A/N: I kept my word! Two updates in a month. This was supposed to be split into 2 chapters, but i decided to write a longer one because, well... I was feeling generous.

Chapter 19:

Godou was still planning what he should do to welcome Loki back tomorrow when Syr crashed into the kitchen.

"Goooo-douuuu," she sang, "Loki's hereeee to seeeee youuuu."

Syr left before Godou could respond. Loki was early? That was rare.

He turned to May. Business was slow today, so his fellow chef probably could manage on her own if she didn't mind. The cat-girl rolled her eyes and made a shooing motion. "Just go."

Godou kept his apron and walked out the door. The Loki Familia had spread themselves out across several tables, and he spotted Loki's characteristic red hair easily enough. She was sitting with her executives.

"Mama Mia. Drinks. Please. As many mugs as you can spare," Loki said. Then she looked up. "Oh! It's you, Godou. I wanted to surprise you by coming back a day early, so… surprise! Bete, scoot over so Godou can bring a stool over."

The werewolf glared at him but did as he was told. Godou shifted his seat closer to Loki, making sure the gap between him and Bete was as large as possible. "How was the trip? You guys look… refreshed."

That was a lie. Ais was asleep sitting up. Gareth was passed out against the table. Riveria's head lolled left and right as she tried to stay awake. The twins were leaning against each other and dozing off. Only Finn looked marginally normal, but the dark eye-bags told Godou that the Loki Familia's vacation to Mellen hadn't been a vacation at all.

"Terrible. We got into a fight with the Kali Familia, then ended up in a hostage situation, and then had to hightail it out of the city because of all the trouble we caused," Loki said. "You should have come, Godou."

Godou gave Loki a flat look.

"What? I'm serious. It would have saved us so much trouble if you were there. And you couldn't have made things any worse. Black Monsters only spawn in the Dungeon."

"I think I'm fine right here," he said.

Loki made a face. "Pleh. Next time I'm going to get myself injured so you'll regret not following to protect me."

Godou raised an eyebrow.

"I'm kidding. I'm too pretty to have scars. Did anything happen while we were gone?"

Godou thought about it. He wanted to bring the Freya thing up, but it would be better when they were alone. "The Apollo Famlia's been making trouble around town, causing damage," he said, recalling what Mama Mia had told them yesterday. "Mama Mia's banned them from the Hostess."

The entire table groaned—as if the mere mention of the Apollo Familia elicited the response by reflex. "Them again," Finn said. "I wonder what they're up to this time."

"Probably recruiting some pretty boy or girl," Loki said. "You can ignore them, Godou. Apollo's always throwing temper tantrums when he can't get what he wants. Things will die down eventually."

Godou forced a smile. Hopefully, that would be the case. Right now though, he should only have one God on his mind. "So, what's Mellen like?" he asked Loki.

XxXxXxXxX

It went without saying that Godou couldn't sit with Loki the whole night. When Mama Mia left for the night, she asked him to take over the bar. One by one, the patrons of the Hostess left. Then the waitresses and May locked up the kitchen, leaving Godou to be the last member left. It was his turn to close up shop tonight and he was just arranging the mugs before he'd make his way home.

And then there was Loki. The moment May closed the door behind her, Loki hopped onto the stool in front of him.

"The bar's closed," he told her.

"I didn't wait for everyone to leave so I could drink," Loki said, rolling her eyes. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

"You could tell?"

"Of course I can. You kept looking at me and biting your lips. Unless you think I'm exceptionally pretty tonight and want a kiss, it usually means you have something on your mind."

"Oh. Well, I wanted to ask you—"

Loki huffed.

"What?" Godou asked.

"Never mind. What did you want to ask?"

"I wanted to ask you about Freya."

Loki crossed her arms and frowned. "So I take a week-long trip and you've already started thinking about another goddess?"

Godou blinked. "No. That's not what I meant at all! Freya came to see me—"

"Freya came to see you!?"

Godou couldn't tell if Loki was worried, angry, or surprised. "Well, yeah."

She stood up and slammed her palms against the table. "Tell me everything."

Godou gulped. But he told her anyway. When he was done, he still couldn't tell if Loki was worried, angry, or surprised. Her more serious side had slipped out, her eyes narrowing into slits as she toyed with a lock of her hair.

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

"No. I don't like this," Loki said. "Freya's up to something. She has to be. She always is. Don't be fooled, Godou. She might pretend she's only interested in Bell Cranel, but if she sought you out on her own, it means you're still on her radar. And that she was so forthcoming… that's not like her one bit."

"And how exactly is Freya like?" Godou asked. Reluctantly, he picked up a mug and filled it with Loki's favourite drink; he had a feeling it was going to be a long night. "There are so many rumours about her. I've met her a few times, and all I can say is I don't know if I can trust her. Will she really stay away from Bell?"

Loki took the drink and downed half of it in one go. "I've known Freya since… well, forever, but I don't know either. We've made a few agreements in the past; she's yet to break any of them—as far as I can tell. But even so, I can't shake the feeling that I always need my guard up around her. She's sly, and she's not the type to care about others or rules when it comes to getting what she wants. She's just very subtle about it."

"So, she's bad news," Godou said. He'd dealt with plenty of Gods—and people—like Freya in his life. None of his experiences left a particularly good taste in his mouth.

