"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Heimdall screamed into Gjallarhorn. "We have an important update for you all in regards to the next three rounds." Heimdall pointed up to the sky above the decimated arena. Eight large, green squares blinked into existence, forming an octagon. On each screen was the same announcement;
Storytelling
Round 5: Setting
Round 6: Villains
Round 7: Heroes
"The next competition shall be Storytelling! Unique amongst the contests, this will be a best-of-three where Humanity and the Gods shall face off in one of the oldest forms of entertainment and competition! From all walks of life and throughout all of history, no one underestimates the power and influence of stories! Stories of Creation, Love, Tragedy, Horror, Comedy, and more! But now, a new story is being born! The score is now tied at 2-2, but will Humanity's efforts lead to Tragedy or Comedy? Will the Cosmic Horror of the Heavens rain down upon Humanity? You all will see this unfold following an overhaul of the arena! Please enjoy your intermission, patronize our concessions, and GET READY FOR THE SHOW!"
The entire arena roared and cheered with excitement. The momentum from the last two rounds gave life to hope within Humanity. Some were even anticipating another win. More thoughts like these continued to spread amongst the audience as they moved out of their seats and went to fill their stomachs. Consecutive victories and hope can only keep you going for so long in such high-stakes fights. On the other hand, many of the gods in the stands slowly made their way to their concessions. Many of them came to understand that their sense of superiority was undeserved. The ferocity of the first four Humans shed a harsh light on their hubris. A few of them held out hope that their collective dignity would stay intact, but some began to feel the slight pull of dread.
On a different level from the concessions, a potential crisis arose.
Valhalla Arena
Outside the Barracks of the Einherjar
"Can I help you?" Johannes asked. He and Reginleif had come face-to-face with an enraged Takemikazuchi. Try as he might, the Thunder God could barely contain his urge to butcher his brother's killer.
"You…" Takemikazuchi struggled to find the words to express his contempt.
"Yes, me." Johannes did a quick scan of the God. He barely reached Takemikazuchi's solar plexus. He looked up at his bright-pink hair and saw the small black tuft of hair mixed in. "Ah. That's why you're here…you're Futsunushi's brother, Takemikazuchi?"
Takemikazuchi's fists clenched. His grip became so tight, his fingers dug into his palms and drew blood. "DON'T YOU DARE SAY HIS NAME!" Takemikazuchi roared. "You don't deserve to utter his name, murderer!"
The familiar situation left a poor taste in Johannes' mouth. It was not the first time he was called a murderer or some variant of it. "Takemikazuchi," Reginleif said as she floated in-between the two. "Please do not do this. Futsunushi would not want this from you."
Electricity began to crackle around Takemikazuchi. His eyes began to glow a violent, pale blue. Reginleif and Johannes could feel the pressure, Reginleif a few centimeters away from the pulsating energy. Takemikazuchi leaned down, staring at the young Valkyrie. Even leaning down, Reginleif was so short in comparison that he was still looking down. "How could you understand anything about him?" Takemikazuchi asked, his voice barely above a whisper but deep and reverberating like thunder.
"I lost two sisters and nearly a third. I…nearly died at your brother's hands. My sisters had dreams, too…Thrud wanted to protect us and find love. Mist wanted to save and heal people, both Human and God. Though they finally achieved their dreams, they died too soon. I…cannot express myself very well, but losing them and seeing their dreams die with them is far too much to bear." Reginleif's stoicism cracked ever so slightly as her eyes became wistful. "But I know grieving for them is not what they would want for us. Neither my sisters nor your brother."
He still expected him to pop up behind him like old times. He still held onto false hope that Futsu was alive. He looked behind Reginleif at Johannes, and saw Futsu-no-Mitama in the old man's hands. The fury in his soul gave way, and he exhaled. Johannes walked past Reginleif, positioning himself between the two. "Takemikazuchi, I was given one last request by your brother before he passed." Johannes lifted the sword. "He asked me to deliver this to you, and he wanted you to know he's sorry he could not be there when you reached Mastery." Johannes choked a little on the last few words.
