with the back of his hand. Saint Germain threw another left strike, but Nuada parried it with his elbow. Another right strike from Saint Germain, caught by Nuada and parried. Left, parry. Right, elbow block. Left, parry. Right, parry. Left, elbow block.
Strike. Block. Strike. Parry. Strike. Block. Nothing was getting through. Nuada did not even look Saint Germain in the eyes with each move. Saint Germain threw another right strike. Nuada waited. Just as the strike entered the range of Nuada's hand, he pulled it back. He lifted his right foot in front of him and fired it forward as a spear kick. Nuada's hand quickly rolled down to parry the kick. Just like Saint Germain wanted. Saint Germain quickly shifted his weight back, bending and twisting his knee before Nuada could parry. Right punch turns to right spear kick, then spear kick into Brazilian. Everything is a set-up, nothing genuine until the end. The twisting kick flexed back out well above Nuada's parrying hand, and the top of Saint Germain's foot flew towards Nuada's temple. Nuada stepped back a foot, and the kick passed by in front of his face. Before Saint Germain could bring his foot back down, Nuada stepped to the side following the kick and delivered a swift left kick to the back of Saint Germain's planted leg. His stance crumbled, and Saint Germain fell to the ground. Nuada stepped forward again and threw a crushing right punch straight towards the downed Saint Germain. Saint Germain rolled to the left, avoiding the punch as it punctured the mat and created a small crater in the floor beneath it. Using the roll to get back on his feet, Saint Germain stepped forward with his left foot and fired a right kick at the crouching Nuada. Nuada rolled back, the kick sailing above him, and he rolled onto his feet. Saint Germain threw his right foot back into a heel kick and struck Nuada on the right temple as he turned to face the confidence man, but if it hurt him, it did not show.
Saint Germain followed his kick's momentum with a left elbow. Nuada stepped in and snuffed the attack by throwing a rising elbow to block the attack and strike the joint connecting the shoulder and torso. Nuada flexed his arm up and cupped the back of Saint Germain's neck with his hand. Bringing it down, he fired up his left knee. Saint Germain got his arms in front of his face just in time to block the attack, but the force was far greater than he expected. The blow threw his upper body up, and Nuada freed his neck. The blow created a slight bit of space between them, and Nuada used it to fire a left spear kick. Saint Germain kept his arms in front to guard it. He couldn't shift his weight in time to dodge it, but he could at least block it. The kick soared at him, but before it made contact, Nuada shifted his weight, bent and twisted his knee, and brought the kick around the guard and slammed it down into Saint Germain's neck and clavicle. The force of the clean blow slammed Saint Germain down. Nuada felt bone give way to the kick, and he heard a clean snap. Still carrying most of his weight on his right foot, Nuada tapped the ground with his left foot's toes and kicked off the ground. His left leg shot back up in the air straight above Nuada's head. He brought his left foot straight down into an axe kick towards the top of Saint Germain's head. Such a blow would smash through the crown and splatter the brain. Saint Germain got his right foot in front of him and shifted to the left ever so slightly, the kick grazing the right side of his torso and aggravating the broken bone. Saint Germain clenched his left fist and twisted right, firing a fierce left straight into Nuada's stomach. He did not see it coming; the blow was clean and knocked the air out of Nuada. Saint Germain felt the bones in his hand and wrist break from the impact. Nuada flew back and hit the mat, gasping for air. Despite their pain, both got back on their feet, firing murderous looks at the other. Nuada stepped forward and threw a quick right punch. Saint Germain stepped and fired a spear kick right under the punch. It struck Saint Germain's ribs, but Nuada fought through the pain. He rolled his arm around the inside of Saint Germain's leg and parried it away. Saint Germain could not stop the fall, and Nuada struck him mid-landing with an upper-cut. Saint Germain fell back as Nuada's legs crumbled. "CUT!"
"Screw the damn rules and let me kill this bastard already!" Nuada screamed, breathing heavily.
