A/N: This chapter took a little longer to write and upload because, as you'll read, it's a little longer than most other chapters.
Chapter 22:
Freya steps back and looks at her handiwork, nodding her head. She's much better at this now.
"What do you think, Sigurd?" she asks.
Despite his two centuries of existence, Sigurd somehow still does not own a mirror. Instead, he picks up his sword, unsheathes it, and looks at his reflection using the blade. Combing his fingers through his hair, he turns his head from side to side.
"It's a bit shorter than normal," he says. "No wonder you took a longer time." He pauses, as if he wants to say more, but then he bites his lips, and Freya knows he has swallowed the rest of his words.
She looks out the window. It has been weeks since a monster has crawled out of the Dungeon—parties of heroes have been sent inside every day to suppress monster spawn rates. Houses have been built for these warriors, and eateries and supply stores have popped up as well. The tavern she and Sigurd are in was initially built so families of warriors had somewhere to stay. There is even a church being built. Freya knows that this is a birth of a new city, and perhaps nothing better signifies the end of the war than an infant settlement being built right above the Dungeon.
Looming over thatched cottages and stone buildings is the beginnings of the great wall that will surround the city. It's a brave idea—in the event of another monster outbreak, the people will seal themselves in with their enemies, buying time for the other nations to send help.
She looks back at Sigurd. His soul remains a brilliant white, untarnished and pure. He is still checking his appearance using his sword, his features stern and grim. Freya hesitates. Is this really the best she can do? Maybe she can try a new style for Sigurd, how would a buzz cut look on him? He's had the same hairstyle for the past few decades—shouldn't it be time to try something new?
She knows she's stalling. Freya doesn't want this moment to end. She wishes Sigurd could sit in this chair forever, with her standing behind him. She doesn't mind spending the next few hours just fiddling with her scissors and his hair, telling him to stop fidgeting lest he wants his ear cut off.
Finally, Sigurd puts down his sword. "It's perfect for my final haircut, Lady Freya. Thank you."
She wishes she can do more for him than just making him look his best before his execution, whenever that is. Ouranos hasn't said anything yet, but with the monster threat more or less quelled, it must be soon. Already, she has heard rumors of other Elder Gods investigating the rumors of Champions interfering in the War. If they do find out about her and Sigurd, it doesn't change anything about Sigurd's inevitable death, but Freya would rather his death remain a noble sacrifice than a punishment for a crime.
"We don't know that yet," she says. "Gods are fickle sometimes. They might change their minds, or—"
"It's okay, Lady Freya, you don't have to raise my hopes up. I've lived longer than any human should have. I've done more for the world, and for you, than most men can even dream of. I'm fine, leaving as things are."
That can't be true. He's lying, Freya knows, so she won't feel horrible. She hasn't given him the one thing he wants most, and even if they weren't on a deadline, she probably never will. Gods and mortals are too different. She does love him, just not in the way he loves her.
She doesn't want Sigurd to die.
Was she being selfish? Maybe this was better for Sigurd. Maybe he was telling the truth. Death might be better than spending an eternity lovelorn. This is for the best, she tells herself. She can't ask Sigurd to torment himself any further, being so close to his forbidden fruit, knowing he will never have a bite.
Sigurd will die soon. There is nothing she can do to change this. But that doesn't mean there's nothing she can do for him.
"I'm glad you think it's perfect," Freya says, running her fingers through his hair. "The town council is holding a festival tomorrow in celebration of the war's end, and I refuse to be seen with a man that is anything less than perfect."
"Lady Freya? I don't understand."
She swallows, taking the time to phrase her thoughts. "Sigurd, would you like to attend the festival with me? There will be a dance at the end of it."
"I… Is it okay for you to be seen with me?" Sigurd says. "With the war over, won't the other Gods be more observant? If they see you with me…"
Stupid boy. He's dying soon, and he still only thinks of her. "The other Gods won't care. Some of them will be descending from Heaven to join in the festivities. I doubt I will be the only God dancing with a mortal."
Sigurd frowns. "But…"
Freya's eyebrow twitches with annoyance. What's holding him back? After everything he's been through, what can he possibly still be afraid of? "What's wrong? Spit it out."
Sigurd sighs. "I don't know how to dance, Lady Freya."
"Bfft." Freya can't help it. An unladylike snort escapes. When Sigurd looks away, the most embarrassed she has seen him in years, she smiles. "I'll teach you."
XxXxXxXxX
Sigurd says yes, naturally. Freya knows he can't turn her down. And even in the one-in-a-million chance he did, all she'd need to do was rephrase her request into a command, and he would have obeyed.
The bed and the rest of the furniture have been pushed to the side of the room. The remaining space is barely large enough for them to practice dancing in. There is also no music, which makes it difficult for them to sync their movements together.
Sigurd's palm is sticky with sweat. He dances with jerky movements, shrugging his shoulders every time Freya adjusts her grip on his waist. It's a refreshing change, seeing her normally composed Champion so unnerved and jumpy. It's almost as if he's afraid of touching her. For a man who can cut a Minotaur in half, he holds her hand in an impotent grip. His other hand, which is supposed to be on her waist, barely grazes her clothes.
"Sorry," Sigurd says, after stepping on her toes for the third time.
Freya does her best to suppress the wince and not let the pain show. Sigurd is a large and heavy man, and she is sorely regretting her habit of walking around the mortal realm barefoot.
"I've seen you avoid fireballs and poisoned spikes with inhuman grace. Why do you turn into a clumsy oaf when you dance?" she asks.
"I don't know," Sigurd says. "I will try to be more careful."
"Eyes up here, Sigurd. It's rude to look away from your partner in the middle of a dance."
"Sorry," he says, again.
"Ow. Okay, that's it."
"Where are you going, Lady Freya?"
"I'm going to borrow a pair of slippers. You wait right here. We're not done yet. Far from it."
