Manu
Is that Thoth's signal? Set's inner voice asked.
"Looks like it." Set chuckled a little.
What's so funny?
"Nothing. Just noting the irony." He descended towards the building the light shone from. It was a tall, marble fortress reminiscent of Hermopolis. Two rows of pillars stretched out from the fortress's entrance, each pillar pristine marble that reflected the harsh sun's rays. Set landed between two pillars just outside the entrance, his gaze scanning the wall and the large twin stone doors. There's almost no shade whatsoever. What obnoxious behavior. Thank Heaven Apollo, Amaterasu, and the other Solar Gods have the decency to not pull stunts like this…actually, maybe Apollo would for a few seconds. But never this bad-
You're getting nervous. Set breathed deeply and exhaled. It's normal. We've waited so long for this, it's almost too good to be true.
"It might be." The doors slowly opened. "I do not know if we can pull this off as well as I expected."
We have to. For those we love. An arm stuck out of the crack between the doors and waved them in. Set walked through the fort's entrance, feeling the air cool substantially. Standing in front of him, dressed in garb reminiscent of a Pharaoh save for a crown shaped like an Ibis' head sitting atop a smattering of graying hair, was an older God. His skin looked dried and tanned from the sun, and his green eyes looked dried and tired.
Thoth
God of the Moon, Wisdom, Arts, and Science
(Egyptian Pantheon)
"Did he see you?" Thoth asked.
I'll tell you what to say and do. Do not go off script. His inner voice said.
Understood. "I am not being any more scorched than I was outside, so I think I am okay," Set answered. "Where is everyone?"
"Inside. They're waiting for you."
"Is everything prepared?"
Thoth nodded. "Osiris is prepared. He's already made arrangements for everyone down in Helheim. The only issue is-"
"Isis."
Thoth nodded. "Isis. She's still in Ra's court along with Nephthys, surrounded by his children, servants, and spies. I haven't heard from either in a few weeks, and Osiris' part in the deal requires Isis' safety and delivery. Otherwise, we're doomed before we even start."
"You do not think Ra would go back on his deal, do you?"
"I would not put it past him. Without Osiris around, Ra's plans have been put on hold. He needs her as a bargaining chip to eventually wear him down." Thoth shook his head and exhaled sharply. "Last time the two met for negotiations, Osiris almost considered returning if it meant being reunited with her. Gods, he hasn't seen her in seven hundred years, and I can't do a damn thing to help."
"The fact that she is still alive and this tumultuous peace is even possible was because of you." He walked over and patted Thoth on the left shoulder. "You maintained the precarious balance of this Pantheon through your wit and skill. There is a reason why you are considered the Greatest Mediator in the Heavens."
"A lot of good it does Heaven if we're stuck here. Ra cut Manu off from the rest of Heaven through a spatial rift. If any of us try to cross it, he sicks his kids on us."
"Petty, but expected. Which is why I have come prepared for that issue." He turned away and walked towards the back of the fort. "Shall we go save our family and country?"
Valhalla Arena
"What is this technique called again?" Ghulam asked, crouching down and placing the edge of his left fist on the ground.
It's called Tachiai. It's a technique done at the start of a Sumo match. Radgridr said in his mind.
"Huh…I like it! Makes me feel powerful! Like a cannon about to fire!" He glared at Takemikazuchi. "Hey!" He could barely contain his mirth. "I'm waiting here! Are we doing this or what!?"
Takemikazuchi sighed. He's copying my Sumo…how? My Harite is one of my most-practiced techniques. Yet he fired it perfectly…something's off. It's not natural like the old Swordsman copying Futsu's Iai through technical understanding. Takemikazuchi crouched down, mirroring Ghulam's Tachiai. No point in overthinking. I won't figure out what unless I go. Takemikazuchi placed his right fist down and went still. "Just so you know, it's only when both Rikishi place both fists down does it start."
"Aaaaaaah…I see." Ghulam's right fist clenched. Takemikazuchi could hear his knuckles popping as he tightened his grip. Ghulam slowly lowered his right hand. "So once it taps the ground, we just go?"
