Now, on to presenting the 2nd Arc's prologue! Enjoy :3
Also, just FYI - whereas the first arc had the Gods speaking their natal language in "Italics" - to differentiate between English and Foreign Languages - conversations will not be italicized in this arc, due to the fact that there is no modern English, unless its a language not pertaining to Old Norse.
ASGARD ARC
"Prologue"
War of the Realms
3,000 years ago...
It had been an endless war that grew further into the hundred year mark.
No one knew the cause for it, much less who fired the first shot, but each and every realm certainly felt the full effect it offered, as the ravaging, destructive, path was set for the slowly spreading war.
More than half of the realms were left in ruins.
The heirs were no more than victims of the calamity.
At one point, prior to the full contribution of all realms involved, the Kings of each land had decided to hold a meeting in order to placate the spreading destruction of greed and power amongst them. It was around the 10 year point, since the war began, that most of the realms were going through a period of famine. The number of heirs were dwindling with each passing year, and it was unfortunate to state that mass extinction was no longer a fictitious thought.
The one suffering the most, however, was the mortal realm - whose power and strength was considerably weaker in comparison to the Gods, Giants, and Elves. All of their men had become involved in this war, leaving the women and children behind. They had no more resources. They had no more warriors.
At this point, they would be the first to fall.
Second to them, would be the Dwarves of Svartalfheim; and following them, the Dark Elves of Niflheim.
With the way the meeting was being held, however, they should've known that - rather than pacify the situation at hand - the conclave would end up provoking an all out war between the 8 participating realms.***
Especially with the greedy, power-hungry, Lords that ruled said lands.
Fárbauti*, King of Jotunheim, was a frost giant full of authoritarian power. With hair as dark as ashen snow, and eyes a piercing, crimson dye, he commanded most of the meeting with an iron fist. His perspective was that the lower lands (which consisted of Niflheim, Jotunheim, and upper Helheim) give up their decrees and join together as a singular realm. This would then ensure that the proper resources be given to one another, without the loss of further heirs.
Surtr*, King of Muspelheim, a fire demon with his small tuft of coal-black hair growing atop his bald, red head, and eyes a smoldering yellow, fully disapproved the idea - stating that, as one of the originating lands of Ginunngagap, Niflheim was as essential as his own realm. His take on the matter, was that Asgard give up a quarter of their lands to each of the lower realms - completely giving up the abundant resources they held back in case of famines.
Njord*, King of Vanaheim, and the royal adviser to the King of Asgard, glared at Surtr with electric blue eyes, pushing his long mane back - intricate braid showing his royal status to any who beheld the bright golden locks. It was a preposterous idea, he had stated once the attention was drawn to him, to give up Asgardian lands to fulfill the need of the realms beneath, when it was they who refused to cede to the power of the heavenly realms ( involving Vanaheim, Alfheim, and Asgard). If that were the case, then it would be just as fair to have the heavens join together as one nation.
This of course, did not bode well with Surtr, who began to argue incessantly over the bastards that ruled the heavenly realms.
A fight would've broken out, then and there, as Freyr - recently appointed ruler of Alfheim - interceded, indignant at the Fire demon, for insulting his Father and their family friend, who happened to be the King of Asgard.
"If he is such a King," Surtr spat with contempt, "Why did he not show up to our assembly? He is no more than a coward hiding behind the power of the Asgardian throne!"
"Is that a challenge?!" Heimdall, who had accompanied Freyr and Njord, as a representative of Asgard, wanted no more than to plunge his sword into the proud Surtr's neck. Fortunately, his anger had been momentarily appeased by the electric blue eyed Vanir, who held him back with a calming grip.
A raucous laughter, echoing like screeching nails, interrupted the heated argument.
Carr the Dark Magician, who had - prior to the war - installed himself as the King of Niflheim ( after usurping his brother's rightful place in the throne, murdering him, and claiming the first queen for his own) bodly exlaimed that if they were all opposed to the offered ideas, then it would be better that he claim the lower, middle, and upper realms for his own.
Least to say, he was ridiculed by the rest.
But only one took his joke seriously.