"Maybe. She's not bad. She cares about Orario and other people in her own way, but she's just very selective about who she cares about. She's… selfish. But who isn't, really?"

That sounded like any ordinary self-serving human, and Godou didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Loki put her hand on his. "Just be careful, okay, Godou? She's taken an interest in you, and that means you have to watch your step. She's not the type to lie, but you can't take her words at face-value, either. She's always up to something."

Godou nodded. "I will." As long as Freya kept her end of the deal, and didn't lay a finger on Bell and Hestia, he'd make no attempt to seek her out anyway.

"Good." Loki finished the rest of her drink. "Now it's my turn to ask you something. Do you wanna come to a party with me?"

He blinked. "A party?"

"Yep. Apollo's hosting a party for all the Gods in the city. That guy might be a stuck-up prick, but he sure as hell knows how to throw a good party. It's a fancy-dress party, and we're supposed to bring one of our Familia members along."

"I'm not part of your Familia," Godou reminded Loki.

She grinned. "There's always a spot open for you. And even if you're not, I don't think anyone will mind. Who's going to say no to the only non-adventurer to step foot into the 59th Floor? Everyone knows you're mine already, so it'll be fine."

Godou thought about it. He was sure if he asked Mama Mia, she'd give him the day off. And he'd already let down Loki once with the Mellen trip. But there was one problem.

"Every God in Orario is going to be there, aren't they?" he asked.

"Most of them; all the important ones, at least," Loki said. "It's the perfect time to show off to everyone our children!"

"Again," he said, "I'm not part of your Familia, Loki."

"Exactly! Imagine how many heads will turn if I bring you! I'll be sure to steal the limelight from Freya this time. I'm sure she does it on purpose—always arriving a few moments before I do and making sure no one pays any attention to me."

He sighed. "I don't do well with Gods, Loki. I think you know that."

Her hand squeezed his. "That's a lie and you know it. You did well with me. Hestia thinks the world of you. I passed by Ganesha on the way here and he congratulated me on 'snagging such a fine young man'. As long as you don't kill anyone, I'm sure it'll be a great night!"

"That's not funny, Loki."

"Fine, fine. But it'll be fun, Godou! There'll be booze, and food, and dancing! Come on, don't you want to dance with me?"

Godou blinked. He hadn't danced in ages. The last time he'd danced was… he forced those memories away. It was time to move on. Here and now, there were other things that mattered more.

Loki looked up at him expectantly.

"Sure, Loki. I'll go to the party with you."

XxXxXxXxX

Godou scratched his neck. His stiff collar was a bit too tall and was uncomfortable.

He'd woken up this morning to find a tuxedo nailed to his door and a note from Loki. It had contained—crudely-drawn—directions to the Apollo Familia's estate, and a message from her telling him she'd meet him there.

As a Campione, Godou had visited the residences of wealthy European nobility several times. The Apollo Familia's manor could have given any of them a run for their money. It was a massive Victorian-styled manor three storeys tall with a beige finish, and a sprawling garden in front of it.

Godou waited in front of the gate as Gods and their companions walked past him, their chatter drowned out by the crashing water from the fountain behind. Loki hadn't been kidding when she'd said it was a fancy-dress party. Every single man he'd seen was dressed in some kind of suit or tuxedo like him, but it was clear that the ladies were meant to steal the show tonight. In the evening, some of the dresses glittered like a sea of stars. Long hems trailed behind stylish figures adorned with precious stones, and Godou couldn't distinguish the divine from the mortal. Not unless he closed his eyes and really concentrated; then he could manage to identify the spark of divinity. But with so many Gods around, it was a tall task.

One particular spark burned more brightly than the rest, and it was standing right in front of him.

"Dozing off already, Godou? The party hasn't even started!"

He opened his eyes. Loki was standing in front of him, grinning cheekily. Her red dress wasn't as sparkly or long-trailing like some of the others he'd seen, but it matched her hair perfectly. She'd foregone her usual ponytail and had it in a tight bun with a flower pin holding it all together. Compared to some of the other Gods, Loki might have seemed unremarkable.

Godou turned his head to glance at Apollo's sprawling estate.

Loki's Familia was more powerful and richer than Apollo's. Yet they lived in a brick-and-mortar house that lacked the pompousness and grandeur of the manor behind him. For all her attention-seeking ways, Loki wasn't vain. She liked things simple, and Godou liked that about her.

"You look great," he said, then held out an arm. A few centuries ago, he would have been completely flustered at the situation, but when Loki linked arms and pulled him closer, the only thing that made Godou raise an eyebrow was her perfume.

She didn't normally use one. And her nails, unlike previously, were perfectly painted. Had she been practicing? Or maybe somebody else had done it for her this time.

"Shall we?" Loki asked.

"Yeah. Let's get those heads turning," Godou said.

They entered the Apollo Familia's estate.

Godou could tell that Loki was extraordinarily pleased with the silence that accompanied their arrival. Her grin widened with the hushed whispers that followed. The ballroom they'd been led to was huge—easily fitting more than a hundred people inside and a dozen tables lined with food and drinks. In the corner, a string quartet played as guests flitted with one another.

He didn't like being stared at like a zoo exhibit, but the spring in Loki's step as they made their way toward Freya, only a few paces away, made things worth it. The grey-haired goddess was wearing one of those glittery and long dresses, but somehow still managed to stand out in an entire room filled with goddesses in glittery and long dresses.