"Exactly." Takemikazuchi smiled a little, but clenched his teeth.
Ghulam hammered his fist down, sending some dirt flying. He and Takemikazuchi dashed into each other, their bodies colliding and dispersing a wave of air in all directions. Those closest to the area felt their ears pop and erupt in pain. "EXCELLENT!" Ghulam roared through gritted teeth. Let's see how this goes! He reached down and grabbed Takemikazuchi's mawashi, then slipped his head under Takemikazuchi's right arm. Not a bad time to be short! He thought. He moved quickly: Takemikazuchi couldn't follow his pivot fast enough.
He slipped under me!? Ghulam was now behind him, his grip firmly on the mawashi.
"My tuuuuuuurn!" Ghulam lifted Takemikazuchi off the ground, turned, and threw him down. "Okuri-tsuriotoshi!" Takemikazuchi's left shoulder hit the ground first, and pain shot up through his body. Takemikazuchi shot back up immediately in time for Ghulam to slam into him again. "Want another!?" Both regained their grips.
"Only if you," Takemikazuchi gripped Ghulam's langoti and swept his right leg, knocking Ghulam's feet out from under him. He turned to his right and threw Ghulam down, slamming him on his right side into the dirt. "Can take what you give! Nimaigeri!" Ghulam's bones rattled upon impact, but he shot back up to his feet. The two rushed in once more. Takemikazuchi fired a Harite mid-dash. Ghulam slipped his head to the left and fired his own at Takemikazuchi's solar plexus. It found home, but Ghulam felt a slight pain surge up his arm.
What the hell!? That felt like I smacked a steel wall!
Takemikazuchi looped his arms under Ghulam's outstretched arm and stepped his left foot in between his legs. He stepped his right foot away and twisted his hips to the right, pulling Ghulam with him as he leaned down. "Tottari!" Takemikazuchi slowly wrenched Ghulam's arm at the shoulder joint. You thought striking my stomach would work!? A Rikishi's pride is not only their legs, but their core! That's why you never try to Harite the stomach in Sumo!
Ghulam crouched down to lower his center of gravity. Guess it's time to switch it up! Ghulam placed his left palm flat on the ground. Lowering his body as close as he could without touching the ground, Ghulam tucked his legs into his chest and fired them back out; his left leg now right behind Takemikazuchi's knees and right leg at the top of Takemikazuchi's thighs. Ghulam braced caught right arm and twisted his legs. "Jangh Ghira!" Takemikazuchi's knees buckled, and his thighs were thrown back, sending him backwards towards the dirt. His back slammed down, and he lost his grip, letting Ghulam's arm slither out of his hold. Ghulam broke away and stood back up. Takemikazuchi rolled forward and got back to his feet. Both breathed heavily as sweat mixed with the dirt caked over their bodies.
"Gotta admit," Ghulam yelled. "Sumo's pretty fun!"
"You think so?" Takemikazuchi roared back, smiling. "That Kushti of yours is hard to break!" Not only that, but his Sumo is nothing to joke about. It's like I'm fighting myself! Wait…A thought popped into his head. I'm not fighting myself…Oh, I get it. I have an inkling of what you're pulling. Electricity began crackling off his shoulders and back. I need to test it.
"Not going to shock me, are you? Dare say it's sad if you have to resort to that!"
"Takemikazuchi is starting to emanate lightning!" Heimdall yelled. "The frenzy in the arena's about to go into overdrive!"
"Not how I do things, but" More bolts arched across his frame. "I am a Thunder God, and Sumo
is my bolt!" He crouched down. "Inazuma…Hi." Takemikazuchi dashed forward, his body blurring as he went.