Saint Germain's clothes returned to normal as the building disappeared into the white void. He tried to raise his arm to look at his watch, but it failed to respond. Damn it. He thought. I knew Martial Arts would be a disadvantage, but not this badly! He sighed. I have no choice.
"Saint Germain," Göndul said. "Go for it. We can't hold back."
"Thanks." Saint Germain struggled to get out. The watch face glowed bright, and energy coursed from it into Saint Germain. The pain in his shoulder and wrist subsided as the bone began to reconnect. His chin still throbbed, but he chose to prioritize broken bones over a bruise. "This will use more energy than planned, but it'll be necessary."
"Of course. However, he's not nearly as bad as you."
"You're right." Saint Germain watched Nuada reconnect his arm. After turning the knobs and setting them back in, Nuada rolled his shoulder and moved his fingers around. "He even figured out the scenario. Crippled himself like old protagonists in kung-fu films. Our dear Chief God may be a cinephile after all." Nuada walked over to his armor and put it back on quietly. "I need to make a play here, before the next scene."
"How?"
"No clue, but I can try." Saint Germain rolled his shoulder and wrist to check their health. No pain and fully mobile. He looked at the watch face. 12:28 it read. "Damn. Only about half left." He then got to his feet and dusted himself off. Breathing deeply, he made his move. "Nuada. I need to talk to you." Nuada ignored him. "If you're not going to answer, that's fine. However, if you care about Lugh, you will cooperate."
A massive deluge of anger flooded the dome. Nuada slowly turned around, his silver eyes manic and dilated. "Are you trying to threaten him?" Nuada asked barely above a whisper.
"No! I am trying to save him! Both you and I know how important he is to maintaining the peace you struggled to build. The fate he is destined to fulfill. However, the enemies he will face outside of Ragnarök will outnumber him, and he needs allies."
"Are you implying you can help him?"
"Not me, but someone I'm looking for. I know the man I seek will, if asked, aid Lugh in protecting your home and people. However, I don't know where he is…but you do."
"I'd decline such an offer from someone I trust. Why in Hell should I trust you?"
"Because," Saint Germain was ready. "You and I are both willing to do whatever it takes to protect our wards. I know why you reacted the way you did back on the ship. Why you reacted so poorly, but I had nothing to do with that, and would never stoop so low as to harm a child. But you need to understand you're getting in both our ways!"
Nuada stood there, fully armed and ready. His silver hand rested on Fragarach's pommel. Nuada pondered Saint Germain's offer. No matter what he thought of the man, Nuada knew Saint Germain was fighting with all his strength and wit. Of the four scenarios they fought through, Nuada only won out in the last one. Was Saint Germain's offer genuine? Did he know someone who could aid Lugh? The Fomor were still a threat, and Balor was still out there plotting, and Lugh could not fight them alone. "If you can outlast me in the next scene, maybe, and I mean maybe, I will hear you out."
"Excellent. Now let's get on with the show."
Einherjar Barracks
"This is your room for now, Vlad," Geirölul said. The two and Brunhilde stood before a large stone double-door. Engraved in the center was a cross, with each end embroidered with feathers; the insignia of the Order of the Dragon. Surrounding the emblem was a carved drawing of a hillside lined with thin, long lines jutting straight up and out from the hills. Vlad walked up to the mural on his door and looked it over. His gaze softened ever so slightly. He gently traced his fingertips on the cross as Geirölul looked on. "You know there's a room on the other side, right? It's a nice door, but we should head on in."
"Of course. Do you know what this emblem stands for?"
"Not really, but does it matter?"
"More than you know…my father was a member of this order. Its mission was to protect the faith and people of our lands against invasions from the Ottoman Empire. Many Nobles joined it, inspired by the beauty of the Crusades. I never joined, but my father's will inspired me to carry his legacy regardless."
"Huh. Sounds like a strong group."
"They held out longer than most, but even they could not last forever. The Ottomans were too strong, and we were never truly unified to stand against them. But now…I am not alone."
"Are you getting mushy on me?" Geirölul said, smiling wickedly.