Eluf*, a mortal of barely three decades, who had been decreed by the heirs of his realm as a King among mortal Kings, was the first to speak out the injustice of such a proposition. "You cannot rule all the realms when you yourself were not even chosen by your own people to rule!"
Carr the Dark Magician had then become as silent as death after the mortal's outburst, but his cold - expressionless eyes - revealed the boiling rage within.
The Kings and Lords made no further attempt to incite another fight, and moved on to discuss more pressing matters at hand.
They should've known better than to leave things were they had ended.
The next day, Eluf, King of Midgard, was found beheaded in his tent - his family slaughtered and his men impaled in the most gruesome of ways for all to bear witness. After the fact, Niflheim had decreed themselves, in a letter written with Eluf's blood, that they would segregate from the original union forged by the forefathers of the realms, and become one singular - independent - nation.
Following their example, would be Jotunheim.
This, of course, was an outrage that would not be passed - especially by the heavenly realms; who feared that the union of two powerful entities would destroy what was left of the middle kingdom.
And thus, the war - that had been momentarily stalled- was resumed in a fast approaching degree.
~S.O.V~
A lone figure, standing above the misty, stone hills of Niflheim (which, after the massacre of the Midgard King, became the central battlefield to majority of the heirs) surveyed the fight beneath. Golden eyes, as bright as the gleaming Asgardian sun, glanced at the frost giants fighting the Aesir and mortals - face to face; whereas, the Dark Elves attacked the incoming Alfir (Light Elves) through the dense fog of the surrounding land.
Removing the glistening spangenhelm* from his head; strands of white, gold hair, billowing against the passing gelid wind, the handsome man looked up at the Gods and Vanir flying amidst the darkening weather.
Lifting a finger to the heavens, he signaled his legion to fall into place.
Swooping down in an aerial strike, angelic wings flapping against the turbulent wind, the luminescent warriors - with their glistering golden armor - released a high pitched battle cry as the raided the unsuspecting enemies below.
The fog began to dispel with the presence of the Aesir and Vanir.
The divine God raised his hand, and with a thunderous strike, summoned a gold-bathed rod - sharpened spear advising it was prepared to fight.
"Is everything alright, Odin?" Heimdall approached, not far behind; amber eyes glancing at the the contemplative God in concern.
"Nothing," his voice was deep, almost worn out, "I'm just thinking on how foolish Fárbauti was to join Carr the Dark Magician's legion...but so was Surtr for pompously believing he could handle them both."
It was of no surprise to either Aesir that the proud Fire Demon fell under pressure and ceded his rights to the lower realms after a clash with Fárbauti; which ended gravely for him since the heirs of Muspelheim, including himself, had been indiscriminately annihilated without a shred of mercy.
That was already one realm down from the remaining seven.
How much longer would it take before all of Yggdrasil's realms and heirs went extinct?
Heimdall watched the King of Asgard face away from the battlefield, and followed in silent reverie after him. As they proceeded down the jagged path of the mountainous terrain, the young lad, who had recently formed his pact and gave the Oath of the Aesir, remembered the gravity in the King's golden eyes. Whatever it was that ailed him, was perhaps greater than anyone could withstand.
Unaware of the wary eyes watching his every movement, Odin lost himself deep into the thoughts that pervaded his mind.
Before the meeting was held, and announced, he had a dream. Call it for what it was, his sixth sense advised him it would be foolish to attend it. Considerably so, he was well aware that Asgard had more enemies than allies in the realms; and if all were present at the conclave...his presence would only serve to incense the infuriated lords.
A wise choice, but not exactly the best excuse.
After Njord, Freyr, and Heimdall returned from the meeting, two days after their announced return, he had taken notice of the ire boiling within them.
News of Eluf's death, and the massacre of the mortal nation, had spread among the upper and middle realms like a wildfire.
The indignation of the Aesir could no longer be contained.
If at one point, Asgard had chosen not the get involved in this mess, the mockery sent out by the lower realms was, by far, the highest form of treason and humiliation ever acted out against the Gods.
Odin plunged the rod onto the ground as light burst out from the very core of Niflheim's darkness, escaping through the cracks that formed all around him, stinging the creatures that survived within the sable land.