XxXxXxXxX
It's nothing compared to the parties she's used to in the Divine Realm, but the newly-christened Orario's town council has thrown an impressive festival, considering that this city didn't even exist a month ago. Perhaps it is the sheer novelty of diversity. Nowhere else in the world has Freya seen so many of the races intermingling with each other.
In the empty plot of land that has become the town square, dozens of stores and carts have popped up along its perimeter. A giant bonfire burns in the middle, sending a column of smoke into the night sky that somehow makes the stars shine even brighter. There is music, lanterns, and lots and lots of people. The air is a cacophony of laughter and chatter, in a myriad of tongues that sounds almost like music.
On Freya's plate, there are the Amazonian's famous spicy kebabs next to an Elvish salad. Sigurd walks next to her, drinking Dwarven beer. This is a glimpse of the future, she is sure of it. Orario is a beautiful thing—biological differences no longer define national borders. Long-held rivalries and bad blood have been forgotten after decades of fighting together. Dwarves and Elves laugh and drink together, as if the feud between them has vanished magically. A band of female warriors walk past, comprised of both human and Amazonian women. There is only friendly cheer between them, as if they have forgotten that Amazonian women used to kidnap and seduce human males for sport.
Freya hides her smile when she walks past a male Boaz trying to chat up a female Cat-person. She can sense the disinterest in the girl, and she follows her gaze to find she's staring at a good-looking Pallum. As a goddess of love, the breakdown of traditional barriers only opens new possibilities. She can feel the romance in the air, and the high tensions causes her body to tingle.
Or perhaps that's just from all the looks she's getting herself. When she walks past a group of men that shoot her lecherous looks, Sigurd walks a little closer to her.
"I can take care of myself, Sigurd," she says.
"There's no need for you to bother yourself with the likes of them, Lady Freya," Sigurd says.
Freya's about to reply when something catches her eye. Oh. There's Demeter. She's with a mortal man, apparently flattered by the attention and praise he's giving her. Demeter notices her and looks at Sigurd. Then she winks at Freya, and turns back to her own human.
She's not the first God Freya's seen this evening.
She passed by Hermes earlier. The god had thrown her a cheerful wave while carrying a small mountain of food. Ishtar had a gaggle of drooling men following her. Ganesha was somewhere and had found a platform to stand on, and was regaling to a crowd tales of heroism he'd seen during the war through epic-poetry.
Truly, no one is going to suspect a thing if she spends the evening with Sigurd in open sight.
She slides her arm through the gap between Sigurd's elbow and body, pulling him closer.
"Lady Freya?" Sigurd asks.
"Come on," she says. "It's almost time for the dance to begin."
Sigurd nods, and his Adam's Apple bobs as he swallows nervously. Arms linked, they make their way to the bonfire.
XxXxXxXxX
"Ho, ho! Who's this, Freya?"
Freya resists the urge to groan when she hears that annoying voice. Of all places and times, why now? She turns around, and there comes Loki stumbling over. The redheaded goddess is holding two cups, both strongly reeking of alcohol. Freya crinkles her nose. Of course, Loki has mixed some Soma into her drinks.
"Hello, Loki," Freya says. "How are you doing this evening? Are you enjoying the festival?"
"I'm—hic—having a blast!" Loki says, raising a cup. "This stuff is great!"
"Sigurd, this is Loki, a distant cousin of mine," Freya says.
Sigurd nods, stiffening his body. "I am Sigurd. I'm Lady—"
Freya stomps on his foot.
"—I'm F-Freya's dance partner."
It's the first time Sigurd's called her without an honorific. The situation may have called for it, but Freya's still surprised when she doesn't feel upset in the slightest.
"Oh, yeah! There's a dance. I for—hic—forgot all about that. I need to find me a handsome man to dance with. Or a pretty gal. I just wanna get groovy, you get what I mean? Bye, Freya! Have fun, you two!"
Freya watches Loki flounder away, asking everyone she bumps into if they want to dance. She lets out a breath. She worried for nothing—there's no way Loki would have recognized Sigurd in her current state. She turns back to Sigurd, whose eyebrows are furrowed.
"That's a God?" Sigurd asks, evidently concerned.
"Yes," Freya says. "I'm sorry you had to see that."
"No, I'm glad I met her."
"Really? Why?" she asks.
Sigurd shrugs. "Because now I know you're special even among Gods, Lady Freya."
Her lips twitch. "If anything, Loki's the special one. Come now, Sigurd. The music's begun. Let's see if you can remember everything you've learned with a crowd watching."
"Why would they be watching?"
Freya doesn't reply. She drags him to the bonfire, where a great number of couples have already gathered and started dancing.
XxXxXxXxX
The sounds of the festival have melted away. There is only the beat of the music thumping through her, and Sigurd's breaths scratching her ears. The dance floor is packed; they are holding each other much closer than they had during practice.
At first, Sigurd's discomfort is apparent from a single touch. As they dance to the music, Freya can feel his muscles tightening. His movements are rigid, and sometimes it feels as if she is physically pulling him from one step to the next. She can tell he is trying hard not to look at his feet.
She calms him not through her words or magic, but through her actions alone. She smiles at him, and his grip on her hand and waist become firmer. She leads Sigurd with her fluid movements, and his muscles relax and follow. Slowly, they sway to the music in unison, match each other's steps perfectly, and become a hypnotic mesh of limbs everyone else cannot help but give room for. Men and women alike around them tear their eyes away from their own partners to watch them.
Throughout, Sigurd remembers her lessons. His eyes are trained on hers, and hers on his. There is worry in them. Despite everything, Sigurd is still distracted.
Freya pulls him in closer, and whispers into his ear, "focus on the now, Sigurd. There will always be time to worry about what happens next. Let go of everything. You've done nothing but fight and worry the past two hundred years. Now is the time for you to let loose. Enjoy the moment. Enjoy being with me, Sigurd."
Sigurd nods as she leans back.
"That's right, Sigurd. Look at me. Dance with me. Be with me."