Oh…I see now. Takemikazuchi thought. You…didn't want this either, did you?
Gently, Takemikazuchi reached for and grasped Futsu-no-Mitama, and Johannes relinquished it without a fight. It still felt light as a feather. Johannes stepped away and bowed. "Your brother was a true lover of the sword and combat. I am sorry I took him. Were it under other circumstances-"
"Can it." Johannes looked up. Takemikazuchi held the sword delicately in his large hands, looking it over slowly. "That's not what he'd want...I'll take it from here." Takemikazuchi stepped back and bowed deeply. Without saying a word, he straightened up and walked away.
"That…was far too close," Johannes said. He didn't want to show how much pain he was in.
"I do not think so. He is grieving. Differently, but still grieving." Reginleif responded.
"You're right. Amazingly, for one who supposedly cannot express herself well, you have a knack for getting your feelings across." Reginleif looked away and blushed slightly. She then reached out and gave a slight pinch to Johannes' bare left arm. "Oh, the pain!" Johannes said, flinching dramatically. "Sorry about that. Now, how about we head to the infirmary? I don't know about you, but my body is in shambles." Reginleif smiled softly. The two made their way to the infirmary. As they passed the threshold of the hallway, Johannes made sure to keep walking and ignore the two gods waiting on the other side, just out of his peripheral vision. On his right was Nuada, leaning on the wall, while Susano'o was on the left. Were you two here to keep an eye on him? He half-expected them to attack Reginleif and him, but the two stayed still and watched them leave.
"Well, guess we didn't have to worry after all," Nuada said.
Susano'o slid down the wall until he was in a crouch, his hands sprawled out in front of him."Takemikazuchi is ruled by his heart, but he's not a callous avenger. He knows Futsunushi would be disappointed in him. Still…"
"Love makes us act recklessly at times."
"It does." Susano'o stood up and dusted his knees off. "That being said, you're kind of in the same boat."
"How so?"
"You're here to prepare Lugh, but you're holding out hope that Ragnarök will end before he fights."
"Nonsense."
"Say what you want, but you've always been fond of your nephew. I don't know why you worry about him, since he's stronger than you."
"Only barely, and it doesn't matter how strong he gets. He's my boy, and it's hard to let go of that fact." The two stood for a short moment in silence.
"Does it surprise you he pushed up Storytelling?"
"After losing Futsunushi? Not a chance. Out of the Roster, he was one of the few I thought was a guaranteed victory." Susano'o chuckled a little at the compliment. "However…nothing is certain now, and despite Set's efforts, I still have issues trusting him. If something happens next round-"
"Keep that thought to yourself. I'll see you when you get back." The two shook hands, and Nuada walked down the hall, leaving Susano'o alone. He could still hear his student's voice, see his face so clearly. Pride welled up in his chest as he inhaled. The joy he felt seeing Futsunushi achieve his dream returned. "Got there even faster than me! Knew you could do it, Futsu. Well done." Susano'o leaned back against the wall once more, doing his best to imprint in his mind the rise and passing of his student, the cheers of the crowd above him echoing through the halls like a soft, monotonous roar.
Far above the Einherjar chambers, deep within the illustrious VIP suites of the Valhalla arena, a room was set up for the deliberation of the Gods' Fighters. Within the simple stone room sat a large, round, white marble table with a set of 13 identical chairs. Two of the thirteen had black shawls draped over them, and four of the seats were occupied. Set and Yama sat across from the other two; one a tall older green-eyed God with swept-back wild, black hair wearing a brown tunic, gauntlets, boots, and pants with gray fur trimmings. His tunic was held in place by a gold and green metallic waistband. The other looked middle-aged with fading blonde hair swept up and to the left to keep it out of his bespectacled brown eyes. He wore a simple white button-up shirt under a khaki trench coat, a dark-orange tie, dark brown trousers, and matching light-brown leather belt and loafers.
