A/N: many of you don't like Freya, and I get why, given how she's portrayed in the show. But I want to like her, which is why I intend on developing her as a character to the same extent as I did for Loki, and for her to become a main character as well. She won't exactly be a nice person, the way Loki is, but she'll be likeable, hopefully. Anyway, just give her a chance, and do read these flashback/backstories, because it's the only way I can develop Freya's character, given her aloof nature. You'll be very confused in future chapters if you don't understand her backstory.
TLDR: I spent alot of time coming up with Freya's life, so READ ALL THE ITALIC BITS (INCLUDING PREVIOUS CHAPTERS).
Also, needless to say, I'm not sidelining Godou and Loki—in the end, this story is about them, just like how Campione is about Godou and Erica, and how Danmachi is about Bell and Hestia (despite me liking Ais more). Trust me in my plan to tie everything together.
Chapter 20:
They don't talk about Sigurd's declaration of love to her. Freya makes sure that they do not.
Whenever Sigurd makes any attempt to bring the subject up, she diverts the conversation. If that doesn't work, she ignores him outright. But Sigurd can be both dense and stubborn, so sometimes she simply vanishes off the face of the Earth while he is trying to broach the topic to her.
She hasn't turned him down. She can't bring herself to—the man has a tragic enough path ahead of him.
Instead, she does her best to make what time he has left enjoyable, even if she cannot give him the one thing he desires most. He seems satisfied with her companionship, so she does what she can to give him that. It's easier now. With the war going well, and the frontlines inching closer to the Dungeon, more and more Gods have the motivation to help in whatever ways possible. They perform small miracles, spur the hearts of battling warriors, provide visions and warnings—everything in their power to give mortals the edge over their enemies.
Freya considers this a good thing. More Gods on the surface means fewer of them in Heaven, where they can see everything, including Sigurd's impossible strength and powers. She is doing everything she can to hide him from prying eyes, but as Ouranos' visit has shown, her veils are not as airtight as she'd assumed.
It has been years since, and things have calmed down somewhat. She has not met Ouranos again, though the elder God does send the occasional message to her, indicating hotspots of monster activity. Sometimes, she wonders what will happen if she ignores his subtle commands. But then again, why else did she turn Sigurd into a Champion if not to slay monsters?
"Lady Freya, we are nearing the meetup point." Sigurd's voice shakes her out of her thoughts.
Breaking through the treetop canopy ahead are a few columns of campfire smoke. There is organization to the war effort now. Before, with cities and empires falling all over the place, and refugees arriving in droves, the global situation was chaos. But those days are over. Mortals are reclaiming their stolen land, and Sigurd has been tasked to lead a convoy of displaced humans back to their home village.
It's the first time Ouranos has given them a job like this.
She turns to look at her Champion. He doesn't look a day over 25—and has kept that appearance for almost two hundred years now. He walks, swinging his broad shoulders, and somehow barely makes a sound despite his heavy armour and the broadsword strapped to his back. His white hair remains short—the only part of his body that still grows—and Freya takes a little pride in how good it looks on him.
She's the one that cuts it for him, after all.
"I'll be going first, then," Freya says.
She shifts into her astral state so mortals can't see her. She finds interacting with them a hassle. The men ogle at her and the women stare at her with admiration or jealousy. She can never seem to fully caste off her divine aura even when being in a mortal body, and it shows with the natural reverence people treat her with.
She makes sure she doesn't suppress all her divine signature, so Sigurd can tell when she's near him. She sees her Champion's nose twitch, and wonders what he smells. Sometimes it's flowers. Other times it's just the smell of grass. She doesn't understand how Champions' senses work, and neither does he.
They make their way to the campsite. The displaced villagers have set up camp in a grassy clearing just outside the forest. There are about five hundred of them. They are young and fit; it figures that the older and sick ones never managed to escape in the first place. Their original village is only a few miles into monster territory, making it one of the last ones to fall. It should still be in decent shape.
They aren't harmless and ordinary civilians. Their campsite looks more like a military outpost than a gathering of refugees. Wooden pikes carved from the forest's trees have been hammered into the ground to stop a monster rush if there is one. An improvised fence made from twigs and branches form a perimeter, and in the centre of it all, a watchtower—made from an entire great oak, chopped and dragged from the forest—erected to watch over the surroundings.
Freya can't help but feel respect for these humans. The men—and many women—are all donned in armour, iron helmets that cover everything but their eyes. Their swords and spears are lined up neatly on racks surrounding the central watch tower, and their large rectangular shields form a protective wall around their tent city. In the special area reserved for children, they are running around with wooden swords, preparing for the war in their own, innocent way.
The war has touched everyone's lives, but in very different ways. For this particular village, Freya is glad to see that it hasn't turned them into cowering fools that hide behind walls and look to others for help.