His eyes shine. Slowly, a smile spreads across his face until it stretches wider than Freya has ever seen. Yes, Sigurd, you're dancing with the woman you love. Don't let this chance go to waste. His arms and legs move before hers, pulling her along. He starts leading, finally dancing with a purpose, instead of following Freya.
For one dance, Freya can be his. And when Sigurd realizes that, his soul starts burning so brightly Freya realizes it was never white in the first place. It is a radiant transparent, a soul so clear and pure Freya can see every emotion that drifts through it.
It is the most beautiful thing she has seen since Creation itself.
XxXxXxXxX
Freya sits on an empty bench. The dance is over, and Sigurd has gone to fetch refreshments. Even now, it feels like the whole thing was a dream. She'd gotten lost in his soul, and her body had moved on its own, acting on Sigurd's cues.
The table is empty except her. No man wants to approach her, not after seeing Sigurd dance with her like that. So when a woman suddenly slides into the seat across her and interrupts her thoughts, Freya blinks in surprise.
She blinks again when she recognizes the woman. It's been a few years, but the slender red-haired woman is someone Freya will probably never forget. The same can't be said for her—she's never even seen Freya before.
"And you are?" Freya asks.
"My name is Brynhilda," the woman says. She looks deeply uncomfortable, squirming in her seat and rubbing her palms together. Still, she has the strength to stare right at Freya. "I, erm, saw you dancing, and I wanted to speak with you."
"I see."
"I just wanted to say," Brynhilda pauses, and takes a deep breath. "Never give up what you have with Sigurd. He's a very special person and if you lose him, you'll never find anyone like him again."
Freya doesn't need to be a God to know Brynhilda is being sincere. The girl's voice is cracking. Freya can guess what happened. She came here after hearing about the war's end hoping to find Sigurd. Brynhilda's heart is twisted with pain, and Freya feels slightly sorry for the maiden. She made Brynhilda fall so deeply in love with Sigurd, after all.
"I know," Freya says softly. "He's one of a kind, isn't he?"
Brynhilda nods.
"Do you still love him?" Freya asks.
The other woman stiffens and looks away. "Is it that obvious?"
Freya shrugs.
"Yes, I do," Brynhilda says.
"Do you regret meeting him, then? Now that you know he'll only bring you pain for the rest of your life?"
Brynhilda winces. She looks at Freya with a new light in her eyes. She wants to be angry, Freya can tell, but there's something holding her back. "Never," she says. "I'll remember him fondly until the day I die. If I ever have children, I will tell them about him. I will raise them to be like him. Sigurd is a blessing to this world, one that I can never think ill of."
Freya smiles. "Thank you."
Brynhilda freezes, obviously not expecting that response. Then she stands up. "I'll be going now."
"Take care, Brynhilda. It was nice meeting you," Freya says. When Bryhilda's form melts into the crowd, she sighs. "It should have been you."
XxXxXxXxX
Freya leans against the railing of the balcony and stares at the moon. Sigurd snores softly behind her. Normally, she would have returned to Heaven the moment Sigurd fell asleep, but with so little time left, she doesn't want to leave his side just yet.
She turns around to glance at Sigurd. His soul is white again. It is still brilliant compared to an ordinary mortal's, but it's dull when she thinks back to the dance. The moment it ended, Sigurd's soul began turning white again—like a fog creeping in to hide its brilliance. She remembers the day she met Sigurd. Back then, he was only a child amidst the burning ruins of his village, the only survivor among a population of hundreds.
During the dance, Sigurd's soul had been filled with a childlike wonder. Love and excitement had coursed through him. A pure soul bathing in the joys of life. That must have been the real Sigurd—who he would have turned out to be if he hadn't been traumatized as a child. Freya clenches her fists. How can fate be so cruel? It only tells her now that the key to unlocking Sigurd's true potential is love?
If only they had more time. Sigurd is bound to have fallen in love with someone else. Or maybe… maybe one day she can bring herself to love—
She stops herself from that dangerous thought. She is no stickler to rules, but some lines shouldn't be crossed.
"Freya."
She jolts, realizing she is no longer alone on the balcony. An elderly man stands next to her.
"Ouranos," she says, almost spitting out the name. It's not fair to him, considering everything he's done for her and Sigurd, but Freya hates his presence and what it means.
"At sunrise, be at the entrance of the Dungeon with your Champion."
Sunrise? That's only a few hours away!
"That's too soon, isn't it?" she says, trying to hide her panic.
"We have no time," Ouranos says, shaking his head. "The other Gods are on the move, investigating rumors and sifting through memories. Any later, and someone will be caught."
Freya swallows. "I see."
"I have bought as much time as I can, Freya. I'm sorry."
And then Ouranos vanishes, probably to deliver the message of doom to the next God.
Freya bites her lips and looks at the night sky. The moon is already more than halfway across. It looks like she will not be returning to Heaven tonight. She turns back, walks toward the bed, and crawls in to lie next to Sigurd, who doesn't even stir in his sleep.
Freya doesn't sleep a wink, and only when the Sun slaps her face with its glaring beams does she nudge Sigurd awake.
"Lady Freya?" he asks. "What are you doing in my bed?"
"Come on, Sigurd. It's time to go."
XxXxXxXxX
Judging by the scowl on Ouranos' face, Sigurd and Freya are the last to arrive. There are about a dozen God-Champions pairs in total gathered in front of the Dungeon, much fewer than Freya anticipated—she wonders if any of them ignored Ouranos' orders. The Gods, like her, are wearing hooded cloaks that hide their faces. Still, Freya can sense their divinity, though it is muted enough she can't tell their identities from that alone.
The Champions are less cautious. From their grim faces, they all know what's coming and understand there's no point in being careful. She's surprised. She thought all the Champions would be like Sigurd—large, imposing figures that would have drawn a God's suspicion after a single glance. That isn't the case. One of the Champions is a Pallum that's the smallest one Freya has ever seen, a bow almost as tall as he is slung over his back. Sigurd is one of two humans, the other is a woman completely clad in armor neck-down. Aside from an eyepatch, she looks just like any other ordinary warrior.