Marduk
Chief God of the Babylonians
(Mesopotamian Pantheon)
Gabriel
Chief Angel of the Heavenly Choir
(Abrahamic)
"Thank you both for coming here. First, thank you for accepting the change in the plan; the consecutive losses in Rounds Three and Four demanded it."
"I had a feeling this might happen," Marduk responded, his voice gravelly and deep. "After seeing how close Devendra was nearly beaten by that human archer, it was only a matter of time."
Gabriel nodded. "We have to admit it, despite presumptions; these humans are strong. Stronger than they were given credit for." Gabriel added, his voice soft but deep. "Going for Storytelling will give us the best chance of pulling the lead back."
"I am glad to hear you two understand."
"Where's Nuada, anyways?" Marduk asked.
"Already heading to the arena. You know how he is. No matter how much he tries to deny it, he has been itching for a chance to fight. At least when Lugh is not involved."
"That sounds like him…" Marduk rested his chin in his right hand. "Maybe we'll finally see him cut loose for once. Last time that happened was, what, against the Half-Fomorian Prince Bres?"
Chills ran down their spines at the thought. The stories of that day and Nuada's retribution were nothing short of blood-curdling. Bres was fortunate to escape with his life, but he never challenged Nuada again. "Heaven help us if we see that side," Set said.
"More like Heaven help his opponent. Does anyone know who Brunhilde is sending to be sacrificed to Nuada?" Gabriel asked.
Set pulled out his tablet and pulled up his inbox. One message from Hermes. The rat bastard. Set thought. The message was congratulating Set on keeping the fights entertaining for Zeus. Another message of gratitude from Susano'o. The last and newest was from Brunhilde titled 'Human Fighter for Round 5.' Set tapped on the message from Brunhilde. Hermes made his blood pressure rise, and he felt too guilty to read Susano'o's. "Well, well, well…" Set said at the message. "Did not expect him this early, but then again, she is bringing her A Game." Set turned the tablet around to show the other three.
Contest for Round 5: Storytelling; Setting
Fighter for Humanity in Round 5
Saint Germain
"Saint Germain?" Marduk asked. "Never heard of him."
"Technically pronounced like the 'San' in 'Sand,' but you are not the only one. Most of the information that exists on him is pure conjecture or hearsay." Set admitted. "There are stories of him from all over the world, and I cannot prove a single one of them happened. There are even stories of him at different points of the world at the same time. Whatever Brunhilde is planning, Nuada needs to be wary."
"Should we warn him?" Gabriel asked.
"No. There is nothing we can say to him that would change anything. He does not need our help." Set had no issue showing his trust in Nuada. Amongst the Tuatha De Danann, Nuada was universally loved by his people for the wisdom and strength he displayed during his reign. He could not deny the opportunity to see Nuada excited him a little, and he was certain Nuada would earn the Gods a win.
Einherjar Barracks
(A few minutes after Round 4)
"Sis…are you okay?" Göll asked as they walked. Following the last match, Brunhilde and Göll decided to head towards the barracks to avoid the crowds and meet with their next Fighter. It was during the walk that Brunhilde felt an absolute euphoric high due to winning the last two rounds. Despite her efforts to remain stoic, it did not stop Brunhilde from jumping for joy at the end of Round 4, nor did it impede what could only be considered a confident strut through the halls.
"I'm fantastic, Göll. We knocked Set for a loop." Brunhilde's wicked smile and manic eyes returned. "He's got to be feeling the pressure now."
"I mean…maybe? It's awesome, got two wins, but you don't think he's going to do something risky, do you?"
"Like what? That guy's too far up his ass to see the threat the Einherjar pose."
'Up his ass?' Hilde, since when do you talk like this? Göll thought.
As they made their entrance to the hall, a ringing sound came from Brunhilde's pocket. Quickly, she pulled it out to see what Set's next play was. Horror quickly devoured whatever joy she had and stopped her in her tracks;
Contest for Round 5: Storytelling; Setting
Fighter for the Gods in Round 5
Nuada
"You…you can't be serious. He's already choosing Storytelling!?" Brunhilde's heart began to accelerate. She expected this to be Set's endgame. Why was he bringing it up so early? Was his pride so badly bruised? Was he pressured? Could they beat even one of the Gods she believed would be picked? She struggled to push the last question out of her mind. She knew such questions hindered resolve, and to achieve victory, she needed to stand strong.