"Sentimental, perhaps. Also, my name… is Vlad, like my father's. However, do you know why I chose Vlad Dracul Tepes instead of Vlad III?"
"I'm sure you'll tell me."
"No…I'll show you when we fight. Now, let's go in and prepare." Vlad turned to Brunhilde. "We will be ready. Best of luck to you."
"To you as well," Brunhilde responded. She turned and left the two as they entered Vlad's chambers. We got him! I knew Geirölul could do it! Brunhilde shouted joyfully in her head. Her manic grin grew as she walked. Now I just need the Fighter for 'Storytelling: Heroes' to start preparing as well.
On the other side of the arena, Gabriel made his way down the halls. Occasionally, he would look out the open windows at the sky and take in the view. Now and then, nostalgia would find him and pull him back to easier days. He remembered Michael, his Brother and friend, and their mentor, Metatron. He wanted those days back badly, but knew they would never return. Maybe that's why the situation hit him harder than he expected and why being picked for Round Six hurt as much as it did. "They say getting lost in your thoughts is bad for you." A woman's familiar voice behind him spoke. Gabriel turned around and saw a face he had not seen in what felt like decades. Dressed in her familiar blue robes was Spenta Armaiti. Her eyes still had the same sharp look from before, but were filled with a wistful joy.
"It's not a bad thing to reminisce about better days, but staying there is a bad idea," Gabriel said.
"Never took you for being nostalgic, but then again, we're in strange times."
"True, but that's not why you're here," Gabriel said, smiling softly. "You know you can speak candidly with me."
"Glad to see that hasn't changed. So then, is there a reason why you accepted Set's offer to fight? And in Round Six, no less?"
"He said he needed someone despised by all of Valhalla. Bit of hyperbole, but there are few more hated than me. 'Storytelling: Villains' suits a traitor like me."
"Still the eternal martyr. Not like anything I've said before will change anything, but what they see as betrayal was you and the other six rebelling against an unsanctioned condemnation of Humanity. Were it not for you seven, Humanity would have gone extinct already."
"Yes…but someone had to be blamed for the whole thing getting out of hand the way it did, and the death of a Chief God is not something that can go unpunished. It was the best of a worst-case scenario."
Armaiti looked at him, frustration and concern showing on her face. "Gabriel, what happened at Winchester?"
He continued to smile; his expression unchanged. "I'm not allowed to say, Armaiti…I'm sorry. I also must change the topic or leave entirely. I cannot speak much more of it, or else."
Armaiti sighed. "Fine. Guess I'll keep you company until you go." She walked up next to him. The two shared a small smile and started their walk.
Back at the arena, another scene began to form from the void. The two warriors looked around and found the white void give way to a vast hollow tower. The Tower's metallic walls were a dingy gray, and several bridges jutted out from the walls and connected to other sides. At the center was a large column of bright yellow light. Some of the bridges wrapped around it, and people manned small control panels near the column of light. Nuada and Saint Germain looked up and down; no ceiling and ground-level in sight. Saint Germain sighed and tapped his watch. It turned red once more, and his clothes rippled and changed. They began billowing away from his body and formed into deep purple robes. His shirt and shoes remained unchanged, but his derby flattened into a brown hood and joined with his robes. He flicked his left hand, and out from his sleeve came a small metal tube. He touched a button on the side as he brought it up to his face. A thin metal rod extended out a meter, and its edge ignited in a light-blue hue. Nuada drew Fragarach and then placed it in his left hand. His hand then extended out from the wrist and tilted ninety degrees outward. With Fragarach in hand, it began to spin. Initially slow at the start, it began picking up momentum. Faster and faster, the blade eventually lost its shape and became a blur as it spun next to Nuada. "ACTION!"
