Disclaimer: Since the last chapter, I have neither miraculously come to own the games which I write about, nor equally miraculously devised and put into effect a plan to profit from writing this. Thus, my expectation in the previous chapters that I not be sued has also not changed.
Tales of the Summoned: Odin
By The RPGenius
"Hah. Do it again, boy."
Niod Raiden sounded about as jovial and pleased as Odin had ever heard him. And his tone was certainly the most pleased it had ever been when talking to his son. Although Odin's primary concerns and satisfaction with the new ability he had gained from Fenrir were with its use in the line of protection and combat, the boy easily admitted to himself that his father's good mood was an enjoyable perk.
As Niod had told him before undergoing the magical transfer process two months ago, artificially gaining magical abilities had hurt. A lot. It had been as though a nest of angry hornets had exploded in his lungs, and he had attempted to cease their stinging frenzy by swallowing molten lead. The pain was so great that just its aftermath once the process was complete was devastating enough for the boy not to flinch or be at all bothered by Niod striking his heavy palm against Odin's head for whimpering while it was going on.
Fenrir had died moments after of exhaustion, or depletion, or whatever it was that killed Espers during this process. As with Golem's passing, Odin felt an untraceable, inexplicable moment of sorrow and guilt at this.
For the first few weeks, the magical gift Odin had received seemed as though it would be wasted on the boy. Magic, it seemed, was beyond his ability to comprehend and use more than it was beyond most other humans. He could feel it within him, an untapped ability, almost like a muscle he did not know how to flex. There was a spell he could use, he just knew it, something devastating and destructive, something cosmic…but for the life of him, Odin just could not determine how to cast the spell.
Niod was not particularly kind, understanding, or patient with Odin as his son struggled to utilize his gift. Waiting for results had never been his strength. He made his disappointment quite keenly and physically known to his heir, of course.
But, after these beginning weeks of discouraging failure, Odin came to a realization: the spell he had gained but could not use was an almost trivial addition to the real boon of Fenrir. Odin had also inherited some measure of the Esper's personal, unique talents over magical light refraction and manipulating small areas of time and space.
Like his useless spell, Odin hadn't the magical wisdom to properly control Fenrir's talents; he could not create multiple images of himself, nor could he use a Warp spell to teleport over short distances instantly. He could only crudely make changes in light and placement in areas so tiny as to almost be invisible to a human eye. Seemingly useless…until one afternoon, when Odin had a stroke of genius and tried using his talent to manipulate the edge of his sword.
The result was incredible. Combining this magical ability with his sword's slices created an attack that allowed Odin to slice through air, wood, stone, and steel, and not know when one stopped and the other began. This new technique, which he christened Atom Edge, carved through any shield, any armor, any blade, even the very outer walls of Niod's personal training yard.
It was much like the technique locked in his mind, his greatest skill, Zantetsuken. Odin used nearly the exact same motions for Atom Edge, for this attack above all others he was most comfortable with, and he understood every part of it. Thus, it was simpler for him to know exactly how to use his new power with it, and what course to take with it. Scientifically, Odin had no real understanding of how or why the power worked as it did. He just knew that it did, and well. The attack's effect, much as with Zantetsuken, was an instant, complete slicing in two of whatever it encountered. Atom Edge's cut was perfect: it separated, yet it did not seem to break, and thus no physical bonds seemed able to withstand its force. At least, none that Lokithor had the resources to provide for testing purposes.
In addition to perhaps (perhaps) being stronger than Zantetsuken, Atom Edge relied on magic for its drive, not so much speed and strength, so, unlike its parent technique, Atom Edge did not necessarily have to be done on horseback, where the proper velocity and angle for Zantetsuken could be achieved. Odin could perform this attack on foot, should he ever be separated from Sleipnir by accident or design.
Of course, there was one potentially deadly disadvantage, too. Because it was essentially a magic-based attack, using the sword stroke more for focused direction than additional damage, Odin feared that particularly strong foes, which had an abnormally high amount and command of magical power, would be unaffected by Atom Edge, as it was, essentially, just an (admittedly clever) attack that used Fenrir's magical abilities--abilities which themselves were, according to Niod, fairly mild for an Esper. Espers were practically magic embodied themselves, so Odin doubted that the powerful ones would have any trouble dissipating Atom Edge's lethal effect.
Niod did not share Odin's concerns, however. Once Odin showed his father his newfound abilities, Niod's general mood had picked up immensely. The physical rebukes lessened, and the scorn and insults seemed motivated more by habit than by active intent. Daily practice sessions would now inevitably derail after a few hours into Niod watching as he directed Odin to use his power over and over, testing it, always successfully, against just about every material and object which could be found within Lokithor's castle walls.
Such was the case now. Niod had lined up several empty wine glasses along a large tree stump in his personal training area, and had Odin performing Atom Edge upon each. Only one more remained, and as he was bidden, Odin brought his sword down with expert precision upon it, using his technique to split it at a diagonal angle (going straight down the center would risk cleaving some of the stump itself in half, as well, and it was too useful as a table and chair during these long hours of practice to mar).
Niod stepped forward and admired his son's handiwork. Each former drinking tool had been sheared perfectly at a different angle from the others, but they all shared one trait: their pieces were perfectly smooth and showed no sign of cracks or jagged edges from the cut. Atom Edge could elegantly separate delicate, fragile materials as flawlessly as it could strong, unyielding ones.
"Quite a trick, that is. Never gets old," Niod said, looking at the ruined glassware with a certain barbarous glee. It did not take much intuition to see Niod's imagination making the sliced chalices into Esper corpses in his mind. "With that and all the skills I've passed on to you, you'll have no trouble gaining honor and recognition on the field of combat as the great son of Niod Raiden. Even you couldn't find a way to foul it up."
Unless the Espers came at him with enraged waiters brandishing razor-tipped wine goblets, Odin somewhat doubted that this particular moment of training would be of much use to him. He did, however, have to admit that even with all the time out Niod took from their training exercises to have Odin perform tricks for his amusement, he was still getting far more combat preparation recently than ever before.
Of course, that was the natural result of once again having nothing to do all day but attend to Niod's whims. As it had turned out, Princess Frigg had been entirely right that there was a certain social stigma and suspicion against Mage Warriors. People around the castle, whether they be guard, servant, or noble, made it no secret that they no longer trusted him. He could feel their eyes follow him wherever he went, and several subtly tried to avoid being near him when he walked down hallways or ate meals in the mess hall. This did not bother Odin in the least, for he did not seek social acceptance or approval, and preferred to be left alone anyways.
There was, however, one aspect of this social paranoia that did upset him greatly. Effective immediately upon exiting the chamber where he received his magical infusion, Odin was relieved of his duties as Princess Frigg's bodyguard, and in addition received a very heavy suggestion that he not come into personal contact with her again. Unsurprisingly, Lokithor's military leaders and the members of King Adrin's court did not want a potential traitor, no matter how unlikely it was that he was one, to be around the kingdom's future leader on a daily basis. Or at all.
Niod, naturally, took this development to be an added bonus. He would have a chance to get his son back to what he considered to be a proper daily routine of combat study, and away from babysitting some useless, silly little wench who just happened to a king's brat.
"Well, best get back to practice," Niod announced, his appetite for Atom Edge apparently appeased for now. "They'll finally be shipping you out to the battlefield, where you should've been all along, now that they've had to invest the Esper's gift in you. Even Adrin can't snivel his way into an excuse to keep you here now. And once you're out there, with that trick of yours, your training, and your lineage, you'll be a proper tribute to your origins, crushing those freaks like Rutger swats the flies on his meats."
Rutger was the castle's head butcher. Odin estimated that his dinner meal that night would be much less appetizing, now. But he knew he would certainly still be obliged to eat it, for a full day of training with Niod, which was all the young man had for activities with which to pass time now, always created quite an appetite, even with all these short breaks.