"Wait, what!?"
"Damn it, we need to go, Göll. We have to go and get the next Fighter now and…man, why'd I add him to the roster?" The two walked down the corridor, passing by a variety of doors, each with their aesthetic.
"Who's the Fighter going next? And why do you sound so irritated?" Göll asked. Brunhilde's mood continued to sour despite her earlier joy.
"Ever heard of a Confidence Man, Göll?"
"The guys that trick people to get money and stuff?"
"Exactly, but this guy makes the rest look like rookies in comparison. This man scammed people from beggars to royalty, from one country to the next, and even…tricked the Gods themselves. He is History's Greatest Confidence Man and the man I believe who can defeat the Silver Beast, Nuada."
The two stopped at a massive wooden door. Emblazoned upon it was a massive, leafless tree. On each of its branches sat a square image of alchemical symbols, musical notes, various images of battlefields, beautiful scenery, knights on horseback, and a clock with thirteen numbers. Brunhilde pushed the two doors apart. The doors were oddly light despite their massive size. Even with her incredible strength, the fact that the doors opened so easily slightly unsettled her. The doors opened into a large, extravagant ballroom. The white walls and marble columns were decorated in gold, ornate designs, and copies of various rare paintings hung on the walls. The room was full of people decked out in dinner-dress suits and dresses, walking around and chatting away as they circled numerous circular tables covered in expensive china and white, pristine tablecloths. Brunhilde walked in without looking around and made her way to a large crowd near the back of the room, Göll trailing behind. The captivating sights continued to catch her eye before she bumped into someone and fell with a soft grunt. The figure turned around and caught her eye. He was an elderly man with piercing blue eyes behind thick glasses, his wisps of silver hair slicked back in stark contrast to his wrinkled face. He wore a light blue button-down shirt under a purple dress coat and matching purple pants, his belt and leather shoes both a deep brown. "Pardon me, Miss. Wasn't looking where I was going." The gentleman said as he offered Göll a hand. His voice was a soft tenor in contrast to his sharp features.
"O-oh, I'm sorry," Göll said as she took his hand and lifted herself. "It's just this place is so fancy."
"Yes, it is. A lot of pretty and expensive-looking things, but just between you and me? It's nothing special." Göll duster herself off. "So, what're you here for? You're not exactly per the dress code."
"I came here with my sister to find someone, but I'm not sure we're in the right spot," Göll answered sheepishly. No one was paying attention to them, but the difference in clothing started to eat at her self-esteem. "She called him History's Greatest Confidence Man, or something like that."
The gentleman smiled; his expression came a little alive as if someone told him about a secret. "I know exactly who she's looking for. If you point me in the right direction to her, I can help you two find him."
"Really?" Göll said, slightly hesitant.
"Of course, unless you know what he looks or sounds like. Then you don't need my help, do you?"
"…No…"
"Then let's go find your sister. She's the woman in the white dress with black hair, right?"
"You see her?"
"I do…and she's by the buffet line." A look of mild irritation crept on the man's face. He beckoned Göll to follow him, and the two began their trek through the crowd. While she followed him, Göll felt something off. Despite the crowded room, she never made contact with anyone else. It was as if the crowd parted and joined back together as the two went. The man, despite his age, never stumbled or slowed in his stride from start to finish as they reached the buffet line. To Göll's dismay, and the gentleman's slight irritation, Brunhilde had decided to make the most of her visit. In her right hand was a plate of dozens of slices of cake, pie, small wafers, macarons, pudding cups, and even a few scoops of ice cream. She was holding a slice of half-eaten pie in her left hand as she chewed the other. To her left was a woman her long pale hair tied into two loose ponytails that hung off her shoulders with a pair of matching detached billowing sleeves, her eyes closed. She wore a sleeveless gown held in-place at her neck with two slits at her lower hips. The inside of her dress was adorned with white feathers right where the slits began. A single cloth sash with winged ends floated around her and wrapped around her arms as if held up by the air. On top of her head was a stiff hat akin to a flower in bloom, the petals circled her head.