Sigurd strolls to the two men guarding the entrance.
"Who are you?" one of them asks.
"My name is Sigurd," he says. "I am here to help you retake your village."
The two men look at each other. Freya can sense their confusion.
"Where are the rest?" the other asks.
"There is only me."
Their confusion turns into concern. Then amusement.
"You killed a Dragon on your own?"
"Yes."
Their amusement dies with Sigurd's curt response. They look at Sigurd closely. Their necks crane up as they realize how big he is—Sigurd is a whole head taller than any other mortal man Freya has seen. One of them leans to the side to catch a glimpse of his broadsword, which looks too big and impractical for a regular human to use.
By now, everyone knows of the rumours. Superhuman feats accomplished by superhumans. Even Ouranos cannot stop humanity's love for gossip and storytelling.
"Come with me," one them says, nudging his head.
Sigurd follows him, and Freya shadows the both of them. His entrance is accompanied with curious gazes from the villagers. Despite their defences and guarded atmosphere, anything that walks on two legs and speaks a mortal language is welcomed with open arms these days. Besides, these people know a fellow warrior when they see one.
The guard leads Sigurd to the command tent, which looks no different from the other large tents, except for the flag that is planted outside the entrance.
"The chief's inside," the guard says. "He's been waiting, but I think he expected more of you."
"I will be enough," Sigurd says, and ducks into the tent.
Freya lingers for a moment to appreciate the nervous gulp the guard makes before returning to his post.
When she enters the tent, she is greeted by silence.
There are less than a dozen people inside, and all of them are gawking at Sigurd's imposing form. There is a large table in the middle with a map laid out across it. The rest of the space is occupied by shelves filled with scrolls and books.
The occupants of the room remain stationary and noiseless until Sigurd unslings his sword and drops it to the floor with a clunk. "I am Sigurd. I have been asked to assist your efforts to retake your village."
Freya assumes the man standing at the head of the table is the village chief. He is relatively older than the rest—his hair is half-grey, and the red claw-marks on his face tell Freya that he is no stranger to monsters. He is the first to get over his shock.
"My name is Talon." A second later, Freya sees why. He lifts an arm to his chest, which has a sharp and curved metal blade connected to his wrist instead of a hand. Then he bows. "Thank you for coming to our aid."
The only woman in the room clears her throat. She is red-haired and has a slender figure. She wears a battle skirt, and is also the only person who is wearing all her armour. Her helmet is squeezed between her arm and her waist.
"This is our help? He's one man."
"He is enough," Talon says. "If my source says that he killed a Dragon, then he must have."
Freya frowns. She wonders where the man got his information from in the first place. Sigurd hasn't killed a Dragon in while.
"Did you really?" a man asks.
Sigurd nods. He does not shy away from his achievements, but Freya also knows that he dislikes being the centre of attention. "The village," he says, pointing to the map, "how far is it from here?"
"Three days by foot," Talon says. "Two, if you're fast. Our horses are still too tired from the long journey here, and we'd rather keep them here with the caravans in case we need a quick escape."
Sigurd shrugs. Freya knows he doesn't care—he can outrun a horse.
Talon points to a spot on the map that has been circled red. "This is our village. There is a river behind it, which means that monsters will have trouble retreating and retaking it once we have control."
"Unless they can fly," Sigurd says.
"That is a possibility," Talon says. "We haven't scouted out the actual place yet. So far, we've gone as far as here," he points to the base of a hill between them and the village, "and there's no monster activity up to the hill at least. If they come over, we'll see them from the watch tower."
"This place will act your base of operations?" Sigurd asks.
Talon nods. "You can help us scout out the actual village itself. We'll need to know what we're up against before we commit our main forces."
"I will go alone," Sigurd says. "I do not want to be rude, but you will only slow me down."
Talon frowns. He looks Sigurd up and down, and then his gaze drops to his broadsword lying on the floor. "I don't doubt that. But you should take my daughter with you, at least. She's the fastest runner we have, and she grew up here. She's familiar with the village's layout and the terrain around it."
Freya sees Sigurd thinking about it. Up to this point, he is used to working alone. But he has always prioritized the success of the mission over his own personal preferences. "Thank you, then," he says, "where is she? I will introduce myself to her."
"I'm right here," the red-haired woman says. "I'm Brynhilda. Nice to meet you, Sigurd."
Sigurd blinks. It's not often that Freya sees her Champion surprised. But he gets over it quickly. "When would you like to depart?"
She lifts up her helmet and slides it over her head. With her face almost completely hidden, and her armour hiding the curves of her body, it's almost impossible to tell Brynhilda is a woman by looks alone.
"Right now."
XxXxXxXxX
"You don't talk much, do you?" Brynhilda says.