Ghulam crouched. "Here I go!" He burst forward and fired his palm forward. "Hari-" Takemikazuchi's palm smashed into his face well before Ghulam's reached its max reach. Ghulam's head did not snap back, but his mind shook in his skull. Takemikazuchi reached his right arm over the dazed Ghulam's left shoulder and grabbed his langot. Gripping tightly, he lifted and spun Ghulam mid-air as he tossed him down. "Uwatenage!" Ghulam hit the ground with a nasty thud and bounced up. Takemikazuchi closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around Ghulam's head and spun to the right, throwing him down again. "Kubinage!" Ghulam hit the ground, neck and shoulders first, bouncing away. Takemikazuchi blitzed after him again, stopping right next to Ghulam as he descended. Takemikazuchi threaded his left arm under Ghulam's right arm and gripped his langot again. He twisted his body down and to the right, smashing Ghulam into the dirt. "Shitatenage!" He maintained his grip on the langot and stepped forward. He twisted his body back to the left and snapped back to the right, lifting Ghulam off the ground. "Shitatedashinage!" Takemikazuchi snapped his left arm forward and freed the langot, firing Ghulam straight into the wall. His body caved in the stone, creating a massive crater. Ghulam's body plopped down into the dirt. The Pehlwans in the audience looked on in horror as the electricity arching off of Takemikazuchi's body subsided. He breathed heavily as his sweat mixed with the dirt caking his body. Damn it…Hi can usually last me six throws…I must have used up too much stamina earlier. He eyed Ghulam's body from a distance. That's what I thought…you weren't just copying my moves…you copied me! That Harite was at the same speed as the one I threw at the start of the match. His Völund, maybe? He heard a groan. Oh, come on! You're still alive!? Ghulam sprang up from the dirt and shook his head.
"Whoo! That was a ride!" He said, slowly rolling his shoulders. Nothing dislocated. He slowly rolled his neck left and right. All good.
I'm sorry, Ghulam. He sped up his attack speed. Radgridr said. My power only copies things the first time it sees them. For me to copy that move again…
It would eat up time, and he can probably do it faster again. No point in worrying about it. We'll just adjust to it naturally.
I'll leave it to you, then. She said, her voice filling with confidence.
"Hey, Takemikazuchi!"
"Just say Take!" He answered with a small tinge of irritation in his mirth.
"Take! That…was incredible!" His brown eyes lit up. "What explosive power and speed! What torque and hip rotation!"
Takemikazuchi blinked a few times. "You're…odd."
Leo's Workshop
"Hey, uh…why is everyone shocked Ghulam did that palm thing?" Alvitr asked, stepping and thrusting her right palm forward. Her foot stomped the ground, sending out a small wave. Johannes eyed her.
"It's because it's a Sumo technique. The one Takemikazuchi was using." Johannes answered. What have you been having Alvitr do, Li? He thought. "More importantly, he did it in such a way that it was an exact copy, right down to footing and torque. Unless Ghulam's a genius out of a comic or something, that's impossible."
"He's not," Li added. "He's a Pehlwan. He's never needed strikes. He's probably never even learned them."
"But it's just a palm strike."
"Not really, but you wouldn't know simply due to inexperience." Johannes continued. "It's not something you pick up on unless you've been exposed to martial conflict constantly, right, Li?" Li nodded. "The human body is, despite its frailty, a magnificent piece of bio-mechanics. When we perform things as simple as walking, carrying something, climbing, or even eating and drinking, our bodies have a natural form of doing it efficiently. However, such knowledge is only found in self-awareness, research, good habits, and repetition. If we do these things wrong, it causes small amounts of damage that build over time, but if done correctly," Li stomped the ground, making the floor shake and everything around them reverberate. "You not only remove excess movements and conserve energy, but the power and speed of your actions are amplified. It's the difference between throwing a palm out to stop someone, and throwing the Harite Takemikazuchi uses."
"Is that what's going on, then?"
"Exactly," Li added. "I do not fear the man who has practiced 10,000 kicks once, but I fear the man who has practiced one kick 10,000 times. There's no telling how many times Takemikazuchi has done Harite to make it as powerful and efficient as it is."
I'm getting the feeling they're overthinking this, but whatever…Alvitr thought.
"With that said, it's because of Radgridr he can copy it perfectly, right?" Johannes asked.