There's nobody else around. Normally, the entrance of the Dungeon is packed with guards and builders. Today, there is only them. Maybe everyone's still resting from the festival yesterday. Maybe Ouranos pulled some strings. The only thing that matters to Freya is that there's no witnesses.
But Freya doesn't understand one thing. Why here? Is Ouranos going to have them executed in the middle of Orario? Will Ouranos ask her to do the deed herself? She doesn't know if she can, even though she doesn't want anybody else to.
Ouranos clears his throat. "Heroes. We do not have much time, and I doubt any of you want to listen to a speech. I will keep things short. For the past few decades, you have dedicated your lives to protecting this world, and have played an instrumental part in ending the monster threat.
"You should have been rewarded. You should have been given medals, praise, and a life of comfort. Instead, we continue to fear your existence and hunt you down. I am sorry for that. The only thing I can give you is one last mission."
Murmurs break out among the crowd. Freya doesn't understand. There is no execution? But surely Sigurd and the others cannot hide forever, can they?
Ouranos gestures behind him. The entrance to the Dungeon is a giant cave that leads underground. Iron bars and a gate have been installed across the mouth, though Freya doesn't see how they will stop a Black Dragon.
Then she understands. They can't.
"Your chances of survival are impossibly slim, but at least they exist," Ouranos says. "You will enter the Dungeon. You will venture as deep as you can go. You will kill everything in your path, and keep killing until there is nothing left to be killed. You will continue to protect the world until your dying breath. This is the only thing I can grant you. A warrior's death, and a sliver of hope."
Freya bites her lips. Can the Dungeon even run out of monsters? This is still a death sentence, just one stretched over centuries, or however long it takes for a Champion to fall. But Ouranos is right. There is still a chance.
Then Ouranos turns away. "You have five minutes to say your goodbyes."
XxXxXxXxX
Some of the other Gods and Champions huddle with each other, speaking quiet tones. Some are crying outright. The human woman and her God are locked in embrace, kissing each other.
If Sigurd has any thoughts at the sight, he keeps them to himself, which Freya is thankful for.
Freya sits on the floor, head resting on her thighs. She wanted this, she told him. A reminder of their past, whenever Sigurd collapsed after a hard battle and she would be there to catch him. She runs her hand through his hair. She shouldn't have cut it so short. Now it's hard and bristly.
They haven't spoken at all.
"Lady Freya…" Sigurd finally says.
"Five hundred years," she says.
"What?"
"You have five hundred years to complete your mission. That's all I'm giving you. Once you've finished killing everything, come straight back to me. I'll be waiting here. Right at the entrance of the Dungeon."
"Lady Freya, I don't think I'll—"
"If you don't come back in five hundred years, I'll go down and look for you."
Sigurd laughs. How can he still do it? He's been handed a suicide order.
"Lady Freya, you said the Dungeon summons terrible monsters every time a God has entered it. The others won't let you. Plus, you'll be making my job harder."
"Fine. Then I'll send people down to look for you."
"I'll be pretty deep down, I think."
"They will be strong people. I will choose only the best."
"I hope they aren't better than me," Sigurd says, smiling.
"Never," Freya says. "No one will ever be."
Ouranos clears his throat. "It's time."
Silence descends after that.
Freya leans down and kisses Sigurd on the forehead. "Stay strong, Sigurd. I believe in you."
Sigurd gulps. The fog in his soul clears up, and the transparent brilliance starts shining through like the sun after a storm.
"I'll be back, Lady Freya," he says, standing up. "And thank you for everything."
"I'll be waiting, Sigurd. It's rude to make a lady wait long."
She's enraptured by the brilliance of Sigurd's transparent soul as he walks into the Dungeon with the other Champions that it's only much later she realizes she couldn't see the other Champions' souls at all.
Had Sigurd's brilliance and beauty outshined theirs? Or perhaps the souls of other Gods' Champions can't be seen?
She only knows one thing. In all likelihood, she will never see such beauty in her life again.
XxXxXxXxX
Freya let out the breath she'd been holding as the horse-drawn cart carrying Bell Cranel left Orario's gates. The protective amulet Syr had given the adventurer was just another piece of insurance. She was confident Bell would emerge victorious—she expected nothing less from a hero with a soul as bright as Sigurd's. But still, the odds were against him, and Apollo wasn't known for fighting fair. The amulet would, at the very least, allow Bell to take one more hit and still fight.
She kept standing against the window until Bell's transparent soul, blinking like a twinkling star, vanished with a blip into the distance. Below her, the city of Orario seemed to dim with his departure.
"Good luck, hero," she whispered.
There was a knock on the door. Freya finally pulled herself away from the window and sat at her desk. "Come in," she said.
Ottar opened the door and walked in. Freya hid a sigh. So much potential in him, but not enough. A white soul, but nothing like Sigurd's. There was no fog hiding a deeper brilliance.
"Lady Freya." Her Captain bowed. "Lord Hermes is asking if you wish to watch the War Game from your residence."
She tapped a finger against the table. That had been her intention from the start. She saw no need to mingle with the other Gods for this. In the privacy of her home, she could watch Bell Cranel without needing to care about her appearance.
But things had changed.
The more she observed Kusanagi Godou, the more certain she was. He was a Champion, one that had crawled out of the Dungeon after centuries of hiding inside. She thought back to her farewell with Sigurd, all those years ago. She hadn't paid attention to the other Champions back then, but she did remember that the only other human had been a woman. Maybe Kusanagi Godou had entered the Dungeon at a different time? Perhaps his God disobeyed Ouranos, and he had been forced into the Dungeon afterward?
None of those questions were important, however.