Without a mortal body to weigh her down, Freya can keep pace easily, following Sigurd and Brynhilda in her astral state like a breeze of wind. It's a good day for a walk—clear weather, and a scenic view of the countryside. So far, there haven't been any monsters, but only because they've yet to cross the hill.
They have been running for over three hours. Well, only Brynhilda is running—Sigurd is in more of a light jog.
Sigurd glances at Brynhilda. "Do you need to stop?"
"No," she says, panting. "I can still run."
"Let's take a break."
"Didn't you hear me? I said—"
"I'm hungry," Sigurd says. He drops to a squat and tugs the bags he's carrying—including Brynhilda's—off his shoulders.
Finally, once Brynhilda sees that he's made himself comfortable on the grass, she sighs and sits next to him. Freya hovers around her as she takes off her armour. The tunic underneath is drenched with sweat, and her chest rises and falls as she pants. She'd originally tied her hair into a tight bun, but that has fallen apart since, and red sweat-slicked locks hang down to her shoulders messily.
So, she's a liar, Freya thinks, as Brynhilda massages her calves.
Sigurd tosses a sheepskin bag of water over to her. She catches it and chugs the whole thing down.
"We only have two bags each," Sigurd says, raising an eyebrow.
"It's fine. There's a stream beyond the hill. We can refill our water there."
"I see," Sigurd says, drinking some water of his own.
They split some of the cured meat they have, as well as some dried fruits and vegetables.
"How old are you?" Brynhilda asks. "You don't look that much older than me."
"27," Sigurd lies. He's been '27' for the past century and a half.
"And you killed a Dragon?"
"Yes." Several of them, Freya knows. She was there most of the time.
The girl eyes him cautiously. "Was it a big Dragon?"
"The size of a small hill. Black-scaled. Breathed fire," Sigurd pauses. "I can't remember if it had two legs or four."
Brynhilda laughs. "You're bluffing. If I ever killed a Dragon, I'd count how many fangs it had in its mouth. Just to brag, of course."
"You wouldn't," Sigurd says. "You'd be too tired afterward."
"Hm, that's probably true. How did you kill it?"
"If you put enough holes in its wings, it won't be able to fly. Then it gets a little easier from there."
"I'll be sure to remember that if I ever meet a Dragon." She rolls her eyes.
Snarky, too, Freya thinks.
Sigurd shrugs. "You probably won't. There aren't many of them left."
He isn't lying. Several of Ouranos' directions have led them to Dragon nests. She assumes the other Champions have similar experiences—the most dangerous monsters are being left to them to slay.
The conversation flows naturally from there. Brynhilda asks Sigurd questions about his life and monster-slaying, which he mainly answers with half-truths and flat lies. Sigurd, just as Freya expects, doesn't ask Brynhilda any questions about her own life.
Freya sighs. Sigurd shows as much interest in women as he does a shrub, or a fern. She wishes she'd chosen a normal mortal to be her Champion. But then again, all the normal mortals she'd chosen before kept dying.
After about thirty minutes, Sigurd finally asks a question of his own. "Have you rested enough to keep running?"
"Yeah," Brynhilda says, standing up. Then she sees the small smile on Sigurd's face. "What?"
"So you were tired."
Brynhilda reddens. "You tricked me."
"You were the one being dishonest first."
She turns away. "Shut up. Let's go. I can run all day."
"Brynhilda."
"What?"
"Do you still want me to carry your bag for you then?"
Freya blinks. Is Sigurd… flirting with her? A grin creeps onto her face. There may be hope for him yet.
XxXxXxXxX
Brynhilda whistles as the balrog is cut in half with a single swing.
"I believe you now. You really did kill a Dragon," she says, kicking the bifurcated corpse.
Sigurd sheathes his sword and looks at her with furrowed brows. "You didn't believe me before?"
"Well, no. I mean, you're definitely big and strong, but a Dragon's, you know, a Dragon. I didn't think you killed one by yourself."
"I didn't kill it with one swing, if that's what you are thinking about. It took a few hours."
Brynhilda tilts her head. "The city we took refuge in once had a Dragon siege. I heard it took them three days to kill it, and they had several dozen ballistae and hundreds of crossbowmen."
Sigurd shrugs, and keeps walking forward. Freya wishes Brynhilda wasn't around so she can scold him. He's been slipping up around Brynhilda, forgetting to hide his true strength. But another part of her is happy at this development. Maybe he's starting to trust her.
It's been more than a day since they left the outpost. They can't run anymore—or Brynhilda can't—because the grassy plains have been replaced with a dense forest. It hinders their movements, but also helps them avoid monsters.
Not that there are many. Freya had checked, out of curiosity—the forest is teeming with native fauna, and she'd barely found any monsters. The dead balrog was the most dangerous thing. The monsters really are starting to thin out.
The war's end is near—she can smell it. A pang hits her as Ouranos' words come back. And with their victory comes Sigurd's loss.