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Simon's Notes: It is not customary for me to interrupt a chapter of the works I translate to add my own comments (I much prefer to keep such things at the end of each chapter, so that any audience concerned solely with the work itself may have the leisure of easily skipping the ramblings of some identity-less old man who interjects his unwanted and dry opinions in the midst of an otherwise compelling tale); however, I feel it necessary now to relate a certain passage of explanation left by the original author at the beginning of this chapter, much in the same way as I summarized such a passage much earlier in this translation (the one concerning the geography and history of relations between Odin's original home country and its neighbor). I feel it better to relate this information now, after this recent passage concerning Odin's newfound abilities, rather than prior to it, as the original author did. I simply hope that the reader can forgive me the arrogance of second-guessing the author's arrangement in such a way.
At any rate, this work confirms that the men who were made into Mage Warriors became hybrids of sorts, not Espers but certainly more than mere men, but also explains that, due to the chaotic nature of the crude process, their hybrid nature greatly varied from one to another. This is certainly easy to believe, considering both that the people of this world had never before had a chance to interact with magic, and that magic is generally very chaotic and difficult to manipulate. The work goes on to explain that most Mage Warriors remained, in essence, human beings; however, a few became so inundated with the abilities of the Esper stolen from, that they actually became more Esper than human. This apparently happened most often in cases during which an Esper died after only one transfusion, given that this usually meant that the human received far more magic than others who shared a single Esper. The passage confirms that this was the case with Odin, and goes on to mention that, upon death, these Mage Warriors would leave behind remains as an Esper would, becoming Magicite.
I wonder if there is any connection between this occurrence and the general mistrust of Mage Warriors that humans held? Perhaps the idea that one with an Esper's magic was too close to being an Esper for humans to trust began upon one person seeing a Mage Warrior dying and turning to Magicite, rather than leaving a regular human corpse.
In addition, there is a small explanation as to the mechanics of how Odin's Atom Edge actually worked. Fenrir's talent for time-and-space-altering magic was employed by Odin at the very edge of his sword when he swung it, which created an unnatural void along it, a magical force which could move apart the very building blocks of matter as it encountered them, much in the same way that Fenrir's Warp spell normally moved them as a whole instantly. Although, the narrative states, the skill was more akin to a spell that Fenrir had not had a chance to use against Odin: X-Zone, which created a very large void like the one Odin employed during Atom Edge, which would draw foes into it and trap them in a different, unknown location permanently.
It seems to me that Odin's use of the skill, though admittedly born out of a lack of finesse and skill for magic, is an incredibly clever and efficient way to achieve what X-Zone would normally. After all, the result is ultimately the same for each--an instant removal or death of one's foe--but Atom Edge uses but a tiny fraction of the power that X-Zone does. Odin is quite creative.
Well, no matter. Such musings are meaningless right now; let us continue with the narrative.
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As Niod had suspected, it did not take long for the military commanders of Lokithor to put their new asset to work.
Or, to be more accurate, to put him into the position to work for them. They had sent him out a month after his magical abilities manifested, along with a small group of fresh, young (as young an age as the king's law would allow a soldier to enlist at) recruits, to bolster one of the three major encampments for Lokithor's military forces. Niod had decided to go with him, in total opposition to the wishes of his superiors, who wanted their notorious Esper slayer to stay where he could personally protect them. But Niod had given their opinions on the matter the same consideration that he ever had--which was to say, none.
There had been nothing to do for several months afterwards, however. Certainly, there had been the occasional, small skirmish here and there throughout Lokithor's territory, similar to the minor attack on the royal carriage that Odin had helped to repel those years ago. But no major offensive had occurred yet, although the country was certainly overdue for one. Thus, Odin spent his days at the army camp, including the day that marked his seventeenth year of age, almost exactly as he had at the castle recently: training from day to night, broken only by a night's sleep and regular meals. There was other work to do at the camp, but Niod outranked the commanding officer, and so he declared that neither he nor his son needed to perform any of the miscellaneous tasks of maintaining the encampment.
"They'll owe us their drab lives once the next battle's done," Niod had explained to his son. "We'll turn the Espers back and send'em off like disobedient mongrels that've been thoroughly kicked for their bad habits. And once we do, this lot'll all be more than happy to do some stupid little chores for us. I'm just making use of their gratitude early, that's all."
Odin had his personal, nervous doubts about whether that would actually come to pass. Not that he doubted for a moment that part of it would--the Espers were, unquestionably, going to launch an assault against this outpost. Thus far in the war, with no exceptions, the Espers had followed one strategy for choosing targets for major attacks: they struck wherever the most humans were gathered. Nothing else seemed to matter to them. They were just as eager to meet an immense army head-on as they were to attack a relatively defenseless, highly populated city. They did not take into account factors such as their target's ability to defend itself, strategic value, or important leaders and officials. Their goals were linked to their methods: the more humans gathered in one place to kill at once, the better. With one third of the kingdom's military force stationed here, and the nearest large city located a great many miles away, far within what was considered safe territory, an Esper attack here was only a matter of time, and likely not very much time, at that.
Odin's fear was simply that of survival. Regardless of Niod's bluster and arrogance, the Espers were a force of thus far unstoppable destruction. They had suffered great casualties, and been held off, and even driven back, many times during this war, but ultimately, they were always victorious against each human country they attacked. Lokithor's army was mighty, and Odin judged its soldiers to be both well-trained and as courageous as one could expect this far into a war this devastating, but the magical beings had still eradicated more powerful armies in the past. Odin had defeated each of the two Espers he had fought before, but those times had been individual battles against one foe at a time, and Odin knew that Fenrir and Golem were not even comparable in terms of sheer, deadly power to a great many Espers previously seen on the fields of battle. Waiting tensely day after day for an assault, one that could come in any form of magic from any direction, while surrounded by thousands of soldiers who already believed themselves doomed, did not make him optimistic. There was a part of him, that dark part of his mind that he still could not fathom or gain access to, which held nothing but calm certainty for the upcoming battle: he would perform to the best of any combatant's ability, and if survival and victory were in any way possible, they would be his; if not, then he would die with dignity and strength as a true warrior.
But the rest of Odin Raiden worried about the very likely possibility that he would be unable to protect his home, its people, his father, Princess Frigg, or even himself from destruction. Even knowing that feeling such fears would do nothing but perhaps aid them in coming to pass, he still could not help himself from it, for it was, after all, only natural for a human to have such nervous thoughts.
When the battle finally came, however, Odin reacted calmly, as though he had known all along exactly when and how it would happen, and planned accordingly.
It was a pleasant day, some time after noon, when it happened. As usual, Niod and Odin were alone towards the far end of the encampment, training. They had clashed their swords against one another in mock combat, a light breeze pleasantly cooling their sweat-moistened features, when the ground began to shake violently. Even as he struggled to keep his balance (particularly trying to avoid lurching forward and either impaling his father accidentally on his blade in the process, or being himself run through by his father's rapier), Odin called out loudly for Sleipnir to come to his side. This area, a generally flat expanse of gentle plains with the occasional large tree and sparse shrubbery, had never once in Lokithor's recorded history suffered from an earthquake. This had to be an unnatural occurrence, and there was really only one possibility for its cause.
Sleipnir reached him just as the ground calmed for a moment, and as he mounted his steed, a fierce, bestial roar assaulted his ears. He turned to its origin, and saw, in the distance, the ground erupt, splitting apart as spires of dirt and rock rose up in a jagged circle. From the deep wound in the earth, an enormous brown serpent arose, and this time, its roar was no longer muted by a layer of solid soil, and Odin almost had to cover his ears for fear of going deaf from it. From the pit which the monstrous snake had exited, a number of smaller creatures of various shapes and colors also emerged. This all occurred almost directly in the center of the camp; it was really something of a miracle that only a few soldiers had been situated in that spot at the time.