"Göll, toof you lon' enuf to 'et here." Brunhilde said, her mouth full of pie. Göll recognized the dark color and salty smell; salmiak. Her sister's absolute favorite candy and pie filling, a sentiment not shared by a majority of the world. She swallowed the pie. "I just found Göndul and was getting her caught up on the last match."
Göndul
(9th Sister of the Valkyries)
"Yes…it seems things are going about as you said they may," Göndul said. "Hilde, I am sure you are not here to stress eat. Are we next?"
"You are. The chosen contest is Storytelling, and the Fighter for the Gods is Nuada. I need you and Saint Germain to be ready to go."
"I would gladly do so, if I could find him," Göndul said, a slight air of irritation mixing into her stoicism. "Started a party without my knowledge and vanished into the crowd as soon as it started." She turned to the older gentleman. "I thought I found you a few times, but it looks like it took Göll to nail you down."
"No, you did. I just kept changing my wardrobe to lose you." The old man said. "Kind of funny, actually. Both of you found me without much effort. It was almost not worth the effort to keep trying."
All three looked at the gentleman. He removed his glasses and pulled off a wig and bald cap, revealing full, silvery hair. He ran his fingers through it to slick it back to keep his piercing eyes from being obscured.
Saint Germain
(France?)
"Did I hear you correctly, Brunhilde? That Round 5 is Nuada?" Saint Germain asked.
"He is. As I promised, the next Chief God is yours to fight."
"Wonderful!" A nasty grin appeared on his face. "Göndul. Göll. May I have a word with your Sister?" Göndul nodded silently, her eyes still shut. She turned and walked through the crowd, lightly bumping into a person or two with Göll following behind. Once they reached the door, the two passed through and closed it behind them. Right as the latch shut, everything vanished. The room became a barren, empty white room devoid of all identity save for Saint Germain and Brunhilde, now deprived of her plate of desserts. "So…" Saint Germain started. "You think he knows the information we seek?"
"Out of the whole Roster, I would say either he or Yama knows. Marduk is too uninvolved in Chief God politics, Indra avoids it now since Shiva's involved, and Gabriel is kept on the council so he doesn't act even if he does know. Odin and Zeus have him constantly monitored."
"I see then. Nuada's not the kind of God to give up the whereabouts of our thirteenth Fighter without something to wet his whistle, and the only thing that can do that is…"
"Lugh," Brunhilde answered. "I'm not going to tell you how to do things. You've been in the business of seeking information far longer than I have, but push comes to shove, you have to get it. Otherwise, we're screwed."
Saint Germain reached into the left interior pocket of his dress coat. Finding what he needed, he pulls out an old, brown derby cap and dusts it against his knee.
"Don't you worry, Brunhilde." Saint Germain said as he put the cap on. Darkness began to emanate from Saint Germain and color the room. Soon, the room was pitch-black, and where Saint Germain stood was a hidden figure with two white dots for eyes, its voice reverberating within the room. "I will become who I must and do what I must to achieve my goal."
Chills ran down Brunhilde's spine. Cold sweat started to drip down her brow. I might regret this. She thought. "…Good to hear. Best of luck to you then."
The darkness coalesced back into the spot Saint Germain stood and reformed into his previous appearance. He bowed slightly to Brunhilde and walked towards the door. "Oh, by the way. I am to assume you're going to Tartarus next to get the Fighter for Round Six?" Saint Germain asked as he reached the entrance.
"I am. The admin to get him temporarily released was a hassle. If I'm not there to escort him, he can't leave."
"I figured as much. Do be careful. We need you in good form, too, if we want to win."
"Saint Germain, a favor."