"I remember this place," Brynhilda whispers, as they trudge through the forest. "My father would take my brothers and me hunting here every weekend. The first thing I ever killed with a bow was a deer, somewhere right here."
"You have brothers?" Sigurd asks.
"Had."
"My apologies. I didn't know."
"It's fine. We were attacked ten years ago. My brothers died with my mother. Only my father and I escaped. But you must have heard this before. Everyone's lost someone, haven't they?"
"Probably."
"Sigurd." Brynhilda's voice wavers. She's nervous. "What about you, have you lost anyone?"
Sigurd doesn't even falter in his step. "My entire village. I was the only survivor."
Brynhilda comes to a complete stop. She looks horrified. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you would have it that much worse."
Sigurd stops as well. "I wouldn't have become strong if it hadn't happened. I certainly wouldn't be here right now, helping your people reclaim your village. That's what I tell myself."
Freya can feel it. The fluctuations in Brynhilda's heart. It sounds like the twanging of a tight string being pulled and released suddenly. There was always some lust; Sigurd is a fine specimen of a man, Freya is willing to admit. But now, there is a sliver of a new emotion—Brynhilda is starting to fall in love with him.
Freya can't help but smile. Way to go, Sigurd.
"Shall we keep moving, Brynhilda?" Sigurd asks.
"Hilda."
"What?"
"I want you to call me Hilda."
"But your name is Brynhilda."
"It's a mouthful, isn't it? Hilda will do."
"I see. Hilda, then," Sigurd says.
The red-haired girl beams at him and plays with her hair as she walks ahead. "Come on, Sigurd, catch up."
Sigurd blinks after her, obviously confused by the odd burst of energy. Then he follows along.
Freya is delighted when she sees that Brynhilda is swaying her hips a little more than normal.
She even knows how to take the lead.
XxXxXxXxX
Freya hovers around the command tent, pleased with herself. The scouting mission has been a resounding success.
"The forest is almost devoid of monsters," Brynhilda reports. "Our forces should be able to pass through with minimal problems. The same goes for the path to our home."
Freya can't tell if Brynhilda's doing it on purpose, but she's standing slightly in front and to the side of Sigurd. They've just returned after four days, and her exhaustion comes in the form of tossed-aside armour and a partially unbuttoned tunic. In other words, if Sigurd looks down, a generous view of her chest awaits him.
His eyes haven't left the map in front of him, of course. He leans forward and points to the centre of the village. "The village has the highest concentration of monsters in the area. They've been living off what we believe are ancestors of your livestock. There are enough sheep grazing the plains around to sustain the monster population. The biggest threat we saw is a Wyvern nest, which is on the roof of the cathedral. Other species include Minotaurs and Kobolds."
Brynhilda's heart flutters with admiration. Freya latches onto the emotion and amplifies it. She's been doing this for the past three days, taking tiny sparks of Brynhilda's emotions and fanning them until they turn into full-on infernos.
Freya is quite proud of herself. From a small infatuation, Brynhilda now dreams of Sigurd whenever she sleeps—Freya's handiwork, of course—but last night she'd barely needed to nudge her sleeping mind before it automatically drifted towards the object of her affection.
Talon scratches his chin with his one good arm. "Wyverns? That's not good. We don't have many archers."
"We can't forget the Minotaurs, either," another man says. "Last time it took ten men to take one down, and we still lost three of them. Our archers will be spread thin between the Wyverns and Minotaurs."
The table mutters in agreement.
Sigurd clears his throat. "Leave the Wyverns and the Minotaurs to me."
"Alone?" Talon asks
Sigurd nods. Freya scoffs at the disbelief on their faces. Sigurd can liberate the whole village on his own if wants to.
Ah, another spark, Freya realizes, as she sees Brynhilda looking up at Sigurd.
"It won't be a problem," Sigurd says.
"Very well," Talon says. "We'll set forth tomorrow morning. Prepare the army."
By the end of this week, Freya might have Brynhilda thinking about baby names.
XxXxXxXxX
Freya drifts above the grass, unable to suppress her smile. She'd crept into Brynhilda's tent only to find that the redhead was already dreaming about Sigurd.
Now, if only her Champion could start showing any kind of interest as well. She hasn't tried pulling on any of his emotions, but only because Sigurd hasn't displayed any. Freya can only fan the flames—she can't be the one to ignite it.
She wanders to his tent, which is just outside the settlement. The settlement itself is already overcrowded, and Sigurd has no desire to trouble any of the displaced villagers since many of them are busy preparing for the march tomorrow.
She's surprised to see that she's not his only visitor, and she flares her divinity to let Sigurd know she's here.
Talon sits across Sigurd. It seems his prosthetic is detachable, because his right arm ends in a stump instead of the blade she's used to seeing.
They're sharing a drink.
Talon eyes Sigurd. "I can't believe you came. I delayed this entire operation for a week because of you."