"How's that for an entrance, Freya?" Loki asked.

"Good evening to you too, Loki," Freya said. "And my, Kusanagi Godou, you look absolutely dashing in that tuxedo."

"I picked it out for him," Loki said, not giving Godou the chance to reply.

"Lady Freya," he greeted with a smile. No need to be impolite at a party. Then he turned to the hulking Boaz next to her. "Ottar."

Ottar grunted. He was wearing a blue suit, and Godou wondered if all of the gigantic man's clothes had to be custom made because of his size and bulging muscles. "Kusanagi Godou. Congratulations on your successful Expedition."

Godou didn't bring up his suspicion of Ottar's involvement in delaying said Expedition. Thanks to his conversation with Freya, the Minotaur incident involving Bell remained fresh in his mind. Instead, he pointed. "Oh look, Loki. There's your booze."

"I-is that from the Soma Familia? C'mon, Godou. We're getting wasted tonight!"

Godou at least had the courtesy to wave goodbye to Ottar and Freya as Loki dragged him away.

XxXxXxXxX

It was a great night.

The food was good. The music was good. The people were friendly and beautiful. Godou thought that being stuck in a room filled with Gods would have spelled trouble for him, but his mind stayed surprisingly calm with Loki beside him the whole night.

They had danced. Loki was a surprisingly good dancer. In Loki's words, so was he. She seemed determined to show him off to everyone. Godou was introduced to a whole bunch of Gods he hadn't met before, and was also reintroduced to a few Gods he did.

Ganesha clapped him on the back and said he'd like to try his food again as Shakti brazenly re-invited him to join their Familia. Hephaistos asked if he was using her knife well (he was). Hestia got angry at Loki for rubbing into everyone's faces her new boytoy and that she really ought to keep in mind that not every was as lucky as her (Godou had no idea how to respond).

Once, he bumped into Bell Cranel. The boy had seemed more confident since Levelling up and earning his new title of The Little Rookie. Godou had congratulated him, and after some small chat about the Expedition, made a fake excuse to leave after he caught Freya watching them.

When Loki had gotten tipsy, Godou brought her to the veranda to get some fresh air. There, under the gaze of the moon, she'd yanked on his bowtie and pulled him down for a kiss. There had been some surprise, a strong taste of alcohol, and a lot of tongue.

Godou hadn't minded in the least. The night was magical. He'd forgotten how even he could enjoy gaudy parties if he had the right company.

Of course, right after that, Apollo declared a War Game with the Hestia Familia over the possession of Bell Cranel.

XxXxXxXxX

Ottar stopped.

"Is something the matter?" Freya asked, behind him.

His hand hovered above the door handle. The two guards at the entrance hadn't said anything earlier. "There's someone in your office, Lady Freya."

His goddess frowned. "I wonder who it is. Open up, Ottar. Best not to keep our guests waiting."

He reached behind to grip the broadsword strapped on his back. With his other hand, he pushed the ajar door open.

A man stood, his back facing them, as he gazed out the giant window that overlooked the city of Orario. He had black hair, stood with a slight hunch, and wore a chef's outfit.

Ottar stepped forward. "Kusanagi Godou, what are you—"

Freya stopped him with an outstretched arm. He was about to protest when she stepped in front of him, but she had that confident air that told Ottar she had everything under control.

"Kusanagi Godou. If you want to join my Familia so badly, all you had to do was ask."

The man finally turned around. Ottar acknowledged—even respected—Kusanagi Godou. Even though the man had an unassuming disposition, kept to himself, and seemed to abhor confrontation, Ottar had gotten a glimpse of his strength once and that was all he needed.

The Kusanagi Godou in front of him had none of those traits. Flared nostrils and clenched fists replaced a normally calm aura.

"I am going to ask this only once, Lady Freya, and you're going to answer me truthfully. I've been keeping my end of the deal, but did you have anything to do with Apollo's declaration yesterday?"

Preposterous. The gall of the man to even insinuate that his goddess would associate herself with such an uncouth character. But Freya's arm was still blocking him, and Ottar could only look at her face as he tried to suppress his anger.

He didn't understand how she could look so calm in the face of this accusation. Her lips twitched upward. She was… amused?

"So that's what this is about. No, Kusanagi Godou, I was caught just as unaware as you were. In fact, I'm just as upset about it. I don't like it when someone tries to steal something from me."

"Bell Cranel doesn't belong to you."

Freya walked toward Godou. The man circled around the table between them until their positions were reversed. She took a seat at her desk and Godou stood in front of Ottar.

"Tell me, does Loki know you're here? I just returned from meeting her. We were supposed to discuss our strategy for the inevitable upcoming skirmish with Rakia, but naturally, we deviated to Apollo. By the way, I'm disappointed in you. It was very ungentlemanly of you to divulge the content of our little conversation at the Hostess. You should know when a meeting between a man and woman should be kept a secret."

"I'll tell her later," Godou said.

"It matters little to me. I won't tell her if you don't want me to," Freya said. "Do you want to know what we talked about regarding Apollo?"

Slowly, Godou nodded.