Niod gave a giddy whoop, like a boy who spied a great snowball fight to join in, and ran for his chariot. Odin did not bother to wait for Niod to make himself ready, and urged Sleipnir into a steady gallop toward the fray, as the first vivid bursts of fire and lightning spells marked the start of combat. His heart was racing, but his grip on Gungnir and Sleipnir's reigns was steady as a steel clasp.
The air was a cacophonous collision of combat-created chaos: the ground was still tumbling into itself, Espers of every size, shape, and volume were issuing battle cries, men were shouting and screaming, chocobo steeds were emitting shrieking warks, and spells raged with crashing thunder, crackling fire, roaring waves of water, deafening windstorms, and shattering ice. Odin watched from a lessening distance as lightning bolts cut a jagged path through a tumultuous background that could not choose between exploding flames, mid-air whirlpools, or small tornados littered with ice shards, even as he saw in the corner of his eye several spots around the camp imploding and splitting apart in small but vicious earthquakes.
At one time, Princess Frigg had, as part of her studies, read a book whose author had emphatically declared that war was insanity. His meaning, Princess Frigg had clarified, was that the decision to make war with others was foolish and, essentially, reasonless: it was the emotion and intent of it that was insane. Now, however, Odin was sure that the author had been right in more ways than he intended, for the reality of war that the young man saw before him, the bizarre mixture of unnatural forces mimicking the elements, could also only be described as madness. And the fact that he was actually choosing to advance toward this imagination-defying danger was, if Odin had stopped to think about it, probably completely insane, as well.
Odin came up to the edge of the conflict, and saw that the closest Esper was a bizarre being that stood at about the height of a regular man and was armed with twin steel shields. At first glance, it appeared to be an animated skeleton; however, rather than simply being a collection of bare white human bones as one might traditionally expect, they seemed to have a reptilian skin of large, bright blue scales. The Esper was using the shields to block whatever attacks nearby soldiers made against him, and while doing so, countering each offense by opening its skeletal jaws and issuing a dark, crimson cloud into the face of each soldier it battled. The soldier hit would collapse in a fit of coughing and vomiting as what exposed skin could be seen turned in seconds from a healthy pallor to one of a pale, sick yellow. Within seconds, the fit would end with a gurgle, and the man would be dead, still but for a few post-mortem convulsions.
Odin had observed all this while riding into combat. Now, he adjusted the direction of Sleipnir's gallop to bear directly down on this foe. He readied the Scimitar and prepared to give Atom Edge its first true test.
Whether by good battle instincts or perhaps enhanced senses, the creature seemed to sense Odin's incoming attack, and whirled around to meet the young man, shields raised. Odin had hoped to make his move without his opponent's knowledge, since he and Sleipnir would be in great jeopardy if Atom Edge should for any reason fail to work, but such a regret was pointless now; he was too committed to his assault to stop.
Sleipnir was right at the Esper now. The skeleton raised its shields and took a breath, as Odin had seen it do before each biological offense it made, and Odin brought his Scimitar straight down against both shields, concentrating and focusing his little control over the magic within him. The blade came down, and…kept going through both steel protectors as though they were naught but air. If the Esper beneath them was surprised by this, it was not for long, for the Atom Edge continued through him in the exact same way. A flash of light followed, and the Esper was no more than a curious stone upon the ground.
As Odin turned to look for his next target, he could feel a tremor in the ground, strong enough to pass from Sleipnir's hooves all the way up to his seat. This was not the same unnatural, chaotic shaking as what had occurred during the Espers' entrance a few minutes earlier--that was, according to Odin's ears, still occurring, but far enough elsewhere on the battlefield that this localized shake could not be it. It was also getting slightly more powerful as moments passed--something on this battlefield was big and heavy enough to cause the ground to shake in such a way, and it was getting closer.
What it was became apparent a few seconds later, as Odin saw a large Esper come charging through the ranks of embattled soldiers to Odin's left. It was an enormous rhinoceros-like beast with a thick, heavy hide of dusty orange. Aside from the color, the only real noticeable difference between this creature and the genuine beast was that this one did not have just one horn, but rather several, traveling from its first, most pronounced one in a line of tiny horns along its back straight to the end--it did not even set itself apart by use of any spells. But then, Odin decided at seeing its unstoppable charge scatter human ranks, knock chocobos and their riders aside, and even smash chariots out of the creature's way, whatever magical abilities it had probably weren't as effective a force of destruction for this monster as simple velocity.
Odin resolved that this would be his next target. He spurred Sleipnir into a gallop, turning to pursue the Esper. It left a wide wake where it traveled, which made the chase easier, but navigating this path was itself a challenge, for Sleipnir had to maintain a high speed while avoiding as best he could the many broken bodies of men and chocobos, not to mention making an occasional sharp turn to miss falling into one of the many crevasses in the ground that had been and were still continuing to be made. Odin did not even try to guide his steed in this task, for Sleipnir was as much a master of his role on the field of battle as Odin was of his own. For his own part, Odin simply watched as the gap between them and their unsuspecting prey lessened, and tried his best to follow the general course of the battle with his ears. He did so not only out of a wish to be ready for his next move, but also simply because doing so would distract his eyes and ears from observing the grisly crimson splashes that Sleipnir's hooves made through the rhinoceros Esper's path. Odin did not want to think about just how many human beings were dead on this field. He did not want to be reminded that he could join them. And he did not want to consider why some patches of the ground were freshly muddy, despite there having been no rain in this area for over a week.
Horse and rider were coming up to their target now, and Odin focused his concentration on the task at hand. The easiest and most surefire way to defeat this Esper would likely be to ride a little further up, until the creature's neck and head's base were within striking distance, and perform an Atom Edge then; however, the problem was that doing so would bring him and Sleipnir into the Esper's field of vision, and all the beast would have to do would be to swing his head or veer to the side to disrupt the attack and put them at serious risk.
Odin decided to try something else. He raised the Scimitar, and made a fairly shallow slash across the Esper's hide, immediately slowing Sleipnir to a stop as the strike was made. He did not bother to waste his energy on using Atom Edge; from his position, at this speed, and against as great a bulk as the Esper possessed, getting a decent deathblow would be nothing more than luck.
The tough, thick skin coating the beast ensured that the wound Odin caused was almost inconsequential, but it was nonetheless sharply felt and unexpected. The moment it was made and Sleipnir's speed dwindled, the beast stumbled and almost fell to the ground. It dug in its heels as best it could to stop and turn, using an unfortunate group of soldiers as a cushion against its inertia. With a snort of irritation, it glared back the way it had come to find its attacker. Odin, for his part, did nothing to make himself difficult to spot; he sat upon Sleipnir and looked straight at the Esper, putting a slightly defiant look upon his face for it to see.
"You arrogant scum!" came an enraged cry from the Esper. "You'll pay!"
This was the first time an Esper had ever addressed Odin, or spoken at all in his presence, and Odin was struck for a brief moment by the fact that there was nearly no difference between this beast's voice and any given middle-aged human woman's. An enraged woman's; the Esper was so furiously focused on him that she was ignoring, or perhaps not even aware of, several of the soldiers behind her that were now focusing their attacks on her, and making worse wounds than the one Odin had given her.
The Esper charged forward, clearly intending to use her tried-and-true method of destruction to have her revenge against him. Seeing this, Odin gave Sleipnir the appropriate kick and tug, and the horse began to gallop away in retreat. The tricky part of this would be to maintain the right speed to keep horse and rider right in front of the Esper, without ever becoming slow enough for her to gore either or both on her horn. Since the rhinoceros-like being was quite fast once she'd had a chance to pick up speed, such baiting was a dangerous task. But Odin wanted to make sure her attention was fixed solely on him, and he trusted Sleipnir implicitly.