Nuada dashed at Saint Germain. Saint Germain responded in kind with a powerful burst of speed, his sword out in front, ready to stab Nuada. Nuada reeled back his left arm and threw it forward, his forearm detaching and sailing through the air. Saint Germain parried the flying buzzsaw away mid-dash and sprang forward. Just before he could attack, Saint Germain swung behind him, knocking away Fragarach before it could decapitate him. As the arm flew, it began to swerve in the air and fly right back towards the two. Saint Germain stepped out of the way this time, and the arm reattached to Nuada at the elbow. "That damn sword of yours is a nuisance!" Saint Germain said as he slashed at Nuada.
"It's a bit clingy, I admit, but you won't find a more reliable weapon!" Nuada punched once more with his left and sent his forearm flying, Fragarach spinning away. Nuada's expression is not something born from sentimentalism, but rather the divine nature of his sword. Fragarach, known by a few other names such as the Retaliator and the Whisperer, was a weapon bestowed upon Nuada by his older brother, the Dagda, the Tuatha De Danann's previous Chief God. As such, it is one of the symbols of the legitimacy of his kingship and divine rule alongside Argetlam. However, its divine nature gives it several powerful abilities through its titles. Through the Retaliator, this weapon would always return with greater force and speed if thrown. More importantly, the wounds it inflicts cannot heal unless the sword remains sheathed. Last, Fragarach's cutting power grows stronger the more damage Nuada suffers. At this point, through several close calls and both major and minor wounds, Fragarach is nearing its most powerful state yet. Saint Germain knew all this from his time mimicking Nuada, but experiencing it firsthand was a whole different ordeal. Saint Germain slipped to the right, barely avoiding Fragarach as it spun past him and holding his energy sword right under his right ribs. He focused and channeled power towards his legs, kicking off the floor and denting the metal under. Fragarach arched back around to chase after him, and Nuada began running towards Saint Germain, pulling his right arm in for a powerful punch. Nuada could see from above that Saint Germain ran right into a pincer attack; Fragarach coming from behind, and he in front. Armed with only his fancy sword, Saint Germain would not be able to stop both blows. Even if by some miracle he evaded both, Fragarach and Argetlam would reconnect safely, and he would be re-armed to attack Saint Germain. Saint Germain knew this, but there was one thing he knew that Nuada did not. The scene the two are in is just as comfortable for him as it was for Nuada, and as such, he could pull out more tricks from his old toolkit without worry.
As he dashed towards the Celtic God, Saint Germain reached his right hand behind him, his irises turning bright grey. With as much effort as he could afford, Saint Germain pushed out kinetic energy that collided with Fragarach, sending it veering off-course. The push accelerated Saint Germain a little more, and he got passed Nuada's range of attack. Saint Germain swung up from his right to the left; Nuada panicked and leaned back. His sword cleaved through Nuada's chainmail and armor and flesh like a hot knife through butter. Blood sputtered out of the wound as Nuada fell back on the ground. Saint Germain stepped forward and prepared to stab down at the injured Nuada. He thrusted; Nuada reached out the stub of his left arm. Fragarach slammed into his arm, spinning him out of the way of the thrust. Nuada mid-spin swung past his head as Saint Germain came into his sight. The blade found its target, cutting through Saint Germain's robes and into his stomach. Blood began to pour as Saint Germain cupped the wound with his free hand. The wound stung under his palm, but was not as bad as he thought. Nuada's cut failed to disembowel him.