"Is there such a thing between friends?"
"Friends…sure. Tell Göll I will be going down to Tartarus with Geirölul, so she'll be alone for this round. I also have to go and get our Fighter for Round Seven ready."
Saint Germain removed his derby and bowed deeply. "Anything for you." Saint Germain walked through the door and left Brunhilde alone in the room.
In the silence of that empty room, Brunhilde now found herself alone with her thoughts. "We're 2-2 right now…huh..." Brunhilde looked up at the empty ceiling, her gaze pensive. "I wish this were easier…maybe I'm not cut out for this after all, Sieg…I hope…you'll forgive me for not coming to see you."
"Where's Hilde?" Göndul asked.
"Taking a little breather. She'll be out in a minute. In the meantime, we need to get ready for the next show! Can't keep everyone waiting now, can we?" Saint Germain answered. "Ah, Göll. A small message I must relay to you. Brunhilde will be busy prepping the Fighters for Rounds Six and Seven, so you will be flying solo."
"Oh…okay…" Göll hunched over. Saint Germain took notice.
Lord, am I bad with kids… Saint Germain thought.
"Göll, if it makes you feel better, would you like me to call someone to keep you company?" Saint Germain offered.
"Um…no! Li Shuwen said I should not rely on my sister. If I just substitute someone else for her, it wouldn't be any better." She straightened up and smiled. "I'll be fine!"
Saint Germain smiled softly. "Now that's what I'm talking about. Shall we, Göndul?" Göndul nodded, and the two went on their way.
"Göndul!" Göll shouted. "You got this! I believe in you!"
Göndul and Saint Germain continued their trek, but Saint Germain took a small glance at Göndul, and could just make out a soft smile, and her eyes opened ever so slightly.
Valhalla Arena
Back at Valhalla Arena, the audience, full from their trips to the concessions, began to flood back in. To the utter amazement of many, the arena was now enveloped by a large translucent dome. The floor of the arena was now a smooth laminate without a single mark or blemish. Circling outside the dome and floating above the audience were two large rings of speakers. Alone inside the arena was Heimdall, sitting in a chair suspended by a crane arm. He left behind his cowboy outfit and replaced it with a pair of black slacks, shoes, a form-fitting black turtleneck, a purple ascot, square-framed glasses sitting over his goggles, and a black beret.
"Bon retour, mesdames et messieurs!" Heimdall screamed through Gjallarhorn, now modified with a megaphone's handle. "We hope you grabbed everything you need for the next few fights, because you don't want to miss what's coming next! I present to you…Storytelling!" The audience roared, pumped up by Heimdall's bombastic persona. "In this contest-within-a-contest, the power of stories shall unfold before you all! Will the Gods who wrote the story of creation from which all legends sprung forth take victory, or will the imagination of Humanity take the blank pages and write their glorious epic!? Let's see for ourselves, shall we!? As stated before the first intermission, Storytelling is a best-of-three match contest! Each side will send out three selected fighters back-to-back without a break in between the rounds. The winning side will receive the right to choose the contest for Round Eight." The crane lifted Heimdall over the center of the arena. "Now…let's introduce the Fighters for Round 5!"
"Göndul, are you ready to perform the Völund?" Saint Germain asked.
"No." Göndul said flatly.
Saint Germain nearly tripped at her response. "No?"
"No."
"…Why 'no?'"
"Hilde added you to the Roster, and despite your oath to fight on behalf of mankind, I do not trust you. I love my sister, but I am not ignorant of the façade she puts on to keep you and the other Einherjar in line. That, and the monsters we're forced to fight alongside…I shudder at what Geirölul will have to deal with."
Saint Germain looked at the ground, then to the side, and inhaled through his nose. "I see your point," He looked her dead in the eye. "No reason you should put your life in the hands of a man who won't tell you his true name or reasons. I confess...it's hard for me to do so and even harder for me to be comfortable doing it. However, if I tell you everything, do you promise me that you will trust me and fight alongside me?"