They wanted to incite a war against the Gods?
So be it.
The sleeping giant was fully awake.
~S.O.V~
Ruby eyes glanced beneath his feet at the splayed bodies about him.
Though still a young lad, the gruesome sight before him was neither terrifying nor interesting.
Clashing swords, blood-curdling screams, splattered remains, frightening carcasses - he was used to them all. Having been born and raised in the Land of Frost Giants certainly provided a well-acquainted insight of war and death, after all.
Annoyed after the stench became thicker and thicker beneath the ascending fog, the ruby eyed Jottun sat down against the petrified bark of Yggdrasil's abandoned root. Pulling out a handkerchief made by his beloved new bride, he wiped away the blood and sweat from his face, before spitting out the metallic taste against his tongue.
'There really is no end to this', he briefly thought.
Ever since his Father had ascended the throne and joined the Elvish King, Carr the Dark Magician's conquest, this was all his life consisted of.
All that his birthright entitled, demanded, him to be.
He was tired of it.
Tired of it all.
The snapping of bones behind him, alerted him that he was not the only living entity at the location. Glancing about, a deep, dark voice called out from amidst the shadows, "I thought you'd be dead by now."
From behind him, a silver haired youth - with eyes as crimson and expressionless as Fárbauti's own - glared at the laid-back auburn.
"Well," the auburn spoke in mock surprise, "If it isn't my dear twin brother! I didn't think you feared for my life, Utgard? Missing me already?"
"As if," the twin scoffed, "I just don't want Angrboda to suffer as a widow after recently becoming your wife, Loki."
Well aware of the bitterness in his brother's voice, Loki brushed the contempt his twin felt - primarily toward him for a reason he more than well knew could not be avoided - as he bent toward the rotting carcass of a mortal warrior.
Taking the sword from the sheath, Loki scanned for any damages to the weapon, "You know, it wouldn't kill you to worry about me, even if just a little."
"It would." Was the cold response.
Laughing at Utgard's unpleasant reaction, Loki chanted out a spell onto the metal, freezing the blade and sharpening the edge.
"Don't tell me you're planning to engage in battle alongside Father?"
"No." Loki stated, his expression serious as he looked at the dispelled fog.
Lifting a quizzical eyebrow at the severe aura blazing around his brother, Utgard approached him.
"Duck!" Loki pushed his brother beneath the lifeless, bleeding bodies as a barrage of arrows reached their location.
Utgard's eyes began to glow, just like the crimson liquid staining them, as an ice wall surrounded the area in which they lay. Once the attackers had arrived close enough to the gelid obstacle, Loki formed a ring of blazing inferno that burned them to ash.
"Why didn't you just use the sword in your hand? It would've saved us from being buried underneath those disgusting humans!" Utgard stated, repugnance clearly visible in his pale complexion as he brushed off the blood and innards off his clothes and skin.
"What? This thing?" he brought out the sword, "Its simply a tool to protect myself from a first hand attack. If possible, I'd rather not incite people to clash with me."
"Father was right, you truly are a coward."
"And you, my twin brother," Loki smirked "are a mirror-image of our dear Father - uptight and all. Perhaps that, in essence, could explain as to why you didn't get the girl, huh?"
Utgard's face turned as red as his eyes at the vile insult from his twin.
Without another word, both separated into different directions as they bore witness to the incoming Jottun, who were on standby at the northern end of the Niflheim - awaiting Fárbauti's orders to attack the fast approaching Aesir and Vanir.
~S.O.V~
Odin's golden spear danced around him, clashing against all magical and physical attacks that came his way; and all without needing him to move a single finger in retaliation.
Heimdall, who had been ordered to assist Freyr and Njord with the downfall of Carr the Dark Magician, had long since abandoned his line of sight - leaving the King of Asgard to fend on his own, before he made contact with Fárbauti.
Not that the boy was needed for him to fight, of course. Nevertheless, he found somewhat of an inner piece to know that his fellow children (for all of Asgard's heirs were considered his children) provided him a purpose to continue this foolish battle.