Why now? Why had Godou left the Dungeon? Monsters were still spawning. The Dungeon was far from dormant—they had not yet completed their final mission of eradicating everything inside. Within a few days of Godou's appearance, Freya had asked Ottar to go as deep as he could into the Dungeon. The secret hope that he would find traces of other Champions making a return had been quashed after a week of fruitless searching.
Her only lead to Sigurd was Kusanagi Godou. Imagine her delight when she found that he'd chosen to work in the Hostess.
From what Syr had seen of him, the man seemed content to keep things to himself, which only added more mystery to his motives for returning. Was becoming a chef that much more fulfilling than killing monsters?
But Freya was patient. She would let Godou settle down before approaching him. It was smarter to observe him a little more, confirm her suspicions before seeking him out to answer the questions she had.
That had been the plan, until Loki had come along, and thrown a wrench into everything.
What were the odds that hundreds of years ago, Loki had sired a Champion of her own? Freya refused to believe it. Loki had not shown any sympathy for Champions, though that may have been the perfect disguise. Her attraction to Godou must have been a coincidence. If Kusanagi Godou was a Champion, the obvious response was to turn Loki away. Any God other than his patron God was a God that could have exposed him.
Then the last thing Freya expected happened. Loki and Godou fell in love.
Loki. In love. The very idea of it would have made Freya scoff if she hadn't felt it from the goddess herself. And even worse, she suspected Loki knew the truth. If her previous bout of depression hadn't been enough, than her protective nature when it came to Kusanagi Godou was a telltale sign. Freya remembered asking Loki about Godou. In response, Loki had adopted a guarded look and diverted the topic.
She supposed if anything could change Loki's stubborn mind when it came to Champions, then it was love.
But Freya was nothing but adaptive. Before, her plan was to slowly win Godou's trust. Her priority back then was caution—scaring Kusanagi Godou away would ruin everything. It would be harder to win his trust now, but with Loki holding him here, Freya could afford to be more daring.
She turned back to Ottar, who had been standing in the doorway for the past minute, waiting for a response. His unquestioning loyalty and obedience reminded her a little of Sigurd.
"Apollo will be watching with the other Gods at the top, won't he?" she asked.
Ottar nodded.
"Then tell Hermes I will be joining them. There's no need to prepare a special viewing station here just for me."
Her Captain hid his surprise well. Only the slight twitch of his ears gave it away. "Understood, Lady Freya."
Ottar bowed and left, closing the door behind him.
Freya stood up and walked back to the window. Pressing a hand against the glass, her eyes fell on the Hostess of Fertility.
"Now, Kusanagi Godou. Let's see what you'll do when someone forces your hand."
XxXxXxXxX
Godou wiped a brow of sweat the moment he found the opportunity to.
"May, Godou!" Syr popped her head into the kitchen. "Two more orders of ribs and one tonkatsu!"
"Got it!" May said.
His fellow chef was as busy as he was, stir-frying a wok of noodles with one hand while scooping soup into a bowl with the other.
"Syr," Godou called out, before the waitress could leave. "How's it going out there?"
A worried look flashed across Syr's face. "The War Game is going to start soon. Ryuu said everything is going to be okay, but she didn't tell me anything else before leaving. A lot of people are betting on the Apollo Familia to win, though."
Godou wished he'd come in a little earlier today before Ryuu left to join Bell. The only thing he'd gotten in the end was reassurance from Mama Mia that Ryuu could take care of herself and the others.
"Really?" May said. "I thought all the customers here were friends of Bell's."
"Yeah, but money is money," Syr said, sighing. "Hestia's Familia is outnumbered twenty to one…"
"Here, Syr," Godou said. He tossed his wallet to the waitress. "Put everything in there on Bell."
The girl's face lit up. "You got it, Godou!" she said, dashing out.
May looked unimpressed. "If you lose all your money, I'm not lending you any."
Godou laughed. He shoved four servings of ribs into the oven, then walked over to May. "I'll take care of the noodles. You can focus on preparing the next batch of soup."
For a while, both of them focused on preparing dishes. With customers at an all-time high because of the War Game, the orders wouldn't stop. Finally, the ringing of a gong and the cheers outside marked the start. The orders trickled down from there.
Godou wished he could watch. Unfortunately, fewer orders didn't mean none at all.
May groaned and started stretching her back. "The War Game is supposed to last three days, right? This is impossible."
Godou frowned. From the gasps he was hearing, the Hestia Familia was already going on the offensive. The smarter thing for Bell to do was overcome their numerical disadvantage by using Ryuu to whittle down the enemy's forces first. But smart equaled predictable, so he understood their impatience.
"Maybe not," Godou said. "Bell doesn't seem like the type of person to drag out a battle if he knows he can win from the start."
"Win from the start?" May asked. "Godou, they're a hundred to five."
"They don't need to defeat all hundred. They only need to beat Apollo's Captain, right?" Godou said. "I'm sure that's what they're going for."
"Still…"
"I believe in him," Godou said. He'd watched a few of Bell's training sessions with Loki. Sure, he'd ended up distracted after a while, but the young boy's improvement and determination had been hard to miss.
May still looked doubtful, and Godou couldn't blame her. It was one of those unexplainable feelings. Instinct alone told him Bell was going to win, and it wasn't just because he was cheering for the boy.
Campione, supposedly, had some kind of sixth sense. Erica used to say he was subconsciously tapping into his divinity to read the strings of fate. Inexplicably, he could sense when something good or bad was going to happen. That same obscure faculty was now telling him Bell Cranel was going to win against the Apollo Familia.
He grimaced. So what was this other horrible feeling in his gut?
XxXxXxXxX
It took all of Hestia's power to not walk across the room and slap Apollo's smirk off his face.
That asshole. How dare he? He was always haughty and arrogant, even in Heaven, but he'd only become worse since entering the mortal Realm. He had more than a hundred children in his Familia. Why did he want more? How could he possibly take care of so many?