"The War Game will happen, even if Hestia refused yesterday. Apollo is obstinate, vindictive, and prideful. He will not stop until he can have Bell Cranel in his Familia—failing which, he will ensure nobody else can. When Hestia is forced to accept the challenge, Loki and I will help her—discretely, of course. I'm sure you can ask her for the details."

"Why not stop Apollo?" Godou asked. Ottar noted that the man seemed to have calmed down a little. At the very least, his hands were no longer curled into tight balls. "If you and Loki confronted him together—"

"And make Hestia and Bell look weak and reliant? That will only hurt them in the long run, Kusanagi Godou. There are rumours abound that Bell Cranel's Level Up was a fluke—or even faked. This is the perfect chance for him to prove himself."

Ottar wished he could see Godou's face. With only his back visible, Ottar couldn't tell if the man was taking Freya's words seriously. His goddess had already given him more time and attention than he deserved, considering his brazen intrusion into her home.

"So it comes down to this again, doesn't it?" he asked. "Your desire to see Bell's potential realized."

"Of course. I won't pass up the opportunity if it's handed to me on a silver platter. You'll have trust me to uphold my end of the deal. I have no intention of letting Bell Cranel lose this War Game."

"Fine. But you'd better keep your word, Lady Freya," Godou said. He turned around, looked at Ottar, and only then seemed to realize he'd been in the room this whole time. "Ottar, I'll show myself out" he said, and then left the room.

Freya sunk a little deeper into her seat and let out a breath. Ottar frowned. She'd considered that exchange with Godou her victory?

"You seem worried, Ottar."

Ottar hesitated. He'd learned a long time ago not to question his goddess' motives and methods. Curiosity wasn't rewarded in the Freya Familia. But Ottar wasn't curious, he was concerned.

"Kusanagi Godou. He broke into your home, treated you rudely, and yet you offered him more goodwill than you do some of your fellow Gods."

Ottar knew better than to say he understood how Freya's mind worked, but he'd been with her long enough to know that her treatment of Godou was irregular, even by her standards.

"Because he's special, Ottar. I thought you'd be able to tell." Freya looked at him oddly. "If I asked you to fight him, do you think you can win?"

Ottar had never considered the scenario before. The logical answer was yes. Ottar was Level 7—one of only two known Level 7s in the world. Kusanagi Godou, on the other hand, wasn't even an adventurer. But then he remembered the incident in the Dungeon where Godou had stopped his sword with nothing more than a pinch of his fingers.

He hadn't been using his full strength, but still, Ais was Level 6, and that attack had been meant to rattle her. He frowned. The way the entire Loki Familia treated Godou was noteworthy as well. They saw him as more than just the companion of their God—it was as if they treated him like Loki's equal.

"I... do not know," he admitted.

He was surprised when Freya nodded, as if she'd been expecting that answer.

"If my suspicions are correct, you'd lose. Badly."

Ottar blinked. He opened his mouth to ask why, but then closed it before uttering a word.

Concern, not curiosity, he reminded himself. "Is he a danger to you, Lady Freya?"

Freya scoffed. "I'm a God, Ottar. We're the ones that made him who he is. Your concern is appreciated, but unnecessary. If you don't mind leaving, I would like to retire for the evening."

Ottar nodded and bowed. Just before he closed the door however, his ears twitched. His goddess had turned to face the giant window and her whisper was almost inaudible.

"Soon, Sigurd, we can meet again."

XxXxXxXxX

Her nose crinkles as ash and cinders waft into her nostrils. The village around her is nothing but burning ruins. Dark, thick smoke block out the night sky as tongues of flame devour wooden huts and race across thatched roofs.

She stops in front of a woman's body, taking a few moments to search for its missing head. She finds it impaled on a fence post just a few meters away. Wide, glassy eyes stare at her as she steps over what was once their owner.

The slaughter is fresh. There is the metallic tang of blood in the air, but the rancid stench of rotting flesh is yet to set in. For a second, she thinks she hears a cry for help, but then there is the sound of crashing wood and the house in front collapses in on itself. Then there is nothing but crackling fire and ghostly silence.

She frowns. She is searching for something, or someone. A brightness that puts the inferno around her to shame. A light so brilliant that it drew her from Heaven to the mortal plane. She quickens her steps, no longer caring if her feet sink into dirt, blood, or flesh.

Where is it?

Where is it?

WHERE IS IT!?

Then, through a wall of flames, the brightness calls to her. The fire keeps a wary distance from the beacon of brilliance. Her limbs quiver as she runs toward the white-hot glare, and she shrugs off the fire as she forces her way through it.

It is a boy. Like the rest of the village, he is human. Unlike the rest of them, he is alive. He is clad in leather, with messy white hair that has stains of red dripping down his bangs. He sits, and imbedded next to his seat is a humble woodchopper's axe. But it is not a log he is sitting on, but the corpse of a fully-grown Minotaur. Its eyes are nearly bulging out of their sockets. Its tongue hangs out of its mouth and lies across the floor.

It is very, very dead.

The boy looks up at her. There is some shock in his eyes as they widen. Then disappointment. He can't be more than fourteen, which only reminds her of humans' short lifespans.

"If you were sent to save us," he says, "you're a little too late."

She says nothing at first. Instead she walks up to him and kicks the Minotaur. The boy raises an eyebrow when he sees that she's barefoot. But he says nothing too.