"What do you mean?" Sigurd asks.
Talon looks down at his drink, staring at his reflection. "Have you ever met a God, Sigurd? Or had a prophetic vision?"
Sigurd is obviously taken aback by the question. Freya whispers an answer into his ear for him to repeat.
"I have had a few… unusual encounters that might have been the case, but I can't say for sure."
Eagerly, Talon grabs Sigurd's shoulder with one hand. "Tell me, Hero. How did you know to come here? Did an old man appear in your dreams, informing you of our plight while claiming to be a God?"
Ouranos. It has to be him. But Freya can't imagine why the elder God is interfering so brazenly. It's most uncharacteristic of him, especially after all the measures he's been taking for the sake of secrecy—Freya isn't even allowed to know who the other Champions and their patron Gods are.
"Yes," Sigurd says, after Freya tells him to.
Talon unhands Sigurd and lets out a deep breath. "I thought I was crazy. I'm glad to see I'm not. Fate really has decreed that you help us. I used to think the Gods abandoned us."
"They have not," Sigurd says, firmly.
"I know that now. Hero, what will you do once you've finished helping us retake our village?"
"I'm not sure yet."
"Will you join us? Help us rebuild? You've only been with us for a few days, but I think there are people here who will be sad to see you go."
Ah. Brynhilda's been talking to her father.
"Thank you for the offer, but I cannot," Sigurd says, shaking his head. "The war is not won yet. Not until all the land has been liberated, until all the monsters have been slain. There are still things that need to be done."
Talon doesn't hide his disappointment. His shoulders slump forward. "I figured you'd say something like that. But that's the way it should be. We can't have you all to ourselves. I'm sure the Gods still have many trials for you to overcome."
Sigurd nods. "They probably do."
Freya sighs. Truthfully, she only wants one thing for Sigurd right now.
"Well," Talon finishes his drink, "when everything's over, I want you to know you'll always have a home waiting here."
Sigurd looks at the man. Freya can sense that he's deeply touched. "Thank you," he says softly. "I'll remember that."
Of course, Freya knows, when everything's over, there will be no place Sigurd can return to.
XxXxXxXxX
Freya tenses up when the new divine signature pops up behind her. She's worked hard to improve her veil, so why does he know where they are so easily?
Right, because he's the one that sent them here in the first place.
"Ouranos, come to watch the battle?"
The elder God says nothing, floating beside her.
They're far above the ground. The people look like ants and the Wyverns, mosquitoes. Even from this distance, she can spot Sigurd. He's a much bigger ant, and his white hair only helps to separate him from the rest.
The human army is entrenched at the exit of the forest, at the opposite end of a clearing from the abandoned village. Moss and overgrown flora give the cobblestone structures a green hue, but for the most part, a good portion of the village hasn't crumbled yet.
A line of shield bearers and spearmen keep the Minotaurs and Kobolds at bay. Any one of them that steps into the clearing that separates them is met with a hail of arrows that can tear off limbs from a Minotaur. The only problem for now is the Wyverns.
A whole uprooted tree, sharpened to a point, sails through the airs and impales a Wyvern. The shrieking green mass plummets to the clearing and is nailed there. Its limbs squirm for a few seconds before the creature goes limp and silent.
The humans cheer as Sigurd lifts up another projectile. Freya can't maintain her veil and manipulate Byrnhilda's emotions at the same time. Her only hope is that Sigurd's monstrous strength doesn't somehow turn her off. Finding a familiar mop of red hair patting Sigurd on the back, it's unlikely that will happen.
"Why bother with this?" Freya asks. "The humans needed help, but they didn't need Sigurd. A Spirit, or a powerful enough Elf, could have done this on their own."
Ouranos waits for the next Wyvern to die before replying. "Because I was angry."
Freya looks at him. Angry? So he sends Sigurd to what is basically a Champion's equivalent to a walk in the park? The elder God has a strange way of taking his anger out on others.
"Not at Sigurd, or the other Champions," Ouranos says. "But at us. Gods. A Champion died last week. Ambushed by an Extreme Behemoth and a Black Dragon. Now she lies in an unmarked grave, mourned only by her patron God. It angers me, Freya, that we treat our greatest heroes with such disdain."
Freya feels her features softening. So Ouranos cares. "You didn't write the rules, Ouranos. You merely enforce them." Then she smiles, watching a third Wyvern crash into the ground. "And thank goodness you're doing a rather poor job at that."
He grunts. "I've asked all the Champions to do a trivial task like this. Something simple by their standards, but monumental in the eyes of others. Something people can remember them by. They're Heroes, Freya, and we can't let the world forget the ones who saved it."
Freya watches the battle unfold. The Wyverns' numbers are dwindling, and the rest of the human army is preparing to charge. Sigurd will lead them, naturally.