Glancing down at the sprawled carcasses of mortal, elven, jottun, alfir, and aesir carcasses, he had spotted similar items to the one he held close to his chest. A strand of flaxen blonde hair, wrapped within a fine silk satin - bordered with the initials F & O - and the delicate scent of peonies penetrating through the musky scent of blood, sweat, and dirt.
It had been a gift bestowed by his Queen, and future mother - who carried in her womb the child of his flesh and blood.
A soft smile reached the powerful God as he placed a hand against the location of the gift.
He would soon return to her.
Soon.
~S.O.V~
Fárbauti was beginning to grow impatient.
He wanted Odin.
He wanted him now!
"Where, in blazing hell, is he?" the Frost giant paced back and forth; crushing beneath his powerful legs the carcasses of the fallen.
"Calm thyself, Fárbauti," Carr the Dark Magician spoke behind a wooden mask of ancient lore, "If thee wishes for the head of the God King as much as I...Thy anger will recede and thee shall find thyself prepared to fight!"
Fárbauti glanced over at the Elvish King before giving him a crooked smile. "You're right. I must prepare myself for the fight of the century! Along every corner of every realm, my name shall be known! 'Fárbauti' they will all say, ' The slayer of Asgard!' and my legacy will continue to live on through the name of my heirs!" Rejoicing within the fantasy of his mind, he had not noticed the almost cruel grin on Carr the Dark Magician's face.
"Yes," he spoke, "It shall be so."
"Fárbauti!" Odin called out, interrupting the conversation of the two Kings. "Show yourself! Fárbauti!"
Turning to face the God, whatever course of action they had originally planned in using against him, was thrown to the gutter when they found themselves surrounded by enemies on every corner and every space.
"You have nowhere to run, Fárbauti, Carr...Give yourselves up this instant and end this pointless suffering!"
"We will never cede to you!" Fárbauti laughed as he grasped one of the wounded Aesir and tore their wings right off their back, allowing the agonizing scream to echo against the realm.
"Fárbauti! Stop!"
But he did not, as the choleric Gods attacked, one by one; and as such, one by one, met their demise at the Frost King's hands.
Odin could see, within every attack spawned by the Frost Giant, a thin line of darkness that fueled the Jottun King's aura - seeping into his very soul. Though he could put no name to the swirling tempest, the familiarity with it was one he had seen too many times before becoming King.
"You drank from the blood of Viduus?" he questioned when Fárbauti spared a glance in his direction.
"Haha! So you've noticed!" The veins in his arms swirled with the black blood, like the rotten roots of a dead tree. "I've grown stronger, powerful, than you could ever imagine! Now, prepare to witness the throes of your death, Odin!"
The God King found himself unable to sustain the blows of the Frost King, as the golden spear broke into pieces.
With one last strike, Odin flew back onto the ground.
"Your highness!" Njord, Freyr, and Heimdall flew to his aid, but only the latter two were able to reach him, as Njord was held back by Carr the Dark Magician's summoned barrier.
"Njord!"
"Father!"
But all too late, the Aesir watched in horror as the Vanir King perished beneath the magic of the Elvish Lord, as he was sliced and minced within the spell of a thousand blades.
Not a single word was uttered as the blood of the Vanir filled the skies like crimson rain.
'Unforgivable', thought Odin with a trembling fist as his friend's hashed, desecrated body fell into pieces on the blackened soil.
"Now...Where is-?" Fárbauti's words died off on his lips.
Aghast at what they were witnessing, the men soon realized the turnabout of the events present.
Carr the Dark Magician had his hand piercing straight through the throat of the Frost King.
"Y-Y...You...trai-itorous...f-fie-end!" Fárbauti spluttered through the gurgling blood escaping the open wound of his throat.
"Do pardon the treason, King of Jotunheim," Carr the Dark Magician smiled, "but thy presence proves to be a hindrance to my plans."
Fárbauti was unable to say more as the Elf removed the hand impaling his throat and speared it straight through the crystal heart of his chest.
And just like that, the Frost King had fallen.
"Now, all I need is your life, and the life of the King Freyr to take back what is rightfully mine!" He smiled wickedly at Odin as he licked the black blood off his hands.