"Did you kill this Minotaur?" she asks. She already knows the answer, as unbelievable as it is. But the question serves as a much better way to start a conversation than the boy's sardonic attempt.

"Yes," he says. Then, "are you a God?"

She blinks. There is no awe, no reverence, not even a tinge of disbelief. It is as if he's asking her for the date. "What makes you say that?"

"You walked through the fire practically naked. That, and the air around you is sort of tingly."

"Yes, I am a God."

"Mama said the Gods would come to save us. But that was before the Minotaur ripped her head off, so I think she was wrong."

"We have our own rules to follow. We cannot interfere too much with the life of mortals."

"But you're Gods. You're all-powerful."

"Precisely why we need those rules."

The boy seems to accept this explanation. She looks at his face closely. There are dried tear stains on his cheeks. Even if he has triumphed against the Minotaur, the chances of survival are slim. That lone monster was nothing but a scout for a larger horde on its way. The defenders of this particular region had fallen back weeks ago, and this village, until yesterday, was the only one left standing.

His fate is sealed. If the monsters do not tear him to shreds, then he will die to hunger or disease in the forest. The nearest still-standing village is a whole month away by foot. It pains her heart. So much potential, so much promise, so much brilliance, wasted away because he was born at the wrong place at the wrong time.

There is a way out. Freya doesn't know if she should take the gamble. But his burning soul convinces her to in the end. He would have died, anyway.

"What is your name?" she asks.

"Sigurd."

Sigurd. It is a good name, she thinks. "I am Freya."

Sigurd dips his head slightly. "I am honored to be in your presence, Lady Freya."

"You are about to be even more honored, because I want you to become my Champion."

Sigurd stares at her, evidently confused. "I do not know what that means."

"It means you will fight for me, and me alone. You will do as I say, heed my words, serve my needs. You will become the executioner of my will, Sigurd."

Sigurd raises an eyebrow. "…or?"

"Or the horde of monsters on their way here will avenge their fallen comrade."

He looks down at the dead monster he is sitting on. "There are more?"

"Hundreds more."

"I cannot possibly defeat them."

"You can, if you become my Champion. I will grant you a fraction of my power. That is what it means to become the Champion of a God. You become part God yourself. It is a only small part, if you are curious."

He frowns. "I thought you aren't allowed to interfere in the lives of mortals."

She raises a finger and presses it against his lips. "It will be our little secret."

Ten minutes later, the process is complete.

Freya hides her giddiness and relief behind a plain smile. She didn't tell Sigurd that he's not the first person she's chosen to be her Champion, nor does she tell him he's the first person to have survived the ritual. Naturally, she has no intention of ever telling him either.

Sigurd yanks the axe out from the dead Minotaur. He looks the same. A well-built, handsome teenager with long white hair. His soul still glows as bright as the Sun. But there is a presence to him that Freya knows wasn't there before. "It's so light now," he says, swinging the axe in the air.

"You've become stronger. There is divine power flowing in you now. It is not something you should show off carelessly."

"I understand," he says. Then, "what now?"

She shrugs. "It is up to you. Use your power. Become even stronger. Show me what you are capable of, Sigurd. Your journey has only begun. A horde of monsters are making their way here, eager to test your strength."

Sigurd looks at her. He lifts the axe and rests its shaft on his shoulder. His head turns toward the direction Freya came from. "I think I want to bury my family and the rest of the village first."

XxXxXxXxX

Freya hasn't met any other God who has broken the rules and sired a Champion. She only knows they exist from rumours and warnings.

That's why she is just as confused as Sigurd, when ten years after their first meeting, he says, "I haven't shaved in three years." He reaches to scratch at a non-existent beard. "I haven't needed to."

Freya looks carefully at her Champion. Compared to the boy he was ten years ago, Sigurd has filled up quite nicely. His white hair is cut short, which matches his strong jawline and stern eyes well. His shoulders have broadened and his muscles are lean but firm. He traded his axe for a two-handed sword years ago and it lies beside him as the two of them sit underneath a tree.

Paranoia has driven Freya to distance herself from him. She has sent messages, through familiars and signs, but she makes an effort to leave Heaven as infrequently as possible, keeping track of his progress from the safety of the divine realm. In contrast, she sends Sigurd into the most remote and monster-infested areas of the world, away from the prying eyes of other Gods, so that he can grow and mature without holding back.

This is only the third time they have met in person, and Freya would be lying to herself if she says she hasn't been looking forward to it. She's finally learned to create a barrier that can block the divine vision of other Gods, and she intends to abuse that knowledge to visit her Champion as often as possible.

"I think I've stopped ageing," Sigurd says. "I don't think my body has changed in a long time."

"Is that… good?" Freya asks. "There are plenty of men who seek immortality. I think it's a little overrated."

"I don't know. I guess it means I'll be alive longer to kill more monsters," Sigurd says. He gestures to the area around them. "I think I've been doing a pretty good job as it is."

The land is littered with entrails and limbs of monsters. Dragons, ripped asunder. Furred brutes and scaled beasts have been bifurcated, parts of their corpses hanging from trees like crimson, twisted vines. The grass has been painted red, and Freya can't help but feel impressed at the sheer carnage around them.

"You've improved even more," she says.

"But not enough." Sigurd removes a piece of his chest plate, revealing a dragon fang sunk into his side. The flesh around it has turned into a ugly shade of purple that pulses and leaks a foul-smelling yellow liquid.