Nuada kicked his legs up and spun his waist. The momentum spun his body around, and he returned to his feet. Sweat began to pour from his brow as he squinted his eyes in pain. Both old warriors failed to land a killing blow and were in worse shape than they hoped. Saint Germain raised his sword at Nuada and pointed the tip at him, ready to go. Nuada took Fragarach back in his right hand and matched it. Mirror images of each other, they stared each other down. Time was running out in this round, and neither wished to lose the momentum. They crept towards each other; their swords extended outwards. What seconds felt like hours. Nuada's grip on Fragarach was not what it was, but he fought against the exhaustion and pain to maintain it. Saint Germain was not much better; the wounds he had not healed earlier combined with his new ones ate away at him. Their blades got closer. Desperation set in. Closer….closer…
Saint Germain tapped Nuada's blade to the outside and swung inwards toward Nuada's neck. Nuada stepped back, avoiding the cut, and responded with a leftward slash from the outside. Saint Germain caught it with the strong of his blade, but failed to see Nuada's step-in and closely-held clenched left fist. Nuada fired a quick left punch to Saint Germain's wounded stomach. The blow landed, and Saint Germain stumbled back a few feet. Nuada walked forward and held Fragarach above his left shoulder. Saint Germain could see the slash coming and prepared himself, managing to regain his footing and balance. Nuada swung…and threw Fragarach down the pit. Another left punch sailed from Nuada and collided with Saint Germain's right ribs. He stumbled back more and dropped his sword, but Nuada caught him by the right shoulder and gripped him tightly. He pulled Saint Germain down and placed his right hand on Saint Germain's back. A whirring sound came from below them. Saint Germain focused once more. He placed both hands on Nuada's chest and flexed his back and core muscles. Kinetic force fired from his hands and barreled into Nuada, pushing him back and releasing his grip. Now free, Saint Germain leaned back as quickly as he could and fell. Fragarach, spinning so fast it generated heat, cleaved through the bridge right where Saint Germain was and sailed back to land neatly in Nuada's right hand. Both fighters were sprawled out on the floor, barely able to move. "CUT!"
The tower slowly vanished into the void, leaving the battered and weary Fighters safe for the time being. The walls started to break away and lose their color. The bridges above and below the two vanished into the air. The only one holding firm was the one where the two Fighters had their bout. Nuada managed to sit up as he caught his breath. He sheathed Fragarach and hunched over a little. "Fine. I'll hear you out." Nuada said hesitantly.
"That must have been a hard pill to swallow!" Saint Germain said, laughing. He then groaned from the pain.
Nuada chuckled a little. "Out with it."
"You've already seen what Humanity is capable of. Even in just the first four Rounds. The scary thing is? We're not even the strongest. There are monsters out there that make us look like fools, flailing around in this arena. And yet, for all our strength, you never considered asking for support from Humanity's finest in the coming war with the Fomor and Balor. Why?"
Nuada clicked his tongue. "Simple. I don't trust you. I don't trust many. Most Gods aren't worth the dirt on my boots, but they're far easier to read than Humans. Humans…are despicable, weak, and cowardly. Any sin that exists within Valhalla is magnified tenfold on Midgard. Were Balor to declare war, I have no doubt many of your people would follow him into battle, convinced with empty promises of wealth and leisure." Nuada rose and stared down at his opponent. "And you…are everything I despise in Humanity."
"Moi?" Saint Germain asked dramatically.
"You…are a liar. You abuse the sacred trust of your peers to get what you want, damning them all and throwing them away once convenient. It must be easy for you to play roles in this battle, since you're nothing but a character who lacks character. That's why I never asked for assistance from outside my homeland or my people, save for one. We will survive and be victorious without the liability of deviants like you." Nuada did not lie. His true feelings lay bare. His anger and bitterness towards everything outside his home. Many in the Human audience sat in silence, taking in his words. The Gods themselves sat silent, now seeing why Nuada was feared by so many and why his council coveted.
"Ah…so to be in your good graces, we must be pillars of morality and duty?" Saint Germain asked sarcastically.
"No." Saint Germain leaned his head up, his expression puzzled. "Only genuine. It's only when one is truly genuine in their words and actions do I trust them." Nuada pointed his left thumb at his heart. "I am a King. I am surrounded by enemies on all sides. It is only through my wit, strength, and most importantly, my character that I survived. No physical or mental feat matters without true character. I won't deny that who I am rubs many the wrong way. Because I don't do niceties, many potential allies are now rivals, or worse. However, they'd be my enemies one day, regardless of what I did. Better to know now than later when they can betray you."