The answer was obvious. He didn't. Most of his children were nothing more than trophies—for display purposes only. Hestia refused to let Bell become like that. Her child had too much potential to be wasted by a glory-hounding God like Apollo.
Stop, Hestia told herself. She needed to stop looking at that bastard. She needed to stop thinking about him. Getting riled up was exactly what he wanted. It was a beautiful day. Up so high, on the roof of Babel Tower, Hestia forced herself to enjoy the breeze. Gods still filtered into the amphitheater, all drawn by the War Game.
She'd wanted to watch it somewhere more private at first, but then realized she would miss out on seeing Apollo's face when he lost. If it meant putting up with that smug mug until it happened, then so be it. She was sure the look of crushing defeat would be worth it.
A welcomed distraction came in the form of a red-haired washboard walking in. Hestia waved to Loki. Making fun of Loki's chest would make her feel better.
"Loki, is that popcorn?" Hestia asked, as Loki sat down next to her.
"Yeap!" Loki said, pointing the bag at her. "Want some?"
"I'm not going to eat popcorn while watching Bell fight for our lives!"
Loki pulled the bag back. "Jeez. Then why'd you ask?"
Hestia growled. The smell certainly wasn't helping.
"Relax, Hestia," Loki said, staring straight ahead. "Bell will be fine. My Aiz and Tiona have trained him up to snuff. He won't lose, not to Apollo's brats."
Hestia let out a sigh. "I never got to thank you for that, did I? It's not the first time Bell's been helped out by your Familia."
Loki shrugged. "They like him. They say he's got spirit. In a way, he helps them too. Every time he does the impossible, it makes the more hot-tempered ones like Bete and the twins dive into the Dungeon to train."
"Well if you put it that way," Hestia said. "Then I'll take it to mean I don't owe you anything."
"Nope, you don't."
Hestia watched Loki toss a few more pieces of popcorn into her mouth. Loki had changed. Ever since Kusanagi Godou, she had turned almost into someone else. The mischievous and playful outer layer remained, as did her fiercely competitive and protective core, but there was definitely something different about her—she was more honest now.
I wonder if Bell's changed me in some way I haven't noticed, she thought.
"Godou's not here?" she asked, looking around. The Denatus meeting place wasn't off-limits to mortals today. Hermes had brought his Captain, Asfi, and several other Gods had their own children in tow.
"He's got work," Loki said, sighing. "I thought we could make a date out of this."
Hestia's eyebrow twitched. It was a good thing Loki was treating this War Game so lightly, she told herself. It meant Loki was confident in Bell's victory, too.
"What's this?" Loki grinned. "Her Majesty has descended from her throne to join us. How magnanimous of her."
Hestia followed Loki's gaze to the door. Freya stood at the entrance. The idle chatter in the amphitheater died down, every eye in the room trailing her as she made her way to the very top row and sat by herself.
What was Freya doing here? Didn't she prefer staying in her residence for occasions like this?
Apollo got to his feet. "Freya! Come to watch my Familia win? Rest assured, you're in for a good show!"
"What a loser," Loki mumbled. "Can't he tell Freya's not interested?"
Freya smiled at Apollo, and Hestia narrowed her eyes when the goddess turned to her as well.
"Apollo, Hestia, I hope both of your Familias put up a valiant fight. I'm looking forward to it."
Such a graceful countenance. Hestia wished she could read the goddess' mind and find out what she was really thinking. She hadn't missed the show of support she'd received from her. If Freya hadn't intervened, Ryuu would have never been able to help them.
"Oh, it's almost time," Loki said.
Hestia's mind swept her distractions away. All that mattered now was Bell.
Hermes walked to the center of the amphitheater and cleared his throat. "Ouranos! Give me permission to use my Arcana!"
A second later, pressure flooded the room, and Hermes glowed with power. Hestia's body tingled. She hadn't felt the power of a God's Arcana since… since the day Kusanagi Godou crawled out of the Dungeon.
Hermes snapped his fingers, and the air above him became a fog that showed the Apollo Familia's stronghold.
The War Game had officially begun.
XxXxXxXxX
The War Game helped Freya confirm what she'd long known about Gods and their Familias.
Numbers didn't mean a damned thing. A hundred people in his Familia, and Apollo only had four children she would consider giving a second glance to—and his Captain wasn't one of them. On the other hand, all of Hestia's other children showed promise. Not enough for Freya to want to recruit them, but enough so they were at least worthy of the title adventurer.
She placed her hands behind her and leaned back. She wasn't interested in the War Game until Bell made his appearance. She started looking around the room. Hermes' Captain, Asfi, had a rather intriguing soul. It didn't scream unlimited potential the way Sigurd's and Bell's souls did, but it had a charm of its own. Hermes was a good God—he'd make sure his Captain would realize her potential.
Most of the other adventurers in the room had above-average souls, but no one else really came close to Asfi's. She leaned forward slightly when she caught Loki whisper something into Hestia's ear. Those two had become closer recently, and Freya had no doubt it had something to do with Kusanagi Godou. At least Loki hadn't brought him along—if he ever caught wind of her plan, things would fall apart immediately.
A loud gasp from the crowd caused Freya to return to Hermes' display. Make that only three worthy adventurers Apollo has, she thought. It turned out a Pallum of his was actually one of Hestia's children in disguise. The turncoat opened the gate to the castle. Her heart skipped a beat when Bell Cranel finally came into view.
Beautiful.
Even though she was seeing it second-hand, Bell Cranel's soul was a sight to behold. Clear as the cleanest springs, yet shining with determination. No, not just determination. Love as well. Love was driving Bell to such extents. Love for his friends. Love for his goddess. Love for his Familia.
It was like staring into the most beautiful diamond. And it isn't even fully polished yet.
Freya couldn't help it. A soft moan escaped through lips, and she hoped it was drowned out by the excitement of the crowd.