"Yes," Reginleif added. "Radgridr's Rune means 'The Bossy.' She's a natural at taking in details. Give her enough time to observe something, and she can replicate it. I'm guessing her Völund with Ghulam lets her impart the Sumo she's observing onto Ghulam, turning him into a Pehlwan and a Rikishi."
"Heh…guess that means she's turning him into a video game character," Alvitr said. The other three looked at her, confused. "What!? It's true! It's why she always wins! She takes characters and researches them to use them! How's this any different?"
"Huh…that kind of makes sense," Johannes said. But what's a video game?
Valhalla Arena
Up in the stands, Muhammad and Imam burst out laughing. Several of the Pehlwans and Rikishi looked at them with looks ranging from scared to confused. "Now that's my boy!" Mohammad yelled.
"Good grief, he's still a nut!" Imam added. He looked around at his peers, noticing their looks. "What? You're surprised? This is Ghulam! Guy's a wrestling nut. Doesn't matter if he throws, gets thrown, wins, or loses. He's in absolute heaven right now!"
"Your brother's an odd one," Onogawa said. "But I think I see what you mean. Would only make sense as a wrestling nut, he'd pick up Sumo so easily."
"Actually, that makes zero sense." Everyone looked at him. "I did call him that, but I meant he's a Kushti nut. There's nothing within Kushti he does not know, but that's because he practiced it more than anyone since he's a slow learner. How he's using Sumo so well is beyond me."
"And the differences are too drastic for it to be easy," Shiganosuke added. "Sumo is designed for large men to charge at one another with power and speed in quick, short bursts to strike, pull, push, or throw. Its ruleset and conditioning are too different as well, and Sumo was not built around stamina or ground tactics like your Kushti."
"Yep," Muhammad added. "Somehow, Ghulam looks talented using Sumo, but something's helping him. Eh, I don't care."
"Why?"
"Simple," Imam said. "Ghulam's happy again. For the first time in a long time. He's finally happy again, and what a privilege to see it again."
Lahore, Punjab
Pakistan
(1955)
In the pitch-black darkness of early morning within the city of Lahore, at a meager akhara nestled within the city's many buildings and streets, Ghulam began his day as he did nearly every day of his life. He stood tall for a brief moment, then reached down to the ground and kicked his feet back, balancing his weight across all four limbs. He lowered his core near the ground as his head shot up in the air before reversing the action to stand again. Danda, and five thousand of them every day. The sun slowly crept up on the horizon, turning the dark sky a dark blue. This is still mine. Nothing can take this from me. He chanted in his mind. As he hit the last one, he paused for a brief moment, breathing heavily. This is still mine. Nothing will take this from me. He squatted down, keeping his back straight. He rose onto the balls of his feet, letting his hips and calves touch before springing back up without pause. Bethak, and five thousand of them every day. He had done this same routine so many times, he never had to count. The perfect count could be felt by his muscles, joints, and bones when it was hit. The sun continued to rise, the sky now showing different hues of dark blue and the small slivers of orange and pink on the horizon. He could hear the engines of cars, carts, and motorcycles outside as they started the morning circuit of bustling traffic.
He stopped right at five thousand as always. He looked back towards the wall, his eyes taking in the menagerie of hanging pictures. He walked over to the far left one, eyeing a young body, head clean-shaven, next to a tall, dignified man in a long-sleeved shirt, clean slacks, pointy black polished shoes, and a turban. His mustache was styled in a way that caught Ghulam's eye and made him smile a little each time he looked in the mirror.
Jodhpur, Punjab
(1888)
"Wait, this is the kid?" The man asked, standing at the entrance of an akhara, the sun trying to beam down on him between the branches and leaves of trees around him. Standing in front of him were two of his four guards, dressed nearly as immaculately as him with rifles hanging on their backs, and an older, stout man with a small child in a langot standing in front of the three.
Bhawani Singh
Maharaja of Datia
( British India)
"Yes, your majesty." One of the guards answered. "Ghulam Butt. Out of the Four Hundred Pehlwans today, he placed in the top fifteen."