Maybe it was the injuries messing with him. Saint Germain could not explain it. For the briefest moment, Nuada took on the visage of a large, smiling, burly man in armor. His red hair was cut short, but his moustache and beard were unkempt, likely from wearing his helmet. Most notable were his fierce blue eyes. Memories of old days, old battles, good days, and some sad memories returned. The best one was the day they met. The worst was when he lost him. His heart broke for a moment, and he lay his head back on the ground. He's just like you, old chap…"Nuada…"
"What?"
"You're right. I'm a liar." Nuada's left eyebrow raised. "For years…so many years… I lied. I made up names and my history. I learned countless things and used them without hesitation. Sometimes I enjoyed pulling the wool over people's eyes!" He laughed a little. "However, all of it was to serve my brother-in-arms and his son. I don't care if you believe me." Saint Germain sat up and got his feet under him. Struggling against the pain, he stood. "I will keep my promise to him. And I can only do that with what you know. If you give me what I need, we both win. The man I seek to save, while imperfect, is the epitome of loyalty, character, and strength. He is a light which many flock to, and many more fear. What do you say?" Saint Germain bowed deeply, trying to keep his balance. "Will you help me, King Nuada?"
The whole audience was in shock.
"What was Saint Germain doing!?" A human in the audience roared.
Several Chief Gods in attendance eyed Nuada, waiting for his response. Some were already secretly preparing to retaliate and punish him for what he might do, and Nuada knew that. "You're seeking forbidden knowledge, Saint Germain. You know the price for what you seek?"
Saint Germain kept his bow, but he raised his head to lock eyes with Nuada. The once piercing blue was now a deep black. "I have already paid the worst price imaginable."
Nuada smiled a little. "Then you can have it, if you can kill me."
Saint Germain stood up. He looked at his watch; 12:42. Less than a third. He pondered his options, and one would most likely work, but he needed the right stage for it.
"Göndul, we're running low. Depending on the next stage, I may need to run solo for a moment." Saint Germain whispered.
"Are you sure?" Göndul asked.
"Not at all, but I'm burning through more power than I wanted to. We need a big surge for the final play. To make that happen, I might even have to give my reserves to you."
"Saint Germain, that's too risky. We don't even know what Nuada can do."
"No…but with this we may."
Göndul appeared next to Saint Germain, floating in the air to his left. She placed her hand on his left shoulder, looking into his eyes, smiling softly. "If that is what you believe, then I trust you." A small lump got caught in Saint Germain's throat. What could he say to her, to show her how much those words meant? How often had he heard them from the targets of his plans and tricks? How they regretted saying them? Would she? Saint Germain lightly grasped her hand in his right, slowed his breathing down, and smiled. The White dome once more faded away, and the floor beneath them began to melt and turn to mush. Thunder rumbled in the distance as night and overcast clouds appeared overhead. Small wooden houses with metal roofs formed around them, with no sign of light or life among them. Something began to fall on Nuada and Saint Germain's heads. Nuada looked up to see rainfall, and it grew heavier and heavier with each passing second. The floor beneath them finally gave way to muddy streets. His feet sank into the mud a centimeter or two as the rain continued to fall. An ominous, overwhelming feeling began to fill the air. Nuada and Saint Germain stood apart from each other as the rain drenched them. Saint Germain reached over to his watch once more, but reached over to the crown, pinched it, and pulled it out.
"Nuada, looks like this is the perfect time. You called me a liar and a trickster. You're absolutely right. But for the next few minutes, you'll have the real me to contend with. No tricks, no fancy words, no presentation. Just me. Get ready." Saint Germain twisted the crown up, the minute-hand went in reverse and stopped at 12:30. That's all I have to give. Now time for my first trump card.
Saint Germain pushed the crown back in. At that moment, darkness erupted from Saint Germain's body, flooding out into the street. Nuada drew Fragarach instinctively, but the barrier separating the two blocked the shadows. "What madness is this?" Nuada whispered. As if pulled by a vacuum, the shadows receded to the barycenter where Saint Germain stood. A dark mass formed from the shadows, its shape vaguely human. Its large arms hung just above the ground, its head draconic in shape, but no mouth, nose, or even ears. Its body pulsated, like energy bounced around within it, trying to get out. "You can't be…"
The shadows were now fully absorbed back into the pitch-black creature, its pale-white emotionless eyes staring at Nuada. "So you know what I am?" Saint Germain said, his voice reverberating.