"Is there no way to save him?" Freya asks.
"No," Ouranos says. "I have tried everything. But there is a way forward."
"What do you mean?"
Ouranos furrows his brows and looks away. Freya hasn't seen him look uncertain before. "I've been… experimenting with the Champion process. I think there's a way we can use it without the risks, and still give a near-miniscule fraction of our divinity that will enhance their bodies. I haven't perfected it yet, but… I can think of no better way to honour them, Freya."
"Will the others allow it?" Freya asks. "They seem quite adamant about keeping divinity to ourselves."
"I don't know. I think it will be difficult convincing them. When the time comes, Freya, will you lend me your voice and support?"
Freya keeps quiet. Normally, she prefers staying out of Heaven's squabbling politics. But then she looks at Sigurd, and soaks up the admiration and awe that the people around him are exuding.
What did Ouranos say earlier? 'I can think of no better way to honour them'.
Ouranos is trying. So has she. Learning new magic to hide Sigurd from Heaven. Having Aphrodite teach her how to cut men's hair. Spending so much time in a mortal body that she's started missing the sensation of having solid ground beneath her feet.
Freya swallows. "I will help you, Ouranos. Do you have a name for it yet?"
"Falna," Ouranos says.
Freya translates the Divine Tongue in her mind. "God's Grace?"
Ouranos shrugs. "It can mean love as well."
XxXxXxXxX
Godou landed softly on the watchtower, the setting sun behind him. The cool evening breeze guided him to Loki, who was sitting on one of the crenellations.
"You're late," she said.
"Sorry, I took a detour." He sat next to her and pulled her in for a kiss. They'd been doing that a lot more lately.
Loki coughed and sputtered. "Why do you taste of ash and soot?"
"I had to see it for myself, Loki."
"And?"
"Bell was right. The church was completely burned to the ground. Nothing was left." He clenched his fists. "That bastard, Apollo…"
Loki stared at him. Then, she cocked her head and asked, "do you want to kill him?"
It wasn't a joke. She was dead serious.
"I don't know. I want all this to end. But there must be other ways to stop him."
"There is," Loki said. "The War Game."
"But—"
Loki pressed a finger to his lips, shutting him up. "This isn't your old world, Godou. Just because a God's the one causing trouble, doesn't make it automatically your problem. Stop letting everything fall onto your shoulders. Learn to shrug things off."
Godou nodded. Only then did Loki peel her finger away.
"He shouldn't be allowed to get away with all this."
"He isn't," Loki said. "He's been slapped with a hefty fine by the Guild. And many of us Gods have made our objections known."
Godou gave her a flat stare.
"I know, I know. It's not going to do anything to stop him, but it's symbolic."
"Symbolism isn't enough," Godou said.
"You'd be surprised. We're Gods, Godou. Symbolism, faith, sentiment… all of these things matter to us. You should thank Freya, by the way."
"Why? What did she do?" She did mention something about helping Bell when I went to see her the other day… but I haven't actually heard what, Godou thought.
"She gave Apollo a disapproving look, and the man agreed to let Hestia have one person help their Familia."
Godou's jaw dropped. She's actually keeping her word.
"What?" Loki said. "Apollo has a huge crush on her. He'll do anything to impress her."
"Doesn't the Apollo Familia have over a hundred people?"
"Yeah, but their Captain is only Level 3."
"So get Finn to help. Or even Bete."
Loki shook her head. "They can't. The condition was that the helper can't be a member of someone else's Familia."
Godou frowned. That made things difficult. The only powerful person without a Familia he could think of was… himself. But it couldn't be him. Bell would need to find someone else.
"By the way, do you remember your deal with Freya?" Loki asked.
Godou nodded. He wasn't supposed to interfere with Bell's life anymore.
"Freya came up to me afterward. She said she'd make this an exception. You can be the one to help him if you want."
Godou blinked. That sounded too good to be true. There had to be some angle Freya was playing at.
"I told her no, of course," Loki said.
Godou nearly snapped his neck turning to Loki. "Why?"
"Because everyone will be watching. Familia War Games are a big deal, Godou. Hermes is even allowed to use his Arcana so that everyone in the city can watch it. I wouldn't be surprised if a few Gods in Heaven take a break from their duties to observe, too. Someone will find out, Godou."
He hadn't thought about that. But Loki had, for him. He kissed her again. "Thanks, Loki."
"You're welcome. Don't worry about Bell, I think Hestia already has someone else in mind," she said, grinning. Then her face took a more serious turn. "But, really. You need to worry more about yourself, especially with Freya. I think she wants to see you in action. She asked me about your powers too, during one of our meetings concerning Rakia. She made it seem casual, but it can't be a coincidence."
"You think she wants to recruit me?"
"I'll murder her if she does," Loki snarled. Then, "and you, too, if you actually join."