In an embarrassing slip of control, Freya gasps. It is an ugly stain on what is otherwise a perfect body.

"The poison will wear off in due course. I was careless. It will not happen again."

"It had better not. I've only just figured out a way to visit you more."

The grimace on Sigurd's face vanishes as his eyes light up. "At long last, I can stop wondering to myself if I've gone crazy and hallucinated meeting a goddess."

Freya scoffs. "Can a hallucination do this?" She snaps her fingers, and the bloodied dirt beneath them starts sprouting flowers.

Sigurd looks at them. "I've always wondered what you are the God of."

"Love, beauty, fertility, among other things."

"Love?" Sigurd says. "My mother used to tell me about love. She described it as the most beautiful feeling in the world. I would like to experience it someday."

"Your mother is right," Freya says. "It is a beautiful feeling. One day, I'm sure you will find it. It is one of life's greatest treasures."

Sigurd laughs. "Given my newfound immortality, I'm sure I'll stumble into it sooner or later."

Freya leans back, surveying the bloodied land around her. Looking at the flowers she birthed, and amid Sigurd's soft laugh, she smiles. They are still losing this war, but that is no reason to give up hope yet.

XxXxXxXxX

"Is that you, Lady Freya?"

Freya frowns, releasing the veil that hid her from mortal eyes—except Sigurd, who she isn't sure she can still classify as 'mortal' in the first place.

"What gave it away this time?" she asks. "A tingle in the air? The smell of spring?"

She's unsettled at how good Sigurd has become at detecting her presence. Lately, it's turned into a game of cat and mouse, with her seeing how long she can stand next to him before he realises she's there.

"I just thought the grass looked a little greener than I remembered," Sigurd says. "How long have you been here?"

The grassy clearing they are in is peaceful, but only because Sigurd killed every single monster in a two mile radius the week before.

"Since you started swinging that sword."

Sigurd's daily training regime is a spectacle of its own. A thousand swings a day, each exactly the same as the previous. He no longer gets tired, and the giant blade seems more an extension of his body at this point.

Sigurd lifts his sword back up. "I still have another 700 swings to go. Do you intend to stay and watch?"

Freya smiles weakly. Heaven is currently in a state of panic and alarm. Another kingdom has just fallen to the monster horde. The great walls that previously protected tens of thousands of lives now trap them together with a sea of monsters.

"Of course," she says. "Just pretend I'm not here."

Here, there is only her and Sigurd. She cannot here the pleas and prayers of the dying—only the sound of air being cut as her Champion swings her sword.

She isn't running away, Freya tells herself as she closes her eyes. She only wants to remind herself the peace that they are fighting for.

The peace that Sigurd will bring to the world.

XxXxXxXxX

"What about that one?" Freya asks, nudging her head in the direction of a pretty blonde Elf. "She's thinking very lecherous thoughts about you."

"I do not believe this is the way love works, Lady Freya."

They are in a town. Sigurd cannot stay hidden in the monster-infested wastelands all the time. Every once in a while, Freya insists he returns to civilisation. He needs to resupply, repair his equipment, and remind himself what he is fighting to protect.

The tavern they are in is almost empty. So close to the front lines, many of the town's inhabitants have moved deeper inland for safety. Only a small tribe of powerful Elves that remain act as a line of defence. One such Elf has been glancing their way for the past ten minutes.

"I am a goddess of love, and I say this is how love works. Love can be born out of lust, then becomes a thing of its own," Freya said. "Or do you disagree, with your vast knowledge of romance and intimacy?"

Sigurd frowns. "There's no need to make fun of me. It's not like I have the time or opportunity to find love, what with you sending me to clear out monster infestations every week."

"An opportunity is batting her eyelashes at you as we speak. She's about two hundred years old. Only a few decades older than you. I think it's a good match."

Freya hides her annoyance as Sigurd barely gives the Elf a glance. When he shakes his head at her, the Elf lets out a sigh and stands up to leave.

"If you keep passing up opportunities like this, you'll never find love. Stop being so picky."

"Why not?" he asks. "I have all the time in the world, and with a goddess of love at my side, I'm sure to succeed one day."

XxXxXxXxX

His form is perfect. Not a single movement is wasted as he cuts down the Minotaur before him in one strike.

Freya watches Sigurd slaughter the monster horde as if they are made of paper. Amid the heaps of limbs and the sprays of blood, the beacon that is his soul burns as brightly as the day she met him.

He has become faster, stronger, and smarter since then. But the essence of who he is remains unchanged. Stalwart and steady, Sigurd has been nothing but the perfect Champion. Whole swathes of monster-held territory have been liberated by him single-handedly. Mortal heroes stumble onto bloody and corpse-filled fields, delighted but also confused.

He takes each victory in his stride, looking nowhere else but forward. Night and day, his only concern is improving his craft. He has turned his swordsmanship into a deadly art form.

Sigurd expertly weaves through and deflects attacks, and the disorganized and clumsy monsters only help cull their own numbers amid the chaos.

The last of the monsters, a balrog, crumples as Sigurd pulls his sword out of its chest. Her Champion is coated in blood—almost all of it is not his. He surveys the corpse-ridden battleground to make sure there are no survivors before he plants his sword tip-first into the ground.