They traveled back over the same path that had been cleared by the magical beast moments before. Although the battle was pitched, chaotic, and spread quite widely across the plains, the trail cobbled with broken men that had been cleared was, Odin noted gladly to himself, still largely undisturbed and unoccupied. He could not afford the instant's delay that stopping for others in his path would have cost him; he could hear the Esper's heavy, snorting breath far too closely behind him as it was, and was almost sure for a thankfully short second that he even felt its hot breeze disturbing his backside. The young man chanced a backwards glance, and saw that he could have fenced with his pursuer, she was so close--he with his Scimitar, she with her horn.
When Odin looked back to where they were headed, though, he was relieved to see the end in sight. Up ahead was one of the many unnatural chasms that the Espers had been causing with their magical influence over the earth elements. Now Odin spurred Sleipnir on for real, picking up speed at a record pace, while sheathing his sword to free up his hand. The edge of the solid ground was reached, and Sleipnir launched himself through the air. The horse easily cleared the gap to land on the other side, which Odin estimated to be several tall men's length.
The Esper chasing them did not fare so well. She had been too blinded by anger at her supposed prey to be paying attention to where they were taking her, so she did not see the pit until it was too late, and had only realized the danger and tried to stop moments before Sleipnir made his leap. Even then, she might not have died; Odin did not know how well a rhinoceros's legs could leap, but perhaps she would have been able to clear the gap as well, had she tried to jump it. But as it was, the Esper had tried to stop suddenly, and at that speed, with that inertia, and on loose soil moist with mud mixed from dirt and blood, she merely slowed a little before toppling over the edge, hurtling into the black abyss below toward a bottom much too deep to be illuminated by daylight.
Several of the soldiers nearby who witnessed this event gave a rousing cheer at the heartening sight of a large and dangerous Esper defeated. The voices were cut off, however, as a particularly violent tremor ran through the soil beneath them. With a shocking and definitely unnatural speed, the ground all around Odin began to tilt dangerously, the area in front of him rising swiftly higher as the other side sank rapidly into an underground chasm that an Esper's magic had created. Men screamed as they lost their footing and fell down to be swallowed by the dark pit, and Odin could swear he could hear the sickening echoes of their inevitable impacts with the bottom. Some chocobo riders' steeds had the cunning and reflex to spread and beat their usually useless wings enough to slow their descent and glide to safe outcroppings on the surrounding sides of this sudden canyon, walls of deep earth that had not yet been disturbed. These ledges and holding points were often not very stable, and a long and dangerous climb would have to be made for the men and chocobos to reach the top, but they at least had a chance of emerging alive--more than could be said for the dozens of regular foot soldiers holding on to whatever parts they could of this newly tipped and nearly submerged section of the plains, should they lose their grips.
Luckily for Odin and Sleipnir, the edge of the hole which the rhinoceros-like Esper had plunged into, which they had previously been standing by, had become the top edge of the shifting expanse of ground, and so Sleipnir had managed to half run, half jump upwards to hold onto its edge with his forelegs. As Odin clung to his faithful companion's saddle for his life, his legs dangling downwards as gravity made its insistent pull to claim him, Sleipnir began to pull both of them up over the side.
As the horse was almost fully up, however, something slammed into Odin from behind and tried to shove him to the side. The combination of force and surprise broke Odin's precious hold, and the man fell.
The moment the air began to rush around him, the young Raiden's mind was overtaken by the dark instinct within him. Quickly but without panic, he scanned the space he was falling into, and saw, halfway down, one of the plains' lonely trees, a strange sight as it now jutted out diagonally rather than towering upwards. Odin immediately used knowledge and experience never acquired in this lifetime and angled his descent toward the tree. As it came rushing up at him, he stretched his arms out and caught one of its branches. At the speed he had been going, and given how much extra weight his armor gave him, doing so with the intent of using the tree limb for an immediate stop would hurt immensely, if not outright throw his shoulders out of their sockets, so he instead used this hold to direct his momentum differently, swinging and releasing branch to shoot toward another. This one he grabbed hold of and used as his anchor.
Safe if only for a few moments, Odin climbed up to stand on the branch, and looked up to where he had fallen from, pushing aside questions of how he had known how to do what he had just performed. It took only a moment to catch sight of what had thrown him loose. High above, an Esper flew from one spot to another on this tilting, grassy wall, grabbing hold of soldiers who were clinging to it and prying them loose to fall to their deaths.
Odin quickly searched the many leaves around him, and found several unripe nuts still clinging to their parent that had not yet been shaken off from all this activity. He grabbed them, carefully took aim, and began to hurl them as hard as he could up at the Esper. His aim was flawless, but the distance was great, and only a couple actually found their target before succumbing to the planet's drawing force and falling back. But this was enough that the Esper took notice, turned to see where they came from, noticed a few flying up from the tree far below, and began to plummet down towards it.
The Esper's sense of direction was keen, and the creature flew down to hover directly in front of Odin. She was a slim humanoid, her unclothed skin showing a slightly green pallor to it, strangely complimented by flowing, aqua hair. Along her back ran four sets of gossamer wings, the flying tools of insects, shining with a slight crimson flare. From each of her heels and the top of her head grew pairs of wings, as well, but these were leathery and dark violet, resembling the wings of bats. Finally, her arms were feathered, each lined with rich, golden plumage to form a combination of a human's limb and a bird's wing, with small, slim, also-feathered hands at the end of each. Had she not been attempting to throw him and his comrades to their violent deaths, Odin might have found her beautiful.
Seeing that he had no weapon out, the Esper gave an angry war cry, and flew forward to push Odin off of the branch that he was precariously balancing on. Having expected this, Odin leapt up, grabbed hold of a branch above him, and swung his legs forward. He caught the Esper's head and neck between them, locked his legs, and then gave a violent and swift jerk, snapping her neck. He then let go, and her body fell listlessly down to join her victims' below.
The way to the top now as safe as it was going to get, Odin set about the task of going down along the tree's trunk, and then climbing up to the top. Soft, grassy soil was not well-suited for scaling, but, acting once again with an expertise never gained during this life, the young Lokithor soldier, Odin made his way to the top with astonishing sureness and speed.
Finally, he reached the top, pulled himself over, and stood upright on solid ground, thankful for the comforting feeling of the earth below him. Sleipnir, faithful horse that he was, was there waiting for him. Odin immediately went through the bag of supplies that, as a soldier, he was required to keep on his steed at all times, and retrieved a coil of rope. Using a closed-handled saber retrieved from a nearby soldier's corpse to stick in the ground for a stake, Odin tied one length of the rope around the sword's handle, and flung the rest over the edge he had just risen from. It was the best he could do to help the many men still clinging desperately below that he had guiltily climbed past without the means to assist. The rope would only stretch about three quarters of the way down the sunken landmass, and there were many men on the sides, but at least they now had a chance of at least climbing up or over to a safe path to the top.
Odin climbed atop Sleipnir and took a moment to survey the battle still raging on. Thanks to the way this part of the ground had shifted, he was given enough height to look down over the fight and see pretty much everything. In the time that he had taken to get back to ground level, the conflict had moved itself a fair ways off, leaving him beyond its outskirts. He watched in something approaching horror as entire sections of the battlefield were ripped apart, rising, falling, splitting open, swallowing and crushing dozens, even hundreds of human beings at a time wherever it occurred. At the same time, destructive elements continued to rage the battlefield. Any man who tried to escape the carnage would be caught at the edge of battle by a few flying Espers who seemed to be patrolling the area for the sole purpose of killing these fleeing troops.
