Chapter 147: Skaði's 'Fall'
Even in her surprise, Scathach likely understood immediately that Ereshkigal and Rowe truly knew each other.
The wisdom of the Magic Mirror let information bloom inside her mind in an instant. Fragments multiplied like shards of glass, then aligned, then locked into place. The wild hunt returning from the void. The Goddess of the Underworld from another land. A shared origin. A shared path.
They were from the same place.
They were old acquaintances.
"Are you… that Sage from the Mesopotamian plain over a thousand years ago?" Scathach's red lips curved, as though she had finally uncovered a delicious secret.
She knew Ereshkigal came from the Mesopotamian plain. For that reason, over the millennia, Scathach had asked about her again and again, until the name became something like a thorn lodged in her curiosity. With what she already knew, the deduction was easy to make.
Ereshkigal, however, still held Rowe as if she were still in Uruk a thousand years ago.
Long time no see. Long time no see. Long time no see.
I was so worried about you.
"I'm also very happy to see you again." Rowe smiled.
"Mm…" As if only now realizing she had been a little too excited, Ereshkigal's face, buried against his chest, flushed. Color climbed to her earlobes, but she still did not want to let go.
She hugged him tighter and let out a small, muffled whimper.
Do the two of you not know I am standing right here?
Scathach released a silent sigh beside them, watching two old acquaintances cling to each other with the enthusiasm of young lovers.
But after a breath, Ereshkigal steadied herself. She drew back slightly, then lifted her face.
"That's good. You're not hurt." Even while blushing, her smile was bright with relief. "Mother Goddess Tiamat… she did not do anything to you, did she?"
She gave birth to me again. Does that count?
Rowe glanced aside, expression calm.
"No. She was actually very good to me."
"Mm." Ereshkigal slowly reached out, then took Rowe's hand of her own will. "Just like before. Walk with me."
"Alright." Rowe nodded. "Coincidentally, I have many things to ask you, and many things to tell you."
A thousand years of change.
A thousand years of separate experiences.
All of it needed to be spoken, confirmed, stitched back together.
"Really, you two are just ignoring me." Scathach stared at their retreating backs, ruffled her smooth hair, and made a helpless face that looked far too charming for someone holding a god slaying spear. She folded her arms, pressing her full chest, then glanced sideways.
A pair of dark purple eyes identical to her own met hers.
"What?" Scathach asked. "You seem to be in a bad mood."
"Are you still trying to tease me?" The voice that answered her was similar, no, identical.
A long purple dress swayed. Long legs supported a graceful figure. The Snow Mountain Goddess Skaði stepped up beside Scathach.
Scathach had used Skaði's body to travel and invite Rowe, but after entering the Land of Shadows, she had long since returned to her own main body.
Yet during that process, she had dragged Skaði in as well.
There was no spring in the Land of Shadows. Naturally, the Snow Mountain Goddess had awakened.
She had watched the two of them from the moment Ereshkigal appeared.
Her emotions were complicated.
"Do you still hold a grudge?" Scathach raised an eyebrow. "I think he treats you quite well, does he not?"
"I'm not a masochist." Skaði rolled her eyes. Whatever else she felt, she understood the shape of her predicament.
First, he framed her.
Then, he treated her well.
She could not deny she had fallen a little, but as long as she was conscious, she still resented him.
As she said, she was not a masochist.
"But the gods have rejected you and view you as a mortal enemy," Scathach said, her figure swaying as if the words were nothing. "Besides him, you have nowhere else to go, do you?"
She leaned closer, smile sharpening.
"Hesitating is not my style."
"Then what do you think I should do?" Skaði asked.
"Help him." Scathach smiled. "Whatever he wants to do, help him do it."
It had nothing to do with emotion.
Nothing to do with reason.
What Scathach wanted to see was change in the Age of Gods. What she wanted to see was the collapse of the giant tree that supported the old myths.
"If there are enemies ahead, they must be annihilated." A faint coldness entered her tone.
Skaði fell silent, thinking.
She could never be as hard edged as Scathach, never wear that warrior like conviction as naturally as skin. She would never learn its essence.
"But it does not matter," Scathach continued. "I will always be your backing. Another me."
She reached out slowly and embraced the goddess who shared her origin. She smiled.