She thought back to her dance with Sigurd, centuries ago, when she had first laid eyes on his true soul. Bell's was slightly dimmer in comparison, but Sigurd had had centuries to refine his soul compared to Bell's paltry decade. What if Sigurd's family hadn't died at the hands of monsters? How much brighter could his soul have shined if trauma hadn't fogged up his soul and stemmed his growth?
The only answer she had was Bell Cranel. For now, at least. And she refused to let anyone get in the way of Bell's growth. Not Apollo. Not Godou. And certainly not herself.
Bell Cranel walked into the Apollo Familia's castle with absolutely no resistance.
The crowd roared with cheers. She smirked when Apollo scowled.
"Show me your resolve, hero."
XxXxXxXxX
Screams, whoops of joy, and laughter brought a smile to Godou's face. He knew it.
"Is it over?" May asked. "That's too fast, isn't it? It's barely been an hour!"
Syr burst into the kitchen, her eyes twinkling like stars. A giant bag of gold was in her hand, and she slammed it onto the table. "Bell won! Here's your money, Godou!"
Then Mama Mia yelled for her and the waitress made a sheepish face and skipped back out to the floor.
May stared at the bag of money, her cat-ears twitching.
"I told you so," Godou said.
"You owe me a drink. Or a meal. Or something. That's so much money! Next time there's a War Game, I'm betting on the underdog."
"That's not how it works," Godou said, laughing.
Then he winced.
"Is something wrong?" May said.
"Nope," he lied.
Bell had won. He and Hestia weren't going to be separated. They had beaten Apollo and could take over everything he owned. They had more members now. Everything was going to be okay.
So why didn't the bad feeling in his gut go away?
XxXxXxXxX
Freya made sure no one was watching her as she slipped away from the amphitheater. With everyone too busy celebrating and discussing the concluded War Game, it was surprisingly easy.
She walked down the stairs, following the sound of footsteps below her.
A door slammed shut in front of her. Why's he in such a rush? There's nothing left for him now, is there?
She opened the door, and then cleared her throat loudly.
A few paces in front of her, Apollo spun.
"What do you want? Are you here to mock me…" the God blinked. "Freya?"
"Hello, Apollo," Freya said. "Your Familia put up a good fight."
It was a lie, of course, and Apollo knew it. His Captain's display—needing a lower-level member to take a hit for him—was despicable. A small army of a hundred adventurers had lost to a measly five. Apollo looked away, clenching his fists. "You don't need to comfort me. I lost. Everything's over."
Freya suppressed the disgust rising in her. He thought she was comforting him? No wonder his Familia lost—stupidity must run through all of them. "Come now, Apollo. Are you giving up?"
"What else do you want me to do!?" Apollo said. "My Famlia's disbanded. I've lost all my money, all my treasures, all my property! I can't even stay in Orario anymore—I might as well go back to Heaven!"
Freya smiled. "Why don't you, then? You've had your fun, haven't you? Why not end things on a high note?"
Apollo's face turned blank as rage gave way to confusion. Such a one-track mind. "High note? What are you talking about?"
Freya shrugged. "Well there must be ways for you to have the last laugh, Apollo. You're not going to let Hestia lord this victory over you forever, are you?"
"How? I can't do anything. I've lost everything."
"Apollo, you're a God. I'm sure you can figure something out. Now if you excuse me, I'm going to retire for the day."
Freya kept her smile up as she walked past a silent Apollo. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration.
It was too easy.
XxXxXxXxX
Godou closed the door behind him and collapsed face-first into his sofa. The Sun would rise in a couple hours. Thank goodness Mama Mia was opening the Hostess later tomorrow. He couldn't imagine what would happen if Bell had decided to make full use of his three days instead—they'd be worked to the bone and more.
His stomach grumbled. He hadn't managed to eat dinner. Not with the flood of customers pouring into the Hostess and keeping him busy until three in the morning. By then, all the defrosted food had been finished. Godou had been tempted to find out the nutritional value of alcohol, but there was none of that left, either.
The smell of curry wafted into his nose. Great. He was so hungry he was imagining things.
"Ho ho, look what the cat dragged in."
And now he was hearing voices, too.
A finger poked him in the back. "You alive, Godou?"
He lifted his head out of the pillow and turned to the voice. "Loki?"
"The one and only," the goddess said, sitting on the floor. "You look miserable. Have you had dinner?"
"No," Godou said.
"I made curry. You want some?"
Godou sat up. "I didn't know you could cook."
Loki sprung to her feet, flexing an arm and patting her bicep. "I've been practicing! Riveria told me the key to a man's heart is his stomach. Anakitty's been teaching me!"
Godou narrowed his eyes. "So… you just learned how to."
Loki crossed her arms. "Are you hungry or not?"
"Yes, please."
Godou followed Loki to his kitchen, which, to his relief, was still in one piece. A pot of curry sat on his dining table, which fit two people snugly. He touched the side of the pot with a hand. It was still warm. How long had she been waiting for him?
"It's not bad," Godou said, after taking a few bites.
"Not bad?" Loki said. "I spent the whole afternoon after the War Game practicing this! I made enough for my entire Familia's dinner!"
"There's too much milk," Godou said, chewing. "And the potatoes are still kind of hard."
Loki huffed. "Okay, I get that you do this for a living, but cut me some slack, okay? I just started this week."
Ah. He hadn't meant to be critical. "Loki, thank you. I really appreciate it."
Loki blushed. "I, erm, don't mind letting you try more of what I make."
"I'd love that, Loki," he said. She was cute when she got surprised.
Loki leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "I'll leave the dishes to you, then. See you tomorrow."
He raised an eyebrow. "You aren't staying the night?"
He thought she would. Getting her out of his apartment was usually the hard part.
"Oh?" Loki smiled coyly. "Do you want me to?"
Godou nearly choked on his food. He'd walked right into that one.
"I'm kidding. I need to meet Freya before sunrise. We're scouting the plains outside Orario—we gotta start preparing for the Rakia skirmish."
"Oh," Godou said, trying to hide his disappointment. "That sounds important."