This was ludicrous. There were so many human beings all grouped together that they were being slaughtered by the far-reaching and destructive Espers' magic before they were even able to encounter their opponents. Conventional human war wisdom was meaningless here; greater numbers were a hindrance, not a strength.
Now, however, was not the time and place for such observations. Odin watched, and noticed that the sections of the battlefield that were engulfed by small but deadly earthquakes were ones which the gigantic brown serpent, the first Esper Odin had seen when this battle began, was looking at. It would focus on one area populated entirely by soldiers all trying to make their way to an enemy, and a moment later, the soil below them would separate and erupt, flinging them down into the earth. It was fairly obvious that this monstrous snake was the one responsible for turning the planet itself against Lokithor's forces, and thus, the most dangerous opponent present.
Odin spurred Sleipnir forward, urging the horse into as fast a gallop as possible. Sleipnir did not disappoint, and in about half a minute, they sped past the Espers guarding the battle's borders. The magical beings made a clumsy attempt to stop them, hurling balls of fire down at horse and rider, but Sleipnir's pace was fast enough that no sphere of flame came even close to hitting them.
The fighting in this area was not too pitched or dense, so Sleipnir did not have to slow his pace to avoid running into others, but Odin knew that they would not have long before hitting the more populated section. But that was not a problem; Odin was now within a comfortable range. He quickly loosened the great spear strapped to Sleipnir's side, hefting the Gungnir up and holding it above his head. Once again, the mysterious personality within him seemed to take hold of the young man, and guide his actions. He grabbed Sleipnir's reigns and pulled back, making the horse suddenly rear back so far on his hind legs as to almost stand vertically. Odin took careful aim, and pumped his arm forward with every ounce of strength he had, focusing his muscles in unison into the one, single act of hurling his great lance upwards. It shot toward the sky as though fired from a cannon, and a name for this technique, this flawless throwing skill, flashed through his mind: Gunge Lance.
The spear flew into the stratosphere, in half a second going far enough to be out of sight. The clouds seemed to part for it, its incredible velocity creating a surrounding force that pushed them away as it passed. And though Odin could not see it physically, as he quickly rode forward to where the huge snake Esper was located, in his mind's eye he tracked his missile as it hit its zenith, turned, and came hurtling downwards, gravity now giving it even greater speed than before as its high flight gave its fall greater acceleration. There was a high-pitched sound from the sky as the Gungnir came back to the ground, and Odin could see it fall like a bolt of lightning down into the skull of the titanic, earth-shifting serpent. The spear did not split the serpent's skull entirely, but rather punctured it in a nanosecond, and drove the Esper's head down to the ground. Death was instantaneous; the Esper's life was snuffed out before its cranium even began its forced descent. A moment later, when Odin came into sight of where it had been, there was nothing left to see but Gungnir, laying on the grass next to a fresh Magicite.
Odin retrieved his spear. Before he could consider his next step, however, he heard a loud, somewhat obnoxious voice nearby. Although it was no louder than any other sound on this field, it caught Odin's interest, for it was very familiar to him, even though he was sure he had never heard it before.
"Wha--how--bu---what in the name of cross-dressing pirate captains just happened?! Did I seriously just see that? Who did--how could--who the HECK just offed Terrato!?" the voice indignantly yelled.
Odin turned to find its origin, and saw a man in strange clothing standing nearby. Although most of his face was obscured by an almost glaringly bright orange cowl, Odin's subconscious mind had no trouble at all identifying this entity by the name of Gilgamesh, and feeling a much stronger familiarity and even kinship with him than it had for Golem and Fenrir--although Odin's mental image of him strangely had a second set of arms, which this Gilgamesh seemed to be lacking. He was accompanied by a small fairy hovering near his head, which he appeared to have been addressing. The fairy's lips moved, and Odin could faintly hear over the battle's cacophony a strange, jingling noise issuing from them in no language he recognized.
After a few moments of listening to the fairy, Gilgamesh interrupted it to say, as loudly and angrily as before, "Well go find out then! Ask whether anyone saw how it happened! No wonder Leviathan put me in charge of you lot today; you've really just got no clue about warfare. We were counting on that smug, pretentious, over-sized worm to be our main offense, and now--"
Gilgamesh stopped suddenly as his eyes caught sight of Odin and Sleipnir, observing him from several paces away. There was a long, pregnant pause, and then Gilgamesh spoke again. "Ah. Right. Okay. Never mind that order, Aliel. I'm…pretty sure I know what happened to Terrato."
Gilgamesh then turned to face Odin directly. He addressed the young warrior in a friendly and familiar way that Odin found quite bizarre for their first meeting, saying, "Odin! Um, fancy seeing you here! It's a…real surprise to me. I didn't realize that this was the country they put you in."
Odin could not help but feel some curiosity as to how this man knew him, but whatever questions he had were pushed aside as he focused on matters more relevant to the present situation. This battle had to be ended, somehow; at the rate it was going, Lokithor's forces would be utterly obliterated. Even if Odin managed to defeat every Esper he came across (and he did not dare to imagine that he could do so; Terrato notwithstanding, he had so far only been victorious over weak or moderately powerful Espers, and only one at a time), he could not possibly do so quickly enough to prevent monstrous casualties on his side.
"Are you the leader of these Espers?" he demanded to know.
"Ah. Yes. The no-memory thing. Why yes, uh, random warrior that I don't know, I am the Esper commander! I am Gilgamesh, the warrior of unsurpassed might! Bane of humanity! Ally to the Goddesses' children! Weaponry pack rat! What business do you have with me?" Gilgamesh said challengingly, so much so that he seemed to be almost like an over-enthusiastic actor playing a part.
"I challenge you to private combat, one against one, to disarmament or death, whichever the better warrior strives for. If I should be victor, your troops shall immediately withdraw," Odin challenged.
"Stiff and uptight as usual, I see. Well…suppose I'm interested in your offer. What do I get out of it when I win?" Gilgamesh responded, his voice taking on an interested tone.
"Vengeance for your comrade Terrato's death," Odin offered.
"Barely knew the guy. How about your sword, can I have your sword if I win?" Gilgamesh asked, the covetous desire in his voice completely unhidden.
This seemed like a fairly good deal to Odin, since, if the young man lost, his opponent would have the opportunity to take his weapon from his dead grasp anyway. "I accept."
"Okay!" Gilgamesh responded, sounding almost giddy in anticipation. "But you've gotta get off Sle--er, off your horse. One-on-one's one-on-one, after all. You keep your ride out of this, and I won't call my pet Enkidu, either. Wherever he is around here."
(Simon's Notes: There are, in this section of the document, some notes in the side margins, comparatively crudely scrawled in a different ink, with arrows indicating what passage they're commenting on. Each one is signed. They seem to have been left by Gilgamesh, if I am correctly reading this (pardon my lack of objectivity here) terrible chicken-scratch. In case they were intentionally allowed to stay by the original author, I will interject them at each part that they occur. In this case, Gilgamesh writes, "I knew Leviathan would have a fit if he found out I was endangering Odin's life before he'd accomplished his purpose in this war, but I just couldn't resist this oportunity [sic. I figured that, what with not remembering all his skills and kung fu and stuff, he'd be as easy to beat now as he ever would be, especially if I had him off Sleipnir so he couldn't do his super-slash thing. And I just HAD to have Zantetsuken! I just figured I'd have to be careful to just wound him, not outright kill him, and everything would still go as Leviathan and Bahamut wanted.")
Although he knew he would be limiting his battle potential severely by doing so, Odin complied, and dismounted Sleipnir. Odin could understand Gilgamesh's point on battle honor, and the general situation on the battlefield was desperate enough that he had to take the chance, to save thousands of lives. He dropped Gungnir to the ground beside him, and unsheathed his Scimitar.