"I do…but what a miserable life to live. No wonder you tried to be something else…since no one wants to be a Cambion."
"You may have a point, but I don't need your pity. Now…it's time for you to give me what I need, and die."
Over a millennium ago
In a deep, barren cave, a single knight bearing nothing but a torch in his left hand and sword in his right made his way. Deeper and deeper he went, marveling at the cave's vastness. How did such a place come to be under his homeland? Did something dig it, or was it natural? Despite his wonder, he kept focused and continued, keeping an eye on his surroundings to the best of his ability. What he needed, supposedly, was here and knew that it was both valuable and dangerous.
Onward he walked. The sound of his footsteps, torch, and armor clanging against itself was his only company in the dreary cave. His helmet made his scalp itch, but he knew better than to remove it in unfamiliar territory. "I hope you're down here…" The knight whispered under his breath. His journey down into the vast cavern was not one for pure leisure, as he may have wanted; something was down here. Something he needed for his plans to come to fruition. Whether it was willing or not to help him, that was ultimately out of his hands.
In the distance, sticking out from the dark, was a soft purple light. He could not tell what it came from, but it was the first sign he might be getting close. Slowly, he continued his march towards it, hopeful but still cautious about what may be in store for him. The light grew larger and larger with each passing moment. Fear and excitement filled his soul, his heart raced, and his palms became sweaty. He continued, his pace getting faster. The light is closer. He soon could make out the source: a deep pit in the floor. From it, the purple light glowed softly. He came to the edge, but stopped. Instinct kicked in. Something was amiss, but he could not tell. He looked to his left, then his right, behind him, and then up. Nothing, or at least nothing he could see illuminated by the glow or the light of his torch. He continued to search, but nothing stood out. He breathed deeply and stepped back from the glowing pit.
"What a sight. A beautiful glowing sight, one that I'm sure caught the eyes and hearts of many." The knight turned and aimed his sword's point into the darkness behind him. "Alas, it seems it's not what I sought, is it?" The knight asked.
Two large white orbs manifested where he pointed his sword. He could not see it, but he could feel the air displaced. A large, massive figure appeared behind him, its eyes bearing down on him. "It never is." The figure said, its booming deep voice echoing off the cave's walls and ceiling.
"No…but you are." The knight sheathed his sword.
"Here to slay me?" The figure asked, a soft chuckle hidden in its question.
"No. I doubt I'd succeed there, to be frank. Caught here between you and what I assume is just a fancy hole, my chance of survival is rather…unlikely. Could I try? Yes. Would I? No."
The creature's white eyes squinted. "Then why come? Surely stories of treasure brought you here. Or at least the stories of the monster guarding it."
"Stories, I'm sure you spread, no doubt. Otherwise, how else would you fill your time?"
The creature chuckled. "A smart one. Not too smart since you're here but smart enough to know a trick when you see one."
The knight chuckled as well. "When you're a prince, you have to be able to see through these kinds of things."
"Ah, I am in the presence of royalty. Where are my manners?" The creature mockingly asked.
"Spare me. I have enough sycophants in court; I don't need another. No. Rather, I need you."
The creature's eyes widened and raised. "You need me? Human, you're smarter than most, but that's probably the most asinine thing I've heard. You came down here, put your life in my hands, all for me? Pray tell, what for?"
"The truth?"
"I acknowledge the irony, but yes."
"Fair. My homeland is in constant war. My eldest brother is dead from assassination, while the second oldest now holds the crown. I wish to fight for him and protect our lands. Our enemy is great, and nothing is certain. To ensure victory, I came here to ask of you your aid."
"But you wish to use me? Am I a tool to be used and then discarded?"
"No. I seek your aid and camaraderie. You are a citizen of this land, too. And as such, it is your natural and divine right to protect it."