"...At ten years old."
"Yes, your majesty. It makes sense if you consider he's the son of the former great Pehlwan Muhammad Aziz Butt."
"Oh, he's Muhammad's boy? That's a name I haven't heard in a bit. Heard he passed not too long ago."
"Yes, your majesty." The stout man answered. "After he passed, Ghulam came under our tutelage. He moves from akhara to akhara per his father's wishes to train and become a Pehlwan."
"Huh. No interest in a formal education?"
"We tried…but he's not interested. Ghulam would always say he's not good with things like school and such, and would just go train."
Bhawani knelt down to eye-level with Ghulam. "You don't think you need an education?"
"I'm a Pehlwan," Ghulam answered. "I don't need anything else."
The guards and the coach reared back in response, their eyes wide. "Ghulam, that's the-!"
"Stop," Bhawani raised his right hand, a wry smile growing across his face. "This is all you need?" Ghulam shook his head. "Send this boy to my home, and reach out to more akharas." He looked at the others. "Ghulam already knows where he's going and what he needs. Let's make it happen."
Ghulam ran his finger and thumb across his graying mustache, smiling a little. Should've realized you would take what I said the wrong way. You never did like any of the things the Brits brought over and forced upon us. I just like Kushti, but to you, it was our culture. Our identity. I wish I had figured that out sooner.
He walked a little over to the right, staring at another picture. In it, Ghulam, Imam, and two others stood side-by-side, arms intertwined across each other's shoulders, smiling with Ghulam and Imam in the middle. To his left was a taller, barrel-chested, clean-shaven man, his hair combed to the left, and to his right another man of similar build. Back when I tried to conquer the world, many refused my challenge. You two, however, were some of the few who accepted my challenges back then.
London, England
(1910)
"Ghulam threw him again!" The announcer roared through his microphone." Doc Roller is reeling from the attack! I don't think he's fighting back- wait! It's over! The ref is calling! Ghulam has defeated the United States wrestling monster Doc Ben Roller!" Ghulam was in front of the table, pinning down Doc Roller, Roller's face contorted with pain and exhaustion. Ghulam's face was bloodied, and his body was racked with exhaustion. He stood up and roared with joy at the announcement. Doc Roller rose slowly, just as Ghulam reached out his hand. Doc sighed and smiled at the gesture, taking his hand and lifting himself. Behind them, another man walked up to the two and patted them both on the back.
"Now that's how you do it!" He said.
Maurice Deriaz
(Switzerland)
"Makes my upcoming fight with you not seem that terrible, Ghulam!" He added.
"Don't worry! It will be!" Ghulam retorted, laughing. Someone tapped them on their backs. The three turned around to see a reporter holding a camera. Ghulam looked at his rivals. "Want to?"
Both nodded and took their positions next to Ghulam. The picture was snapped, and the rest was history.
I wish we stayed in contact more, but oh well. Ghulam thought. He looked at another picture just below it. It was him with another wrestler, tall and chiseled, with an equally glorious mustache. You…God, I wish I could fight you again.
Patiala, Punjab
(1928)
"Zbyszko is racing towards Ghulam! He's not going to let Ghulam get the momentum like he did back in London!" The commentator spoke through his microphone. Zbyszko slammed into Ghulam, but could not move him.
My God, how are you still this damn strong!? Zbyszko thought. It's been nearly twenty years…and you're still as strong now as back then!? Wait…Ghulam slipped his left arm over Zbyszko's right arm and his right under Zbyszko's left. He linked his hands, twisted to his right, and pulled him over his body. You're even stronger!? Zbyszko slammed into the ground, and the match was called. Ghulam jumped up and raised his arms to the sky. Zbyszko looked at him in awe as he stood up. You're not a man anymore. Felt like fighting a tiger! He smiled and wrapped his arm over Ghulam's shoulders. "Well done, Tiger. You got me again." Ghulam smiled and patted Zbyszko on the back as the cameras took their shots.