"That depends on what you tell me and if it's truly everything." Saint Germain smiled, and shadows erupted from his body and enveloped the room again. Göndul could barely make out his silhouette amongst the darkness. The only thing she could see were the two white dots where his eyes would be. Göndul's eyes opened in pure shock. "You're a-!?"
"I am…and I seek to save someone precious to me. Just like your sister. No… your sister's aspirations exceed my own." Saint Germain looked up to the empty darkness. "Her light is very much like my friend's… and I feel compelled to help her just like I did then. However…I failed him and desperately want to redeem myself, despite my horrible existence. Compared to you all, I am a selfish creature driven by one goal and only one goal; I am here to save the son of my dearest friend. So I ask you, from the pit of my very being, will you help me?"
The fear disappeared from Göndul's expression. Slowly, she walked through the shadows towards Saint Germain. Her eyes, soft and serene, locked with his as she cupped his face in her hands. Visions of his past flowed into her mind. Happy ones, sad ones, and the one she demanded the most, his true name and its source, became known to her. "You're not horrible…or selfish. There is nothing evil about your heart, and I shall honor your request and fight alongside you." A soft smile appeared on her face. "Shall we save them all together?"
The two white dots vanished. The shadows returned to Saint Germain, and he returned to his elderly form, still held in Göndul's hands. He lightly clasped her wrists in his hands as light began to envelope them. "I will fight with all I have, and shall leave nothing behind on the stage. This I promise you, Göndul."
"Let's make it worthy of a standing ovation."
VÖLUND
Göndul's body was consumed by soft light, and her form gave way. Her radiant form began to stretch and wrap itself around Saint Germain's right wrist, and began to shrink. The light began to shrink and fade, and a silver watch with a red face now rested on his wrist, the fit just right. Saint Germain inhaled deeply through his nose as he looked at his new watch, smiling all the while. "It's showtime."
"Introducing the Fighter for the Gods in Round 5!
From the land of the Emerald Isles, A mighty God of the wilderness and war is here to claim his next kill!
Armed with his radiant blade, Fragarach, his Silver Arm, and unyielding determination,
he took back his stolen throne and slaughtered all threats to his people to usher in an era of peace unseen before!
The Nightmare of the Fomorians, the Shining Light of the Tuatha de Danann!
Give it up for Eire's Silver King!
NUADA!"
The East Entrance opened. Slowly, but confidently, Nuada walked out of the gate and made his way to the center of the arena. His gaze, slightly lazy, remained focused on the West Gate the entire time, even when he stopped just under Heimdall. Heimdall waved his free hand to the West Entrance.
"Introducing the Fighter for Humanity in Round 5!
Confidence Unbridled has made his way to Valhalla!
From one corner of the globe to the next, from the lowliest nobles' halls to the most exquisite palaces in Heaven, this man made his presence known under a myriad of names
and occupations!
From knowing everyone to knowing everything and being everywhere, to knowing no one and knowing nothing and never being anywhere!
Nothing about this man can be proven true! His past, unknown. His name, unclear.
His desire for victory!? Unquestionable!
"I am whoever I say I am! Can do whatever I say I can do!
History's Greatest Confidence Man has come to make his next great play!
Welcome to the stage,
SAINT GERMAIN!"
The West Gate opened, and out walked Saint Germain. He waved to the audience as he walked towards the center of the arena, even waving at Heimdall on the way. The only person he did not acknowledge was Nuada, at least not until the two stood face-to-face at the arena's center. The contrast between the two was staggering; Nuada stood twenty-five centimeters shorter than Saint Germain and looked ready to fight, while Saint Germain looked like he was heading to a party. Despite their aged looks, both stared each other down with sharp eyes that betrayed their years.
"Now, onto the rules for Round Five and the first bout of Storytelling! The name of the game is Setting!
1) The arena you're standing in will generate a random location based on a variety of genres and stories. Nothing is off-limits!
2) Everything and anything in these locations is a Divine Weapon. Both Fighters must take advantage of this in order to survive!