"Natural? Divine?" The creature leaned down and came level with the prince, its massive eyes dwarfing the armored man. "I'm neither. I'm not a citizen either. I am here because of your citizens and their fear of me."
"Then leave with me. I don't fear you, and any who threatens you will deal with me."
The creature was perplexed. This human knew who he was, knew what he had done. He probably knew of the contents of the pit behind him. Yet he stood firm and offered ludicrous ideas. Only one thing could prove his sincerity.
"Don't move and do not break eye contact with me. If you do, in the pit you go."
"Why?"
"I can gaze into the souls of humans. If you are as genuine in your words as in your thoughts, I will humor you."
"How long do you need?"
"Not long. Ready?"
The knight removed his helmet, revealing short red hair and the makings of a moustache on a youthful face. He rubbed his blue eyes to make sure he had no debris in them, amusing the creature. They locked eyes. "Ready."
The creature opened its eyes wide and focused them on the prince's soul. Bright light illuminated him, save for a few dim areas. Words and memories poured out from him, flowing around the creature's vision. He then found what he sought: the one thing that the prince could not hide. His motives and desires are on full display. Everything in front of him displayed what this young, foolish knight thought of him and formed into a single sentence.
If it does exist there, it's got to be lonely. Wonder if it needs a friend.
The visions stopped. The creature leaned back, breaking eye contact. It did not know why. It must be the stupidity of the situation. He just began to laugh. Laugh its booming laugh that echoed off the cave's surfaces. It was not a malevolent one. The prince could tell. It was…joyful. "That's it!? You thought I was lonely!?"
"…Maybe?"
"And all that talk earlier, your real aim was to ask for my friendship?"
"Am I asking for too much?"
The creature sighed. It began to shrink. It's once massive presence deflated down into a human-shaped shadow with blank white eyes. "I don't know how to respond, honestly. I have not met a soul like you before."
"So does this mean you'll join me?"
"I've been wasting my time away here for centuries, so why not. It may be a good time for a while."
A wide smile grew on the prince's face. "Fantastic! Shall we be off then?"
"Hold up. Before we go, we need to get to know each other before we start this venture. I did not glean through your whole soul, so there are things I don't know about you."
"That's fair. Where do you wish to start?"
"Easy. What's your name?"
"Mine? I am Ythyr, Third Son of Constantine III. What's yours?"
"Don't know. Never got one."
Ythyr rubbed his chin and looked to the side. "Well, we can't work with that. Cannot go around calling you the Shadow or some nonsense like that."
"Do you have one in mind?"
"I do. Hear me out on this one." Ythyr smiled. "What do you think of the name 'Myrddin?'"
Finds me holed up in a cave, thinks he can befriend me, and tries to name me. Good lord, man, I'm not a dog. 'Myrddin,' he says. The creature thought. He then remembered the light glowing from his soul. The creature sighed. "Fine, guess I'm Myrddin now."
"Nothing wrong with that! It suits you well!"
"Sure it does."
"Well then, Myrddin, shall we go? The world's a whole lot bigger than this cave. Not scared, are you?"
"Already with this?" Myrddin could not help but enjoy the moment, even if he refused to let Ythyr know. "Fine, let's get out of here. But first…" Myrddin reached behind Ythyr. The purple light flew out of the pit and into Myrddin's outstretched claw. His body began to ripple and change. His pitch-black body took on a myriad of colors before settling onto the same shade of purple as the pit. The shadows stretched and formed into a robe. Myrddin's claws formed into hands and feet bound in fingerless gloves and brown sandals. His draconic head shrank as white hair grew, and his face became angular and aged. Pale skin replaced shadow, and before Ythyr stood the visage of an old man, staring back at him with the same blue eyes he had.
"Can't be walking out there like that, so I pulled some things from your memories. What do you think?" Myrddin flashed his wry smile. Ythyr smiled back.
"I think it's perfect. So shall we start this melding of the minds?"
"Let's."