But time…time just doesn't play fair. Ghulam thought. He looked to his right, eyeing pictures of himself surrounded by young men and women who bore a resemblance to him. Some by their brow, some by their smile.
Lahore, Punjab
(1945)
Ghulam sat alone in his room, looking down at the prayer rug beneath him. He could hear his wife and daughters in the next room, crying. He could not bring himself to join them. He knelt and closed his eyes.
We…tried our best…His eyes began to water. He…fought so damn hard…The image of a young boy running around the house as Ghulam chased him down. Even in his fifties, he had no issue racing after his son. Jalaluddin was a good boy and a sweet boy to his mother and sisters. He shuddered as his tears dropped on the rug. We knew it could happen, but why? Why did you take my baby boy from me?
Lahore, Punjab
(1947)
"Ghulam! Where are they!?" A man in the small mob of twenty or so in front of him yelled. "Those Hindi Bastards must die!"
Ghulam stood silently, his frustrated glare aimed at the people.
"Ghulam, those bastards kicked us out of our homes and attacked our Mosques!" A woman yelled. "My son was in one when they broke and destroyed it!" Her sorrow and fury were mixed with her crying. "They are taking everything from us!"
Ghulam's body rose and sank with each breath. "They took your sons, too! How many more of your family must die before they're satisfied!?" Another man roared.
Ghulam looked up at the sky, slowly darkening from dusk. He looked back down at the mob, feeling the wooden door on his back. He knew who was behind the door, and he could not move. "I don't know." The mob began to shout at him. His glare intensified. "Do you think me a man who would sell out his countrymen!?" He roared. The mob went silent. "The Brits leave, and everything falls into madness! Is this what we're to become!? Just as bad as them!? Was their yoke on our necks the only thing keeping us from killing each other!?" The mob shuddered. "We struggled through too much together! Many of you trained with me in the akharas! Many of the people you wish to kill trained with us! Does none of that mean anything!?"
"But they want to kill us-"
"Then they are no better than the Brits! And so are we if we fall to such darkness! We did not toil and struggle all these years to throw it away!" An aura began to radiate from his aged body. "We…are a people united by our love…for the things that made our people strong. Like Kushti…" He recalled those years. The faces. The good and bad times. "We cannot let those things be forgotten, for if we do, we'll just fight, and fight, and fight each other until there's nothing left. And they'll be right about us." He sighed and looked down at his bare feet, his aura fading. "Please go home. I'm begging you." He looked at them all; their hearts tore at his pained expression. Silently, they turned away and left.
My sons, gone. My rivals, gone. The Akharas I grew up in, gone. My homeland, torn to pieces. He coughed a little and covered his mouth. Even my health is fading. He sighed as he scanned the rest of the pictures, the memories of those days filing in and out of his mind as his eyes looked over each photo. I have no one left to challenge. My Kushti can no longer provide for me as it used to. I still have my grandsons and nephews, but it's not the same. He pictured his sons wrestling together in the Akhara behind him, envisioning them as the adults they would never become. But… He looked down at his wrinkled, calloused hands. He clenched his hands and smiled a little. I wouldn't change it for anything. This 'now' is never what I sought. He turned away from the photos and back to the small dirt arena below him. Until my days are done, I will keep going and keep trying. That's what I sought, and I will never regret it.
Valhalla Arena
"Take!" Ghulam yelled. "I have, I must confess before we continue!"
"Okay?" Takemikazuchi answered, squinting his eyes out of confusion.
"Your Sumo is incredible." Takemikazuchi felt a tinge in his heart. "I can feel with every move I use the love and dedication imbued from your effort. But, I do not wish to sully your techniques with cheap imitation, so I hope you do not take my actions as an insult." He crouched back down into Tachiai. "I just can't help but want to try it! So then, is my Sumo satisfactory?"
Takemikazuchi scoffed and shook his head. "It's awful. So awful." Ghulam raised an eyebrow. "If you're copying me, all it does is show me how much I need to improve." Takemikazuchi crouched into Tachiai, smiling. "I will show you splendid Sumo that no one else can do, so look forward to it."