The fairy-like Esper Aliel whom Gilgamesh had been talking to a minute ago flew out between them. She raised her hand, and lowered it. What she called out was incomprehensible to Odin, but it was easy enough to guess its meaning: Begin!
Gilgamesh rushed at Odin, and Odin did the same to him. Some part of Odin recognized the two swords that Gilgamesh held in each of his arms as being the Masamune and the Excalibur, the greatest known katana and broadsword respectively. His intuition warned him to exercise extreme caution in a swordfight with them, that these legendary blades could easily penetrate the armor that he wore, and that they might even be powerful enough to cut through his weapon.
Gilgamesh and Odin met exactly halfway between their original positions (as Aliel hastily flew out of the way). Gilgamesh began by sweeping the Masamune in his right hand in an arc down at Odin. Gilgamesh put a great deal of his weight into the attack, but Odin could instantly tell that this was a feint attack, even if it had a real offense's balance to its swing--as soon as he met the blade with his own, Gilgamesh would use the weight he'd put into the strike to bear down on Odin, forcing Odin to continue holding the Masamune up with his Scimitar to avoid it coming down and cleaving him in two, which would give Gilgamesh a second's opportunity to stab forward with the Excalibur into Odin's unprotected torso or chest.
Odin decided, however, to react exactly as he was expected--or at least, to appear to. He swung upwards to block the Masamune, but as he did so,, he concentrated, and…
"Atom Edge!"
The technique performed flawlessly. The Scimitar's blade met the Masamune's microscopically fine one, and kept going, slicing straight through the vaunted weapon's blade, cutting it clean off.
(Gilgamesh's Notes: Cheap shot! That was SUCH a cheap shot. Not fair at all.)
His attack completely, unthinkably ruined, Gilgamesh stumbled forward, holding one quarter of the mightiest katana ever forged. Odin swung his blade down to try to score a hit on his opponent, but Gilgamesh was surprisingly nimble for having his balance thrown off, and side-stepped it, then backed up a few paces.
"Aaaaahhh! My Masamune! Do you know how hard that was to get? Do you have any idea how hard it's going to be to get another one of those? I thought you had to be on Sleipnir to do that move!" Gilgamesh yelled in anger, discarding the broken weapon.
Odin completely ignored his babble and pressed his attack. He moved forward, making several thrusts and slashes as he did so. Gilgamesh parried each with the Excalibur, expertly meeting Odin's every swing, and returning several to be parried in turn. Odin could not simply force combat knowledge from the darker recesses of his mind, and he was beginning to discover the limitations of the skills he had developed over this lifetime. For now, their blades rang with equal skill as duelists, but Odin could tell that Gilgamesh was studying his technique, and learning some of the nuances of the aggressive, heavy-handed fighting style that he had been taught by Niod. Odin could not break through Gilgamesh's defense, but the human-like Esper would surely soon figure out how to do so with Odin's.
Odin decided to try his magic again. He drew his sword back, and made a broad slice at Gilgamesh's midsection. Gilgamesh saw it coming, and moved his sword to easily block it, as Odin had known he would. Odin concentrated, and shouted, "Atom Edge!" again, once more enhancing his attack beyond regular human capability.
The two swords met…but this time, Gilgamesh's sword held firm. Odin had to admit to himself that he should have expected no less. It was one thing to attempt such an attack against the Masamune, but the Excalibur's excellence and perfection as a sword was in an entirely different league. Odin's clumsy grasp over magic could never have stood a chance against its holy enchantments and flawless craftsmanship.
As their blades pressed together, and Odin found himself hoping that the Excalibur would not eventually just cut through the Scimitar, Gilgamesh suddenly reached his free arm forward and grabbed hold of Odin's wrist. In the half-moment while Odin was too shocked to respond, Gilgamesh gave his wrist a sharp, painful twist, then drew his arm back along Odin's hand, grabbed hold of part of the Scimitar's handle, and pulled hard. Odin's grip was loosened by Gilgamesh's actions, along with his own surprise at so bizarre an action, and provided little resistance as, with a jerk, Gilgamesh stole the sword right out of his hand.
Gilgamesh stepped back and held the Scimitar up to the light, crowing, "YES! I got your sword, I got your sword, I got your--wait a minute, this isn't Zantetsuken. Hey!"
(Gilgamesh's Notes: I'm actually a little embarrassed that I had to actually hold it before I realized that. Usually, I've obsessed over the next sword I'm going to gaffle from someone that I can tell it from a fake just by looking. I was under a lot of stress at the time, though...putting up with Aliel's constant griping (genuine Espers are such whiners, I tell you), commanding an Esper strike force, fighting for my life against Odin…I'm not surprised I didn't notice at first. Real disappointment, though, let me tell you.)
Odin did not stay put to witness Gilgamesh's joy turning to irritation. He turned and ran back to where he'd laid Gungnir down, and picked the mighty spear up, holding it in both hands. Armed once more, he turned back to Gilgamesh, who was still cursing.
"You have my sword as you wished, but I'm not ready to quit yet," Odin said, lifting his lance in challenge. "Come, face me as a warrior this time, instead of a paltry thief!"
Whether stung by the insult, or just violently irate about the stolen weapon not being all he had hoped, Gilgamesh answered Odin's challenge, running forward to attack. Odin raised his spear and readied himself. He felt the instinctual warrior hidden within him rising from dormancy, perhaps triggered by the fact that Odin was now armed with a weapon that he had not during this lifetime had much experience with wielding on foot, but had in a previous one.
Gilgamesh's first attack was made with both blades at once, crossing them horizontally and thrusting them forward as though to decapitate Odin with both at once.
(Gilgamesh's Notes: Yeah, I, uh, was pretty steamed about the fake Zantetsuken thing (it brought back some unpleasant memories involving Excalipoor), and I sort of forgot that I was supposed to be trying not to kill him.)
Although the Gungnir's shaft was carved from the best hardwood known to this world, and lined with several rings of steel all along it, Odin did not want to test whether it could block either the Scimitar or the Excalibur--and he was certain it could not halt both at once. So, instead of directly blocking them, he held his spear horizontally and raised it upwards, slamming it up against Gilgamesh's wrists. Gilgamesh's arms and the blades they held were forced upwards, over Odin's head. Odin immediately shifted his hold on his weapon, brought it down, and thrust it forward at Gilgamesh's ribs. The Esper's reflexes saved him, and he dodged to the side in time to avoid being wounded, but it was close enough that Gungnir's tip ripped some orange cloth from his outfit.
Having learned his lesson not to make a joint attack like the last one, Gilgamesh began to slash at him as he had before, with coordinated but not simultaneous strikes. Odin was a blur of elusive motion. He would move or duck a little to avoid one attack, and slam his spear's shaft against Gilgamesh's other arm as it made its strike. The Gungnir would thrust it safely away for a moment, then fly to meet the first arm's next attack to do the same to it, giving Odin a chance to dodge the next blow. This continued for a few minutes, with Gilgamesh scoring no hits but Odin too busy defending to make his own attack, when the opportunity Odin was waiting for arrived.
With his left arm, Gilgamesh performed a low, sweeping slash with the Scimitar, trying to hit Odin's kneecaps. Odin let go of Gungnir with his left hand, and quickly swung it to point downward with his right hand. He thrust it solidly into the ground, and Gilgamesh's attack was interrupted as his arm was stopped by the standing spear before the weapon he held could reach Odin. At the same time, Gilgamesh thrust his right arm forward, trying to impale Odin with the Excalibur. Odin side-stepped it. Both arms now free, Odin used one hand and grabbed hold of Gilgamesh's right arm as it reached the end of its attack's range, right near the wrist. The other hand Odin brought up below Gilgamesh's elbow. He slammed his fist into the elbow, while twisting the connected arm with his other hand. There was a sickening crack, and Gilgamesh screamed and cursed in pain.