Scathach wanted Skaði to help Rowe, regardless of emotion, regardless of anything else.
Because the thing she had always wanted to protect was herself.
The foolish and innocent self she had lost in her youth.
That pure, different self.
A life I cannot experience…
Can only be left to another me to feel.
"I understand." Skaði hesitated, then finally nodded. "I know."
The Snow Mountain Goddess inhaled, gathered her courage, and walked in the direction Rowe and Ereshkigal had gone.
Scathach remained behind, wearing a smile that was faintly mysterious.
"I have slowed the flow of time in the Land of Shadows," she murmured. "By the time you leave here, Ragnarok will be almost upon us."
She looked toward the path Rowe had taken, as if speaking to the air itself.
"You do not need to thank me, Lord Rowe."
…
"I know. It must have been very difficult for you, right?"
Farther within the deep, quiet realm of the Land of Shadows, Ereshkigal's black shoes stepped lightly among scattered rocks. She turned her delicate face slightly. Her long hair swayed and her clothes billowed as her hands rested behind her back. She leaned forward to peer at him, eyes soft.
"Rowe."
It really had not been easy.
Trying every possible way to die, only to fail every time, was a frustration with teeth.
Rowe told her everything.
From Greece to the Nordic lands, he recounted it all without missing a detail. His travels with heroes. His reunion with Gilgamesh and Enkidu. Every step, every detour, every dead end.
When Ereshkigal heard about Rowe's entanglements with those goddesses, her cheeks puffed slightly. Then, just as quickly, she smoothed her expression.
Rowe was forthright.
Other than a few things that absolutely could not be said aloud, he told her everything he could.
Ereshkigal disliked the tangled loves and grudges.
Yet she was also happy, because he had hidden nothing from her.
Ereshkigal was very happy.
The Mistress of the Underworld's expression kept shifting, her pretty face reflecting the distant dim flames and souls of this realm like a mirror.
"It was a bit convoluted," Rowe said, spreading his hands, "and if you still want to hear it, there is probably a lot more. Hm?"
Before he could finish, Ereshkigal stepped in again.
She rose onto her toes, lifted her hands, and cupped his head. Then, with a gentle push, she pulled him into her.
Softness enveloped him. Rowe's cheek pressed against Ereshkigal's front.
"You worked hard," she said.
"You do not need to say anything," she added.
"I am very angry, and very happy," Ereshkigal continued, voice trembling slightly.
"But I still…"
She drew a breath that sounded almost like courage.
"Love you."
A thousand years felt long, yet also fleeting. No matter what, Ereshkigal had always loved Rowe in the same way.
It was a feeling she could not express directly a thousand years ago.
Even if they both already knew it.
"Me too." Rowe shifted, then straightened, gently separating from her embrace. He extended his hand.
"So will you come with me now?"
"Of course." Ereshkigal smiled. "No matter where you go, I am willing to follow."
She took his hand.
"Alright." Rowe's voice softened. "Then close your eyes. It will be quick."
Ereshkigal, strangely nervous, closed her eyes.
In the dim light, her tightly shut lashes made her face look delicate and beautiful. Her eyelashes trembled faintly, betraying that nervousness.
Rowe's gaze swept over her soft, rosy lips.
He leaned in.
Their lips met.
Space and time shifted.
A massive machine god phantom appeared behind Rowe, and the spark within his chest burned fiercely.
The King of the Dead touched the Goddess of the Underworld.
Death intertwined with death, yet it birthed vitality.
The trace of life already present in Rowe surged and expanded rapidly.
He was only one step away from living.
Ereshkigal opened her eyes in confusion.
But what she saw was no longer the Land of Shadows.
It was a primordial landscape filled with lava.
This is…
"Tartarus of Greece," Rowe explained beside her, "the domain I devoured."
His gaze steadied.
"From now on, you will stay here."
"Where is this?" Ereshkigal asked.
"It is in my heart."
Silence.
"I still have many, many things to do," Rowe continued. "I cannot always speak with you. But as long as you are here, I can come find you anytime."
He regretted not bringing Enkidu in before the decisive battle in Greece. Back then, without the spark gifted by Chaos, he could not open the gates of Tartarus at all.
As for Gilgamesh, he had never been an option.
A cub needed to go out and temper himself. A father did not have that much energy to carry him forever.