Godou paled. "I won't."
The redhead sighed and leaned against his shoulder. "Just be careful, okay? Freya's weird. I can never tell what she's planning. And she's one of the few Gods here I can't protect you from."
Godou pulled her close. "I can protect myself just fine, Loki."
"Sure," Loki snorted. "I leave for a week and you end up being dragged into a stupid deal with her."
"Can we talk about something else?" Godou asked. "We were supposed to spend the day together. We've only got a few hours left."
Godou had gone on many dates in his life. Some of them had been interrupted by Heretical Gods, but today's events still ranked quite highly on the 'worst ever' list. Ten minutes after meeting Loki in front of the Hostess, word spread that Hestia had accepted Apollo's War Game challenge after the latter burned down her Familia's headquarters.
By lunch, Loki had been called to attend an emergency Denatus, where the nature of the War would be determined.
"Thanks, by the way," Godou said, "for agreeing to train Bell."
He looked down. Below them, on the pathway on top of Orario's walls, Bell was getting his ass kicked by Tiona and Ais. The boy had come to him at the Hostess earlier, begging Godou to train him. Only the deal with Freya had stopped Godou, and he'd directed him to Loki's Familia.
"It's fine," Loki said. "The girls wanted to do it anyway. They've taken a liking to him ever since they saw him defeat that Minotaur."
"I wish I could do more. Things shouldn't be this way."
Loki gave him an odd look. "Then why don't you? That's the one thing I can't get about you, Godou. You're happy with being a chef at the Hostess, and don't mind staying away from the Dungeon forever. But something like this happens, and you suddenly want to pick a fight with Apollo?"
Godou tensed. His fellow Campione used to called him a hypocrite. They mocked his attempts at avoiding conflict, and then laughed and pointed at the destruction left in his wake when it was unavoidable.
Maybe Loki could understand him.
"No man should have the power I do," he began.
"I agree," Loki interrupted.
He shot her a look.
"Oh, you're doing a thing. Sorry, go on."
"I've seen the ways other Campione use their powers. People die, Loki. Some of them can be just as bad as Heretical Gods. I swore to never be like them. If I could go my entire life without using my abilities, that would be perfect.
"Do you know what it feels like to be able to do things no one else can? It feels horrible, Loki. When something goes wrong, your first thought is always, I need to do something. Because when you see someone fall off a building and you can fly, you have to catch him. If you don't, then in a way, you're responsible for his death, you get what I mean?"
"Yes, I do," Loki said. "As a God, there were many tragedies I could have prevented. Some of them still haunt me to this day."
Godou saw the hollow look in her eyes and knew she meant it. He took her palm and squeezed it. "I swore not to be like the other Campione. I would only use my powers for the sake of others. I don't deserve this power, but I'm stuck with it, so it wouldn't be fair if I used it for myself."
"That's noble."
"It is, isn't it? That's why it's what I tell myself, Loki. But it's a lie. I like fighting, Loki. I love it. The thrill of putting my life on the line and fighting a Heretical God, and emerging victorious… it's addictive, Loki. My mind can't lie to my body—it knows I enjoy fighting."
He felt Loki stiffen, but she didn't say anything.
"And that's the dark truth about Campione, Loki. We all like fighting. Sometimes, I don't know whether I do the things I do because I want to help others, or simply because I'm looking for a reason to fight. Sometimes, I don't know whether I force myself into positions of normalcy because I truly enjoy living an ordinary life, or because I'm afraid of what I'll do without one. Sometimes, I don't know if…" he glanced up at Loki, "my heart races whenever I look at you because I really love you… or because you're just another challenge to conquer."
Her mouth parted slightly.
"It's the truth, Loki. Gods and Campione are drawn to each other for that reason. You must have felt it, didn't you? That near-electrifying sensation of curiosity when you first saw me? I get it every time I'm near a God. It's instinctual—one mortal enemy sizing up the other. You fell in love with me Loki, because at first, you wanted to fight me."
He couldn't bear to look at her. He wondered what she was thinking. All this time, she must have thought he was some weak-spined pacifist. The truth couldn't be any further. She was right—he was a monster in some ways, and—
"Ow!" he cried. "What was that for?"
Loki flicked his forehead with her finger again. "Fight me."
"What?"
"Right here, right now. Let's tussle. I'll even unleash my Arcana."
Godou stared at Loki incredulously as she stood up.
"Come on, what are you waiting for? I thought you said you liked to fight?"
"Loki, what are you doing?"
"Fight me."
"Loki, stop it. I don't want to hurt you."
Loki stopped. She looked at him, then sat back down and leaned against him once more. "See? That's all I needed to hear to know you're full of shit, Godou."
"What—"
"Shh. It's my turn to do a thing, so keep quiet and listen."
Godou kept quiet. And he listened.