(Gilgamesh's Notes: This is a gross exageration [sic. I maybe grunted in pain, at the most. Never screamed. I don't care what Aliel might tell you. She's a liar.)
Odin stepped back and retrieved his weapon, bringing it up to a ready stance. The Excalibur slid from Gilgamesh's grip, falling to the ground as the Esper's arm hung, loose and disturbingly angled. Gilgamesh seemed to get a grip on himself as Odin looked on, and ceased his yells.
"Well, you've broken my sword, and you've broken my arm. Thanks. I hope one of my healers can fix this thing. I think it's high time I stopped playing nice with you, you nasty jerk. Let's dance for real this time!" Gilgamesh said. He gathered his cloak to himself, then threw it open, and a second set of arms emerged from its folds, right below the first. The right was armed with a heavy hand axe, doubtless quite effective but not, as far as Odin could tell, unique and peerless, as Gilgamesh's swords had been. The left arm held what appeared for all the world to be a second Excalibur, but somehow, despite being a nearly perfect copy, it did not seem to hold the same majesty as the one Gilgamesh had used before. Something within Odin identified this blade as Excalipoor, and knew that it was nowhere near as mighty as the true legendary saber…although certainly as dangerous as any other regular sword would normally be.
The battle began anew, though it went much as it had before. Even for having three separate ways to attack his opponent, Gilgamesh continued to find it impossible to hit Odin. In fact, it seemed at times that this extra arm was more hindrance than help: Odin would sometimes manage to use the Gungnir's pole to force one arm's attack up or down at such an angle as to interrupt another arm's attack, and momentarily confuse Gilgamesh enough that Odin had an opening to make an attack of his own. His thrusts were quick and well-aimed, but Gilgamesh continued to evade most of them, and gather himself in that moment to launch a new series of strikes. On the occasion that Odin did score blood, it was a glancing blow only, a light scratch on the side as Gilgamesh leapt aside a second too slowly.
This was too ineffective. Odin would have to devise a new attack strategy if he wanted to achieve a quick victory. He waited for his opportunity, and in a moment it came. Gilgamesh tried a quick downward slash with Excalipoor, and Odin held Gungnir horizontally, letting the sword clang harmlessly against one of the steel rings circling the spear's handle near the butt of the weapon. As the sword did this, Gilgamesh made a sweeping chop at Odin's chest with his axe on the other side. Odin lifted his leg on the same side quickly and kicked out hard against the incoming attack. His steel boot slammed hard against the bottom of the axe's head. The impact was great enough that Gilgamesh lost his grip on the weapon, and it flew upwards a little, spinning in the air before falling to the ground. As the axe did so, Gilgamesh tried to stab his remaining free weapon forward, to slice Odin's throat with his own Scimitar. Odin simply twisted Gungnir upwards, to stand vertically instead of horizontally, and knocked the offensive away from hitting his neck by the length of a man's thumb. He then drew the spear back for an instant, then stabbed higher, sending Gungnir's head straight into Gilgamesh's higher left forearm. It slid through flesh, muscle, and bone easily, and its tip emerged bloodily from the other end of the Esper's limb. Odin retracted the weapon with vicious speed, and Gilgamesh hollered in agony once more, stepping back several paces and cradling his newly damaged arm to himself. Odin watched as he tested it, trying to move it forward while still holding Scimitar, and yelped in pain. The Scimitar slid from his grasp to the ground, and Odin resolved to watch his step from here on out to avoid accidentally treading on the growing number of sharp objects littering the ground.
Gilgamesh was apparently not ready to quit. With a furious yell, he ran at Odin, brandishing his remaining weapon, Excalipoor. Something about this action seemed off, though…even in his enraged state, Gilgamesh had to know he didn't stand much chance with only one weapon left, and that weapon being nothing more than Excalipoor. Odin cautiously raised his spear to meet the attack.
The Raiden boy's instincts turned out to be correct. The moment Excalipoor once again was stopped by the steel part of Gungnir's shaft, Gilgamesh's cloak rustled unnaturally, and two more arms, these ones lower than the rest, shot out, each gripping cruelly curved machetes. They each stabbed upwards at Odin's chest.
Odin immediately ducked down, angling his body as far back as possible as he did so. Even with his immediate reflexes, he could not manage to avoid the attack altogether, but thankfully, his armor was sufficient enough to repel the glancing blows from each blade, leaving him unharmed.
Down on the ground now with a moment to act before Gilgamesh could take advantage of his higher position, Odin leaned back, supporting himself with one hand, and launched a heavy kick straight at Gilgamesh's right knee. There was a sickening crunch, not for the first time, as bones were broken and relocated in Gilgamesh's body, and Gilgamesh, also not for the first time, yelled in pain, as he tried to maintain his balance.
Odin foiled this attempt, however, as, once he had both feet back on ground, he lifted Gungnir and drove it as forcefully as he could up into the part of Gilgamesh's cloth-obscured body where he judged the lowest left arm connected to Gilgamesh. His intuition was true as the spear tore through the inhuman joint, so hard that the arm was very nearly torn from its socket by the force. Although the limb remained attached (if too damaged to be used any further), the weight of the thrust was more than enough to send Gilgamesh toppling onto his back.
Odin stood and stepped a few paces back, breathing evenly as he made it clear to Gilgamesh that he would not press his attack until the many-armed man had had a chance to get back up. Gilgamesh let out another curse as he realized that only three of his six arms could be moved without excruciating, crippling pain, and of those three, only two currently held weapons. He struggled up to his feet.
He was almost fully standing when Odin smashed the butt of his spear into his face. Gilgamesh collapsed backward, completely taken by surprise. A fighter on the ground might prepare himself to defend against an opponent trying to take advantage of the compromising position, but once that opponent did not press the attack, the fighter always assumed that he would be fully allowed to get back up before the battle resumed. No one ever expected to be hit halfway through the process.
(Gilgamesh's Notes: Remember when I said that Odin made a cheap shot before? I take it back. That wasn't a cheap shot. THIS was a cheap shot. That guy plays dirty.)
As Gilgamesh crashed against the ground, Odin stood over him, held his lowest right arm down beneath his boot, and plunged Gungnir down into the arm right at the elbow. Gilgamesh raised Excalipoor and thrust it desperately at Odin, but the human warrior leapt back, ripping his weapon from Gilgamesh's arm as he did so. He backed up several paces now, giving Gilgamesh a real opportunity this time to rise to his feet. Gilgamesh was down to two functioning arms and only one weapon, so Odin was hoping that the Esper might be willing to surrender now, and wanted to give him the chance to do so.
Gilgamesh had other ideas. He quickly got to his feet, favoring his uninjured leg, and faced Odin. His middle right arm, the one Odin had knocked the axe out of, reached into Gilgamesh's cloak for a moment. It then flew forward, hurling a shuriken at Odin.
Odin deftly moved his spear's shaft to intercept the small, whirling, bladed star, and it bounced harmlessly off. He then moved the spear again to block the next one, and the next one. Gilgamesh's arm was a blur of movement as it reached into his cloak and tossed the next shuriken it retrieved from the clothing's depths, and his aim, though, always precisely targeting Odin, was sporadic in which part of his opponent was targeted. Odin's spear was as much a blur of motion, circling up, down, and all around to block each sharp missile. For a moment, it was a stalemate.