"I understand." Ereshkigal smiled and nodded. "I will be here, gazing at you, protecting you."
Then, stubbornly, she added, as if making a vow.
"I will not be a burden."
"I can help you too."
"Good." Rowe ruffled her hair.
At least here, Ereshkigal could constantly hear his heartbeat. She would never be lonely.
After that tender moment, Rowe's consciousness withdrew.
Ereshkigal remained, staring at the flickering lava. Though nothing was physically present, she could constantly feel Rowe's aura. Her expression was blissfully happy.
Rowe is so good.
She thought that, almost giddily.
"Aaaaa…"
From the depths of the lava, a hazy moan echoed.
As if someone were slowly waking.
"Wait, that voice is…" Ereshkigal stiffened. "Mother Goddess Tiamat? Eh, eh, eh?"
Her startled voice rang through the heat.
Land of Shadows.
Rowe opened his eyes again. The darkness was unchanged.
Mother Goddess Tiamat should treat Ereshkigal well, he thought.
Within his sight stood a graceful figure in purple, dress swaying, slender and upright.
"Skaði?" Rowe paused. This was not the Queen of the Land of Shadows. It was the Snow Mountain Goddess of Norse myth. "You are awake?"
Skaði did not answer the question directly.
"You want to subvert Norse mythology, do you not?"
Her attitude had changed.
Rowe stroked his chin.
"What if I do? What if I do not?"
"I can help you." Skaði inhaled. Her chest rose and fell with the breath.
"Have you thought it through?" Rowe asked. "Or did Scathach tell you?"
"No." Skaði snapped back immediately, then corrected herself with visible irritation. "No, she did not. Scathach is also me. This is my own idea."
"As you wish." Rowe smiled. "But I do need your help, Snow Mountain Goddess."
He extended his hand to her.
"The secrets of the gods that you possess, those are exactly what I need."
Rowe needed the secrets of the gods.
He intended to use them to break the prelude of the old mythological era, to unveil the curtain of mythology. To let the sparks burn into a blaze.
To let death recede and vitality emerge.
To turn from death to life, and then welcome eternal disappearance.
Death had always been what he pursued.
"Hmph. At least you have some sincerity." Skaði smiled. "Next, I will tell you everything I know, without reservation."
The Snow Mountain Goddess finally fell, becoming the Demon King's helper.
The pure snow mountain no longer held the purity it once carried in Asgard, and yet, strangely, she felt lighter.
Why care about anything else?
The snow mountain is pure, but it should also be free.
"Mmph. This is more like me." On the peak of the Land of Shadows, Scathach swung the crimson spear in her hand. Her graceful figure shimmered under the dark purple shadows, swaying with an unseen wind.
"The meaning of gods' existence is to be slain."
"Then let us go." Rowe released Skaði's hand after a brief clasp. "Let's return first and talk."
"The time should be almost up."
It was almost time.
Norse.
What should have been spring twisted as if time itself reversed. Snow began to fall abruptly.
Across the Scandinavian peninsula, countless people hurried back into their homes. Nobles who had planned to travel wisely shut their doors.
Within the swirling snow, huge silhouettes began to appear.
"It's starting. Ragnarok." On the edge of the sea, Loki stood on a reef, smiling so wide it seemed to pull at his cheeks. "Do you see it, Jörmungandr, my child?"
The sea boomed.
Water split apart.
A sky darkening serpent rose, and an indifferent voice spilled from it.
"I am not your child, Loki."
"Ho hahaha. It does not matter." Loki's laughter danced on the wind. "None of it matters."
Underground, Nidhogg raised its head and roared. Its teeth ground, and the roots of the World Tree snapped.
The pale trunk shuddered violently.
Roar.
The black dragon roared again. Its raised wings carried countless dead corpses. Nidhogg sounded the horn of Ragnarok.
On an island, layers of ice formed like chains. A giant wolf bound to mountain like boulders answered with a howl.
In the sky, winds and clouds churned. The gods trembled, filled with dread.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Thunder detonated in layers, scattering with a roar.
Thor, God of Thunder, appeared within the clouds.
In the Platinum Palace, crows danced wildly.
In Jötunheimr, someone opened their eyes.
"Finally, this day has come."
The lingering will of the primordial giant Ymir manifested in the world, taking the form of a giant, and roared.
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