"We all have our demons, Godou. Some people like sex. For some, it's alcohol. It's all about whether you control your demon, Godou, or whether you let it control you. Will you cheat on your wife? Will you lose control while you're drunk and beat her? Those are the real questions you need to ask yourself, Godou."
Godou frowned. He'd never do any of that.
"It isn't easy to admit you have a demon in you, Godou. And it sure as hell wasn't easy for me when I learned that yours was killing Gods. But you know what, Godou? I know you. You are in control of yourself. I know you are, because I've been watching. I wouldn't love you if I thought you were going to murder me one day. I love you because I know you'll never hurt me, or anyone you care about. I know you're trying your best, and I want you to know that it's okay to be afraid every once in a while, because that fear means you know the consequences if you slip up. But you won't, because in this city with dozens of Gods in it, people here don't know you as Kusanagi Godou the Godslayer, but Kusanagi Godou the Chef."
Loki pressed her lips against his. "I believe in you, Kusanagi Godou, so do me a favour and believe a little in yourself, okay?"
The world blurred. A blink later, something wet dripped down his cheek. Loki's face was clear, right in front of his. Against the evening sky, even the moon seemed to pale in comparison to her glow.
"Thank you, Loki."
"I'm not done, but you're welcome."
Godou pulled her in a little closer. "Go on."
"You want to know why you wish to fight Apollo?"
"Why?"
"It's not because you're a Campione. It's because he's an asshole. Hestia would love to drop-kick him in the face. I bet Freya would throttle him if she could. That doesn't make them Campione. There's nothing special about wanting to punch someone in the face because they're an asshole, Godou. It just means you're a good person."
"…it does?"
Loki shrugged. "You know, relatively speaking. Not everyone can be a saint. But there's one person in the whole of Orario that wants to wipe that smug grin off Apollo's face more than anyone else." She pointed down, at Bell Cranel.
"Him."
The white-haired boy flew as Tiona kicked him in the gut. The Amazoness covered her mouth in horror and rushed to help him up.
A hand stopped her. Not Ais', but Bell's. Godou watched him climb up on his own. Then he saw his face. His eyes burned with determination as he spat out a wad of blood. Then he charged at Tiona and Ais again.
"Don't take this away from him, Godou," Loki said. "Apollo has threatened what few things he holds dear. Believe in him, too."
Godou nodded. Then he grabbed Loki's arms and plunged into a kiss with her.
He only pulled away when he needed to breathe.
"Wow," Loki said.
"I love you."
Loki blinked. Very slowly, her grin widened into a beam. "That's the first time you've said that to me, I think."
"It is."
"We've still got a couple of hours before the day ends. We could go to your place and make out a lot?"
He glanced up. The Sun was completely gone now. A glittery display of stars hung overhead, the moon shining in the centre. "Or we could just do that here," he said.
"Oh, that's a better idea. Under the stars. Very romantic."
He pulled Loki in for another kiss.
And in that moment, he couldn't think of a single previous date that could beat this.
XxXxXxXxX
A/N: I was re-reading the reviews for this story the other day, and a thought hit me. There are seriously, a lot, of people who come into this fic just to read about the 'harem'. I'll just be frank now, Godou won't end up romantically involved with anyone except Loki. The harem here is not literal-it refers to the special relationships he'll have with the Gods he'll meet. He's Loki's lover, Hestia's savior, and so on. Truthfully, I wish Danmachi featured a few more male Gods, because Hermes is interesting (but too unpredictable and sneaky to write about), and the others seem way too passive to have any real impact in the story. I've tried adding depth to Ouranos and Ganesha in this fic, and like I've said before, this fic has always been about Godou's impact on the world, particularly when it comes to challenging traditional relationships between mortals and the divine. It just happens that all the Gods with the most screen time are female, so... all my ideas come from the goddesses.
That out of the way, here comes my real question. I'm kinda curious (especially for the female readers of this fic, however rare you maybe), of what you think about my portrayal of women here. I know, with the title, I haven't exactly made the best first impression, but I really do try to write every single person as a real human being (which is kinda difficult, considering how anime in general portrays girls, and Danmachi is hardly an exception-Wtf, look at the entire pleasure district). I'm not trying to turning this into a gender equality/sexuality issue, but as someone who wants to be a pro author, being able to write about people different from me (I'm a dude, if you haven't guessed by now) is a key skill i hoped to practice by writing fanfiction. If you can let me know in the comments/reviews (or a PM, if you dont want others reading it), I would be very, very thankful.
TLDR: Can anyone who's been following this story and is female please tell me your real opinions on the characters of this fic?
Sorry for the long A/N, but I really want to start growing as a writer at a faster pace, because I'll need to make some serious career choices soon.
As always, do let me know all your other thoughts in the comments/reviews/PMs. That, along with Favs/Follows/Likes, are the best form of encouragement.
Cheers.