"That's what I like to hear!" Ghulam yelled. "Show it to me! I'll take all you can give and crush it the way only a Pehlwan can!" Radgridr, I'm going to start integrating them now.
Understood. Zenith of Wrestling is ready.
"Ready, Take!?"
"Let's go!" Takemikazuchi roared as his fist slammed into the dirt. Both raced at each other once more.
Tartarus
The Circles
"Lord, this place still smells," Vidarr said, looking around the encircling wall of the Circles. Light from the pit's entrance barely reached them, enabling Vidarr and Skiegul to make out the thirteen metallic coffins embedded in the walls around them. "You'd think being down here for nearly a thousand years, you get used to it, but it's just vile."
"I heard that was intentional," Skiegul said, pushing her long blonde hair behind her left ear. "Keeps the place from ever giving any sense of comfort or consistency."
"Wonder who made it that way."
"Probably my dad." She stopped her scan. "Hey, Vidarr."
"Yeah?"
"There's only thirteen prisoners ever down here, right?"
"Yep." Vidarr started walking over to a coffin to his left. "Why?"
"It just seems strange. Prometheus' and your coffins are still open. Would have thought they'd be filled back up."
"That is rare. Normally, someone's screwing something up so bad they get sent down here. The only time there's an opening is when someone joins Cerberus, or when someone new gets sent down here." He stopped in front of the coffin. He raised his right hand and rattled his knuckles against it. "Isn't that right, Eris?"
"Eat shit." A woman's voice spoke from the coffin. Vidarr's vision began slowly adjusting to the darkness, now able to make out Eris' soft face, green eyes, and short but disheveled brunette hair.
Eris
Goddess of Discord, Chaos, and Strife
Prisoner #6
Outer God
The Uncaring
(Greek)
"Well, that's not nice. Just a few weeks ago, you and I were prison mates down here. Did absence make your heart go yonder?" He stepped back a little. "Then again, that would only apply if you had one."
"Back here to gloat about your fake freedom, Middle Child?" He walked to the right, eyeing the coffin next to her. "Hey! I'm talking to you here!"
He stopped at the next coffin, rattling against it as well. "Is that you, Moloch?" A scrawny, emaciated arm shot out of the coffin and clawed at Vidarr's face, barely a few centimeters from his nose. The inhabitant screamed violently and gutturally at him. Vidarr blanked listlessly and slapped the hand with a loud crack. The creature inside screeched and withdrew its hand. "Yep, still you. Still mad as ever."
"Was…he always like that?" Skiegul asked.
"Nope. That's just what this place does. You're down here for so long, deprived of everything, just a sliver of light, and surrounded by the worst company you could ask for outside of a family reunion."
"That sounded awfully personal."
"Hmmm, it was." Vidarr moved on to the next coffin. "Family's a hassle half the time, especially mine. Dad's an omnicidal egomaniac, my oldest brother's only interested in fighting, and my younger brothers are obsessed with getting out of the eldest's shadow. Our moms are useless barbarians, gold-diggers, or political prisoners. Sometimes all of the above like mine!" He continued walking. "I know you're around here somewhere. You took your old man's position down here so the Angels wouldn't get exterminated. You're a dutiful son and a good big brother." He heard something rustle in the coffin just to his right. He walked over to it and stared inside. He could barely make out the sharp yellow eyes staring him down, the dark hair, and the deep-tanned skin of the prisoner. "Aren't you, Michael?"
"Michael?" Skiegul floated over to Vidarr's side and stared in. "My word…is that really you?"
"Does it matter?" Michael answered.
"Yes, it does," Vidarr responded. "Michael, meet your sister, Skiegul."
"Sister? You mean…a Valkyrie?"
"Yep. Now that introductions are out of the way, it's time we get to business." Vidarr leaned in, his face a few centimeters from the coffin's barred porthole. "Your services are being requested."
"…My services?"