Then Gilgamesh threw one star low, right at Odin's crotch, and another a half-second later high, straight for Odin's head. Odin straightened his spear to stand straight up to block both. The moment the first hit and was thwarted, Odin swung the spear's end forward, hitting the high incoming projectile with just the right angle and speed to not only deflect it, but knock it right back to its sender. Gilgamesh did not even realize the shuriken was coming, until it flew along his outstretched palm (he had just flung another star, which was also easily stopped by Odin's lance), and down along his arm, tearing a deep, jagged, bloody wound all the way to his elbow, and embedding itself in the flesh right above the joint. Gilgamesh grunted in pain, raised the red-streaked arm, flexed it slightly, and let out a yelp of pain as he realized that it was no longer in any condition to properly hold or use a weapon.
Gilgamesh looked down at himself, taking note of each one of his crippled and/or profusely bleeding arms, hanging limply at his side or cradled painfully to his chest. His eyes stopped as they saw that the only functional arm that he had left held Excalipoor.
"Oh cruel irony," he muttered.
(Gilgamesh's Notes: There are times when I just really hate that sword. Don't ask me why I can't bring myself to get rid of it. I don't know.)
"Do you yield?" Odin demanded. He would fight to Gilgamesh's death if need be, but he hoped that the humanoid Esper would surrender before that was necessary. It would save time, and with that time, lives…and, for some reason, even though the Esper had been trying to kill him just minutes before, Odin somehow felt a strange, but strong, kinship with this creature, a feeling he had only in this life known in relation to Princess Frigg: friendship.
"Yield. Yeah. I guess that would probably be a good idea at this point," Gilgamesh said, his tone a mixture of pain and dejection. "Aliel?"
The Esper requested flew down to Gilgamesh, having watched the entire ordeal, and made a questioning response.
"Have everyone pull back. Right now. And get anyone who knows healing magic to report to me immediately. Tell them I've got a real challenge for them: putting me back together."
(Gilgamesh's Notes: I may talk smack about them a lot, since they were such arrogant, stuffy jerks most of the time, but those Espers can do some remarkable doctoring with their spells. They managed to completely fix that body of mine, which was no small feat after the number Odin did on me.
But dang. Espers can move mountains, conjure hurricanes, and decimate entire cities with fire and lightning, but ask them to do something actually USEFUL with their magic, like get all the blood stains out of your clothes after being hacked to ribbons by some nut with a spear, and you're in for disappointment. Took me MONTHS to get that outfit clean.)
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Gilgamesh was true to his word: the Espers made an immediate withdrawal, all leaving via Terrato's unnatural cavern that they had emerged from originally. The creatures were, at the very least, honorable to their commander's orders, and did not so much as swipe at a single human on the way off the battlefield. In fact, they left with such absolute peacefulness, that they did not even seek any retribution when one human archer, who would later be toasted as a hero, was dishonorable enough to shoot an arrow straight into the neck of a retreating minotaur-like Esper. Whether the shot was one of skill or luck was hard to determine, but either way, the Esper collapsed to the ground, coughed bloodily for a moment, and then, in the usual flash of light, became Magicite.
For Odin, the "victory" was hollow. Half of the entire military force stationed here was dead, and a fifth of the rest were so badly wounded that they would die soon after being laid on a hospital bed. Thanks in large part to Odin, a record number of Espers had been slain in the battle--but a dozen and one Espers dead seemed a trifle, when weighed against the ended lives of hundreds of men. Military analysts would later deem this one of the most successful battles fought thus far in the war. If this was the best success humanity could manage, then Odin knew the race was hopelessly doomed.
And, of course, there was another reason why the day's victory was sour to the young man.
"It was incredible, Mr. Raiden, sir! There were about a hundred men, huddled like rabbits in a circle, and I was in there. We were surrounded by four Espers, one on each side of the compass, and three of them had some sort of--some sort of green, glowing wall formed around us on their side, so we were trapped. The only way out was guarded by this enormous, giant…demon thing!" chattered the young soldier that Odin was following. The boy, who could not possibly have seen more than fifteen summers, had been sent to fetch Odin. Odin would have preferred to have ridden Sleipnir to wherever they were going, but the horse was desperately needed by the military leaders left alive after this encounter, to transport grievously wounded men who still had a chance to recover to whatever local hospitals, doctors' offices, and even inns had space for them.
"This demon Esper, his hands were glowing with lightning, and the way he looked at us--we all knew, we just knew, he was going to kill us all, send the lightning into us and fry every one of us. And then the demon turns, and we see this chariot coming right at him. The Esper blasts the chocobos, but the chariot keeps going, and slams into the thing, knocking both of them over. Then your father Niod jumps out with a mace, and clubs the thing to death. Before the other three monsters can realize what's going on, he's got a hatchet out, and he throws it straight at one of them. Bam, it gets her right between the head, she's gone before she hits the ground. At this point, one of the other two moves the wall so it's between us and him and his buddy. We would've all been dead for sure if your father hadn't been there. After that…"
They reached their destination, and Odin saw what he had been brought to see. Niod was sitting, leaning back against a tree to support himself. His armor was gone, its parts laying scattered around him, most twisted and broken. The clothing he wore underneath the armor was torn and soaked with blood, blood that was flowing from dozens of deep gashes and puncture wounds littering his body. One of his arms ended in a bloody stump, and the other had had a chunk of flesh torn away, probably by an Espers's fanged jaws, so much that Odin could see straight to the bone. Niod's face was as much a mess as the rest of him; blood ran like drool from his mouth to his chin, and dribbled off it, while the blood flowing from a gash above his upper eyebrow almost managed to disguise the fact that he no longer had that side's eye.
Odin didn't need his guide to finish his sentence. It was abundantly clear what had happened after that. The other Esper had wrecked him.
But amazingly, he was still alive.
He saw Odin's approach with his remaining eye, and, slurring his words through the blood and a jaw that no longer wanted to move, said, "Think this's bad? Should see…the other guy."
Odin knelt down before Niod, and the older Raiden forced himself to continue, using his last energy to keep talking. "Heard you…killed a few of'em…'s not bad…gotta get…dozen if you want…beat me."
Niod Raiden had always been a brutish, abusive father. He had at the best of times been domineering and unreasonable, and all the rest of the time, a violent, obsessive bully. He had pushed Odin into a dangerous life for his own glory, and denied him a childhood and education as best he could. He had hit him, insulted him, and degraded him.
But he was still Odin's father, and, despite everything, even though it made no sense, even though Odin would never have been able to justify it, he still loved Niod. For the first and last time in his life, tears came to Odin Raiden's eyes, and ran down his cheeks. He wanted to say something, anything, but for the life of him, he could not find the right words with which to do so.
Niod saw the tears on Odin's face, and was appalled. The satisfaction he'd felt for what he'd heard the boy had accomplished this day disappeared, and was replaced by angry disappointment that his son could be capable of showing such weakness.
It was the last feeling he ever had. His body had nothing more to give, and the animal ferocity in Niod Raiden's eyes was finally tamed. He died angry and discontent…and thus his soul did not make its way to the vessel destined for the after-life, as it should have. Instead, the dark, dissatisfied emotions drew it, as was the case of a great many of the other souls of that day's victims, to an abomination known as Wrexsoul. It would join thousands of other miserable souls for over a thousand years of tortured limbo, until it is released by Wrexsoul's fall at heroes' hands…as has been prophesized by Alexander.
Odin saw Niod's death through tear-stained eyes. His tears increased, and he reached forward, lifting the still warm body slightly. And, for the first time in any lifetime of his, Odin willingly gave a hug.
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Simon's Notes: I have but one comment to add to this, and I can only hope it shall not be detrimental to this moving passage. I find it interesting that this part of the narrative contains the first occasion in which the author has used the present tense, rather than the past, seen when describing Alexander's prophecy regarding Wrexsoul and Niod Raiden's soul. It seems to imply that, as of the ancient time during which this document was written, it had not yet occurred. I wonder if it has happened by now, or whether it is still to transpire? It is difficult to date this tale, so either is possible.