3) The Locations will change every two minutes. Any damage to the environment will be erased after the change, and the Fighters cannot fight while the scenes change!
4) No locations will be repeated!
5) The last one alive is the Winner!"
"Understood," Nuada said.
"Same here." Saint Germain said. Both their voices could be heard from the speakers.
"Excellent!" Heimdall said. "Now let's set the stage!" The arena began to glow pure white. Light-blue lines stretched from all sides of the dome and formed a grid pattern over every spot of the surface. "Once the stage is set, the fight will begin!"
"Any words you wish to say before we begin, Charlatan?" Nuada asked.
"I should warn you, I'm a bit of a method actor. Helps me get into the role, you see." Saint Germain said, smiling wryly.
"Swell. A prick who acts like a prick to act like a more accurate prick."
"Such harsh words from such an esteemed king."
"I'm an old man, can't help it."
"Guess our age prevents us from wasting niceties. Fine then, helicopter parent. How do you think Lugh will do with you dead by the end of this round?" Nuada did not respond to the comment. Rather, he tilted his head slightly to the left. "Seems I touched a nerve there." The light began to fade around them as tall structures began to come into focus. Color began to grow on the structures, now forming into tall buildings. The floor below them turned a soft black with white stripes, the surface taking on a rocky texture. People began swarming around them, heading in all directions, and wearing a variety of clothes ranging from suits to casual wear. The sky above them was a deep black, the stars vanishing as the skyscrapers took over. The two looked around and saw the world around them take shape and form; the first of many arenas they would duke it out in.
The two and Heimdall were now in the center of a bustling city and standing on a crosswalk. "Lights, Camera, FIGHT!" Heimdall shouted.
Nuada turned back to where Saint Germain stood, but he was gone. Nuada quickly surveyed the environment around him, trying to spot the man in the crowd. He quickly drew his sword, Fragarach, and continued to look around as the crosswalk lights changed to stop pedestrians from crossing. Nuada was now alone in the street. Cars on the other side of the stoplights honked their horns at him, demanding he move onto the sidewalk. They were the perfect distraction. A deep red sports car, a 2012 458 Spider, headed straight for him from behind, Saint Germain behind the wheel. He shifted gears and floored the pedal. Nuada turned around just in time to see the car barreling towards him. "Really now?" Nuada said, nonplussed. He stared daggers at Saint Germain.
Nuada raised his left arm high into the air and inhaled deeply. Just before the car could slam into him, he exhaled and roared as he brought down his fist. It slammed straight into the front bumper and hood of the Ferrari, caving it in as if it were tin foil. The force of the blow sent the front of the car straight into the ground as the tail end reared up. The car began to roll and soared over Nuada's head as he stabbed Fragarach at the driver's seat above him. The sword stabbed into the seat, but Saint Germain was not there. He failed to catch that just before the car was about to hit him, Saint Germain jumped out and rolled onto the street with a black duffel bag. Nuada looked straight in front of him and saw Saint Germain, now dressed in a black suit and tie with the bag hanging off his back, aiming a SIG Sauer P365 straight at Nuada. He began to fire as the Ferrari continued its roll into traffic on the other end of the street. Nuada did not miss a beat. Stretching out his left hand, he snatched each bullet out of the air. Saint Germain's gun soon clicked empty. He quickly hit the release mechanism and snapped his gun's buttstock to the left to throw out the empty magazine as he grabbed another from his coat to reload.
He did a quick check and began firing again as he started walking away from Nuada. Nuada, without hesitation, dropped the handful of bullets and began to catch the others out of the air before the handful touched the ground. "Well damn!" Saint Germain yelled. "That bloody arm of yours still does the trick, eh!?"
"It does what it needs to do. However, what is with that get-up? And trying to ram me with a car? What's the matter with you?"
"You oaf! This is the city, and we're now in an action movie! Fast cars, fast guns, and fast feet!" Saint Germain pulled the bag to his chest, unzipped it, and pulled out a Mossberg 590S Pump-Action Shotgun. "Hope you can keep up!"