Then he sits on a dead dragon, leaning on his blade for support.

"Lady Freya, are you there?" he croaks.

She is by his side in an instant. She is slightly concerned. She sees no major wounds, but Sigurd has been fighting for three days straight. He is still more man than God, and his labored breaths give away just how much the fight has drained him.

"I'm here," she says.

"Catch me, please."

Sigurd tips to the side, and Freya barely manages to catch him. For a moment, Sigurd is slumped over her, motionless, and she thinks something must be very wrong. She sits down, puts his head on her lap, and checks if he is breathing.

Sigurd lets out a snore, and Freya's concern morphs into annoyance when she realizes that she is simply being used as pillow.

She sighs. She supposes Sigurd deserves a reward for his diligence every now and then.

XxXxXxXxX

Freya feels her chest flutter with pride as the denizens of the village cling onto Sigurd. Children sit atop his shoulders while their parents sink to their knees in tearful gratefulness.

Just beyond the shoddily constructed fence, there is a mountain of flesh and hide. A black dragon, slain by Sigurd, leaking acidic ichor like a wet sponge. The fight lasted hours, but Sigurd emerged victorious.

Freya knows the people of this village will tell the story of his valor for generations to come. Already, there is talk among the elders about hosting a feast tonight in his honor. Freya sees her Champion perk up at the mention of good and plentiful food—it is one of his few weaknesses.

She initially planned for him to head further north, to destroy the dragon's nest and its eggs, but there is time for that tomorrow. For now, Sigurd has earned his celebration.

Freya waits at the mouth of the forest until it is dusk. The stars are out tonight, and she is partway matching her constellations when heavy footsteps and clanking metal causes her to turn around.

She can still hear song and cheer from the village. "Leaving already?" she asks Sigurd. "The feast doesn't sound over."

He shrugs. "I have eaten my fill. Where to next?"

Freya looks at him. He seems eager to continue his mission. He always is. Once one task ends, he asks for another. Breaks are few and far between. Truth be told, she never expected Sigurd to be so obedient and enthusiastic about serving her.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay longer?" she asks. She looks at the crumbling defenses of the village. Most of its citizens are aged or women. "If they are attacked again, you will not be around to protect them." Her smile turns coy. "What if your one true love is here?"

Sigurd looks away. "During the feast, one of the women offered me her body as thanks for saving their lives. She told me she loved me, that she would gladly follow me for the rest of my journey. She was very pretty, and also very serious."

"And you said no, didn't you?" Freya asks, not bothering to mask her disappointment.

"She was not the right one."

Freya resists the urge to roll her eyes. "At this rate, none of them will ever be the right one. Perhaps you aren't looking for a 'she', but a 'he'. I won't judge. Love is love, and who you choose to love is your business."

He visibly hesitates. Freya blinks, once then twice. She didn't expect her teasing to hit the nail right on its head.

Sigurd looks back to the village. "I have learned something tonight. Amid all the dancing and feasting, I was in no mood to celebrate with the people I saved. When the woman approached me, I understood why." Then Sigurd looks directly at her, the stars sparkling in his eyes and his lips quivering... he almost looks afraid. "The person I truly wanted to celebrate my victory with was not with me. I could not find her hiding in the halls, so I left. I followed the scent of spring, the light of life, and the path led me here. I found the right one ages ago, Lady Freya, when I was a young boy surrounded by fire. The person who gave me a reason to live, who saw my value, who saved my life. The person I love is you, Lady Freya."

Freya stares at Sigurd. There is nothing on his face that helps her find the words to say.

"I'm a God," she finally manages. "There are rules, and differences, and expectations…"

"You have ignored them before."

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She doesn't know why she's having so much trouble. She's turned down dozens of Gods in Heaven, sending some of them to tears. She is the goddess of love, and yet she has no idea what to do in this situation.

"I have lovers in Heaven," she says. She knows it will sting, but sometimes the harshest truths are the easiest—

Sigurd doesn't even blink. "We are not in Heaven."

"I…"

Sigurd stands there.

"I…"

Patiently.

"… I have to go, Sigurd."

And he stands there until the very next morning, before making the climb to the dragon's nest alone.

XxXxXxXxX

"We're making good progress," Loki says, kicking her armored legs onto the table. "The seas are finally free of monsters again. Most of them, anyway. They're still trying to track down the Leviathan. That stupid worm can really hold its breath."

Freya nods numbly. The room is filled with the chatter of Gods. Some of them talk in urgent and worried tones as they studied sprawled maps. Others laugh and cheer as they exchange tales of heroism and stupidity.

Freya doesn't know why Loki is here. She's chosen this seat on purpose. It's far away from everyone else, squished up against the corner of the room so anyone wanting to sit with her will have to squeeze themselves against the wall.

In front of Freya is a crystal ball. It shows Sigurd practicing his sword swings. He still does one thousand when he wakes, and another thousand before he sleeps. She hasn't talked to him in over a year, and her Champion spends her time chasing monsters and diving into danger. As far as she can tell, he has not spoken to another human being since that day.

"That kid again?" Loki said, peering into the crystal ball. "That's the second time I've seen you watching him this week. Is he that special?"

Freya frowns. In her distracted state, she's completely forgotten that Loki has no concept of personal space. She turns off the magic. "He's hardworking," is all she says.