Odin knew, then and there, that the man behind the mask was no longer Carr the Dark Magician.
~S.O.V~
Bearing witness to the death of his Father did absolutely nothing to him. On the contrary, it only managed to provoke a mild surprise as he watched his Father die in a rather, unmemorable way.
The avaricious Jottun had always ranted about falling in a form befitting a glorious King.
Seemed like he wasn't all that glorious to begin with if he was granted such a mediocre parting.
Sighing, Loki made his way toward the Elvish King, who - once releasing the Gods rattling within their cages - fought with the strength of a thousand demons against the three sworn enemies (now four, if he counted on the army led by his younger twin; who would, more than likely, avenge their Father's death.)
However, once he reached the location of the battle, he was stalled by the sight of the wounded Aesir, who had just ordered the two men closest to him (he recalled meeting them once. Freyr, son of Njord, and current King of Alfheim; and Heimdall, recently appointed chief guard of the divine legion.) push himself upward in order to pull out the jarred stone within his leg.
Painfully, the stone was practically integrated into his bone.
Before he realized it, a fast approaching shadow was aiming to take the life of the wounded Aesir.
He didn't even realize why he had reacted with such swiftness, but there he was - using the same sword he had intended to utilize to protect his own life - dripping with the blood of a slain Dark Elf. Wiping it with the cloth of desecrated body laid beside his feet, Loki turned to face the stunned God, whose golden eyes stared at him with something akin to awe, as he approached him and ripped apart the cotton cloth of his semi-soiled clothes; using the torn piece to wrap it above the wound.
Odin was about to touch the bleeding laceration, when he felt his hand slapped away by none other than Loki.
"If you try to do that," Loki appeared moved beside the tired God, "not only will you be paralyzed for life, but we'll have to sever the entire leg. I don't believe you'll enjoy being called the 'One-legged King' after this war is finished."
Surprised, the Aesir soon released a sound chuckle. His mood greatly lightened by the young man's attempt at humor.
"You're a funny one, aren't you?"
"So I've been told." Without saying any more, Loki bent toward the God and removed the jarred stone, closing the skin around it with his summoned fire.
"You're the eldest son of Fárbauti, aren't you." Rather than pose as a question, the Jottun was well aware the God had stated the fact to him out of curiosity.
"And what if I am? Are you going to kill me?"
Odin chuckled once more and stood up from the bloodied ground. "On the contrary, I'd like to thank you for saving me...Even though we're meant to be sworn enemies, you're a curious one. I don't know why, but I like you."
"Sorry, I don't string that way."
This time Odin released a loud laugh and patted the auburn in the back. "If we do get out of this, by Yggdrasil's name, you shall join me in Valhalla."
"You'd have to take me out to dinner first."
Again, he couldn't help the smile on his face as he laughed at the jester's humorous responses.
"A quick-witted one you are. What is your name?"
"Loki, son of Laufey and Fárbauti. Now...current King of Jottunheim."
"Then, Loki..." Odin smiled as he summoned another spear to his side, "I hope that after we take down Carr the Dark Magician, you agree to be my sworn brother. I could trust my back be protected against any enemy with a man like you by my side."
Smirking, rather disbelievingly at the God's sudden proposal, Loki agreed without a second thought.
No one could have guessed then, that this exact meeting would create a fated path in which all characters involved, would find themselves playing a great part of a destined future foretold eons past.
Terms & Definitions
*** - Though it is, in essence, the War of Realms (which could be interpreted as all 9 participating) the only one that did not get involved was Helheim - due to the fact that the dead were without a ruler, and therefore unable to cross to the side of the living.
Fárbauti - meaning, "cruel striker" in Old Norse. He is Loki's Father, and husband to Laufey - royal consort and Mother of Loki.
Surtr - ruler of Muspelheim. He is a sworn enemy of the Aesir. According to Norse myth, Surtr will ride out with his flaming sword at Ragnarok and attack Asgard, turning it into a flaming inferno.
Njord - Father of Freyr and Freyja.
Eluf - Norse name meaning, "eternal heir."
Spangenhelm - a type of viking helmet that was similar to Norman helm design.