"Yep. Lieutenant General of the Heavenly Choir, The Adamant Faith, The Cleaver of Betrayal, Leader of the Sancti, and Angelus Fidei."
"Silver-tongued devil, you," Michael answered, his patience waning.
"Michael, Set would like for you to put your name in the hat for the thirteenth spot." Michael's eyes blinked in and out of the darkness.
"What?"
"You heard me. Set's got a few options already, myself included, but he wants to add you to the mix."
"Pass. I have no interest in his crusade. Gabriel's departure should already tell you where my allegiances lie."
"Knew you'd say that, which is a shame. I thought you'd be the best choice since Hilde is trying to get her hands on Arthur."
"…Arthur? As in Arthur of Pendragon?"
"Yep. Same guy that killed your old man. Thought you would want revenge for what he did."
"Vidarr."
"Yes?"
"If anyone deserves revenge, it's Arthur. Especially on you."
Vidarr shook his head and looked to the left and right. "I did him a favor."
"Which he showed his gratitude to by skewering my father. Piss off, Vidarr."
Vidarr stepped away. "Fair enough. I can't force you, but still."
"We're sorry you feel that way," Skiegul said.
"I know you are, but not him."
She sighed. "So then, shall we move to the next job on the list?"
"Hey, dumbasses!" Eris yelled from her coffin. "I'll take his spot if he's turning it down!" Vidarr and Skiegul looked at each other, then at Eris' coffin. "What do you say?"
"I say…I think you're right." Vidarr said, turning to face Eris' coffin. "We should start the next job." Vidarr raised his right hand. "Shall we?"
Skiegul began to emanate white light, illuminating the pit. Michael watched on in awe and shock. She…is one. There are fourteen Valkyries!?
She melted into energy and flew towards Vidarr's open hand.
VÖLUND!
The light stretched and flattened at one end in Vidarr's grip. The light began to take shape, forming a long pole with a flat head at the top. The light dimmed and solidified, forming into a tall battle-axe. Vidarr eyed it from axe-head to pommel.
Axe of the Rift
"Damn, you guys always have the best powers." He leaned it against his shoulder. "Lighter than it has any reason to be, but feels right in the grip and weight displacement." He started walking over to Eris' location. "Don't worry, Michael, you're the exception today. So, Eris. You want the spot, right?"
"Does it get me out of this cell?"
"For a moment, yep."
"Then that's all I need! I'll get you guys the win if you let me out!" Vidarr stopped in front of her cell, again. "What do you say?"
"Hmm…" Vidarr ran his left hand through his black beard. "Sure."
"Really!?" She said, surprised.
"On one condition."
"Name it."
Vidarr looked into her coffin and locked eyes with her. "You will tell us how you gave Prometheus the process to make Sin Clusters. Do that and we'll let you out."
Eris' eyes widened. Vidarr could see her lips curling back, revealing white teeth that showed no sign of wear. "Fuck you. I had nothing to do with that."
"Your freedom depends on it."
"On information I don't have? Fuck off." Vidarr sighed. He stepped back and looked towards Moloch's area, then back to Eris. He grasped his axe in both hands and shook his head. "What? Trying to intimidate me? Chaos Incarnate? With that little skank of an axe? You remember these coffins can't even be broken by Zeus' bolt or Odin's Gungnir, right?"
"First, don't call Skiegul a skank. That's out of line." Vidarr whispered. "Second," He swiped the axe towards Moloch's cell. Everyone heard a splattering sound come from inside it, a brief whimper, and something trickling down onto the ground in front of it. "I don't need to break the cell thanks to her. Nifty power, but I need some practice with it. I got…" He looked around the pit. "Nine more tries to go, you included. I may get more if I avoid vital spots." He turned to look back at her. She saw his lips curled back into a manic smile, his eyes glowing with anticipation. "Want to answer my questions, now?"
Michael watched on, his stomach turning from the sight before him. Still the same Outer God as before. He thought. Seems like our time in the Circles still hasn't quelled your zealotry at all, has it, Unrestrained?