"So?" Loki says. "He's human. They live such short lives. He can work hard for thirty years, but what good will that do? Once they start growing old and weak, it's over. I'm telling you, it's the Spirits that you really ought to be watching."

Freya forces herself to say nothing more on Sigurd. "Is there something you want, Loki?"

The redheaded goddess across her grins. "Came to share some good gossip. Did you hear? The big guys at the top caught someone breaking one of the ancient laws. I don't know who, but someone had the balls to impart divine magic to a mortal. It almost killed the poor thing, but man, did he get crazy strong afterward. What did they call it… Champion? Something like that."

Freya feigns indifference. "And? What happened afterward?"

"The usual punishment, I guess. Stuck in an administrative position for the next few centuries, got banned from accessing their Arcana. Poor guy—or girl—even had to watch that mortal get executed."

Freya swallows. "That seems harsh."

"You know the rules, Freya. Divinity belongs to Gods, and Gods alone. We start handing that stuff out to mortals, and who knows what will happen? There has to be a line between Gods and mortals. Once we start blurring it, then things start getting messy."

Messy is certainly one way to describe her situation, Freya thinks.

"Well, anyway, the Elves are about to launch an offensive to retake one of their sacred forests, and I wanna watch. Cheer up, Freya. The war's finally starting to turn in our favor."

Freya watches Loki leave, wondering where everything went downhill.

XxXxXxXxX

Sigurd has not slept in two days, and Freya is worried for him. She stands on a cliff overlooking the battle. Monsters fall left and right, and the corpses keeping piling up. Ever since Heaven began cracking down on illicit Champions, Freya has been sneaking into the mortal realm to cast a protective veil every time hers engages in battle.

She does not want Sigurd to be found, even if it means making her guilt undeniable.

Sigurd fights until the Sun has set. Under the light of the moon, his sword has a crimson sheen as he lowers it. It is a familiar sight for Freya. Sigurd's chest rises and falls as he pants. Even with Divine magic flowing through him, fighting for days at end never ceases to exhaust him.

His legs buckle and his sword clatters uselessly to the ground. His eyes are already closed when his head falls onto her lap. She sighs. It is a habit she has not yet managed to break. In the morning, when Sigurd wakes, it will only be to the smell of freshly bloomed flowers, the only sign Freya is willing to leave to show she has not abandoned him.

Sigurd is around two centuries old at this point. Yet, every time she looks at his face, all she can see is the fourteen-year-old boy sitting on the slain Minotaur. If anything, his soul has become even brighter and purer since then. Even if the two of them are in this mess, Freya does not regret turning him into her Champion. If there is someone that embodies the tenacity and infinite potential of humanity, it is him.

She starts wiping the blood off his face and armor.

Then the sound of someone clearing their throat causes her to point Sigurd's sword behind her.

She drops it right away. Her blood freezes, and Freya cannot recount a time in her long life where she has felt this afraid.

"Ouranos."

"For all the effort you put into hiding your Champion from your fellow Gods, you are also making it painfully obvious that he is yours."

The bearded old man walks closer until he is standing over Siegfried.

Freya tenses. She remembers Loki's words.

"I saw his battle. Most impressive. Now I understand why the concentration of monsters here is so low." Then he turns to her and grins. "There are many Gods that would kill to be in his position right now."

Freya doesn't know how to react. Sigurd's sleeping form on her lap makes escape impossible. Resistance would make things worse. "Are you here to kill him?" she asks.

That is the only thing on her mind right now.

"No," Ouranos says. "I'm on your side. You aren't the only God I know that has sired a Champion. We need Champions like him. It is because of them that the tide of war has swung in our favor. Until the monster threat is vanquished, I will do what I can to divert the attention of the others from Champions like him."

Freya feels like she can finally breathe again. "Thank you," she says.

Ouranos shakes his head. "I'm not exonerating him. Only delaying his fate. When the war is won and the need for Champions disappears, so must the Champions. I hope you understand that, Freya. Only tragedy awaits him."

He leaves before Freya can say a word.

When the morning comes, Sigurd blearily opens his eyes. "…Lady Freya?"

She smiles at him and helps him sit up. "Good morning, Sigurd. You fought well last night."

XxXxXxXxX

A/N: I've mentioned before that this story has always been about Godou's impact on those around him (particularly Gods). We've seen how it's changed Loki, but now it's time we moved on to Freya. I never realized this until I started writing this arc, but Freya is alot like Godou in that she's a very contradictory character. She likes being aloof from everything, but interferes greatly in matters when she needs to (i.e. straight up murdering Ishtar and wrecking the Entertainment District).

Anyway, this chapter sets the tone and direction we'll be taking Freya as we move on in this story. Loki will definitely still be featured, but I've been developing her for a long time, and I want to move on. That's not to say she'll become stagnant and irrelevant, but as you can tell, I've come up with a very long and elaborate backstory for Freya that will (hopefully) explain why she is portrayed the way she is in Danmachi. I'm looking forward to adding her into the main cast of this story. Whether or not she joins the so-called 'harem'... well, you'll find out.

Anyway, since this pretty much throw canon out the window and introduces alot of OoC elements to Freya, do let me know your thoughts. Reviews, Comments, PMs, Likes, Favs, and Follows, are the best form of encouragement!