"Eh, it's much lamer than it sounds. Aiz could probably wipe out whatever Rakia throws at us. We'll be fine, Godou. No need to worry your little Campione bum."
He sighed. Time to change the topic, then. "Did you watch the War Game?"
"Yeah," Loki said. "It was quite the battle. You should have seen Hestia's victory dance."
"I imagine Apollo must have been devasted."
"Stormed right out of the room the moment his Captain fainted."
Godou leaned back. Apollo getting what he'd deserved was worth all the extra work the War Game had caused. "I'm glad that all this is over."
"Me too, Godou. Good night," she said, kissing him one more time.
"Good night. See you tomorrow, Loki."
XxXxXxXxX
"I think this hill is perfect," Loki said. "It'll give us the perfect view of our children beating up Ares' grunts. What do you think?"
Freya hummed in acknowledgement. Ottar stood silently next to her.
Loki sighed. Freya probably found these little reconnaissance missions as boring as she did. But the Guild wanted a detailed plan of defense. Unfortunately, her suggestion of 'sending one Level Six and one Level Seven to kick ass' was shot down.
Honestly, Ottar could probably walk into Rakia with nothing but his bare fists and conquer the whole kingdom singlehandedly.
In the end, this year would turn out like all previous years. She and Freya would flip a coin to see whose Familia would get sent to deal with the attack of the day.
"Aiz. Now that you're Level Six, it means you have to pull more weight. You can probably deal with a whole battalion on your own, right?" Loki asked.
Aiz nodded. Loki had half a mind to let Aiz do all the fighting this year. She was the Familia's most efficient fighter. Bete liked playing with his food, and Riveria's magic had long chant-times. Plus, Aiz was the fastest among her executives.
"Stupid Guild," Loki said, yawning. "What's with all these stupid rules stopping Gods from leaving the city? It's not like we're going to run away."
She glanced at the horizon. The moon was almost touching it. Soon the Sun would be up and there would be no more reason to stay out here anymore.
"It's not about us running away, Loki," Freya said. "They don't want us getting abducted by other nations. It's happened before, you know. That's why they only let us leave at these weird hours."
"Pfft. Aiz, you can deal with any random thugs on your own, right?"
Aiz yawned and mumbled something.
"Agh! This is so annoying. I hate plans. Look, we'll just reuse the same proposal we used last year, okay?"
Freya gave her a flat look. "Weren't you listening? Last year's proposal was the same as the previous four years. The Guild wants us to have a new strategy. They don't want us becoming too… predictable."
"Like Rakia has a counter-strategy for the gap between their adventurers and ours. Can't you just toss in Ottar and ask him to wipe their whole army out?" Loki peeked at Freya's Captain. Ottar made no reaction. Sometimes she wondered if the Boaz was carved out of stone.
"Loki, after yesterday's War Game, we of all people should understand that victory is never set in stone." Freya arched an eyebrow. "Or do you want us falling victim to the same hubris Apollo did?"
Loki growled. She hated when Freya had a point.
"Ugh. Fine. We'll call this hill Headquarters. There. Sounds strategical enough, doesn't it?"
"It's a start, I suppose," Freya said. "The Sun will rise soon. Perhaps we should continue this another time."
"Good idea," Loki said. If she rushed, maybe she could reach Godou's home and sneak into bed with him before he woke up.
A shout shattered her thoughts.
A lone figure burst out of the forest, waving their arms at them.
Loki tilted her head. The man looked familiar.
As Aiz and Ottar moved in front of them protectively, the man shouted again.
"Lady Freya, Lady Loki! You have to stop Lord Apollo!"
Apollo? Wait. This Elf was one of his children. Loki recognized him now—the Elf with the scarf covering the bottom half of his face. The one that had fought Hestia's own Elf in the War Game. Was he one of the adventurers that continued to follow Apollo despite his exile from Orario?
"Stand down, Ottar," Freya said, when the Elf finally stopped in front of them, only to be blocked by the Boaz. "Speak."
"L-Lord Apollo has gone mad!" the Elf said. "He intends to use his Arcana to attack Orario! He's going to sacrifice his life to destroy Hestia's Familia!"
What? Apollo is doing what?
"When?" Loki demanded.
"At sunrise," the Elf said.
Loki's blood chilled. An orange glow was already emanating from the horizon.
The Elf sank to a kneel. "Please, Lady Goddesses! Save Lord Apollo from his madness!"
Loki looked at Freya. The other goddess looked deep in thought. She'd always known Apollo was crazy, but this was too crazy. Using his Arcana on mortals? The Elder Gods would have his head!
Freya looked up. "Aiz is faster than Ottar, Loki."
She nodded. "I'll try to stop Apollo. You warn Hestia."
Freya nodded, and the two of them split paths.
XxXxXxXxX
Freya waited until Loki and Aiz Wallenstein disappeared into the forest before turning to Ottar. Apollo's Elf was far ahead of them, sprinting back to Orario to warn the city. Freya saw no need to rush if the Elf was going to do her task for her.
"Has Syr done her job?" she asked.
"Yes, Lady Freya. The Hestia Familia won't be anywhere near their new Home for the next few hours."
"Good. What about our other messenger?"
"She has performed her task as well."
Freya nodded in approval. Now all she needed to do was wait. A small part of her had been worried Apollo wouldn't come through. She'd been worried for nothing. After his humiliating defeat, that idiot would do anything he could to restore his pride, even if it meant breaking the most sacred of rules.
Now, Kusanagi Godou. It's your turn to show me what you can do.
XxXxXxXxX
That idiot. That crazy, dangerous, idiot.
Just what in the world was Apollo thinking? Loki's mind was a mess. The fact that she was being carried by Aiz and zooming through the forest at breakneck speeds didn't help calm her down.
What could possess him to go so far? Was his mortal pride more important than the lives of innocent people? He was never this big of an idiot in Heaven. Maybe mortality had changed him. Loki knew it'd changed her.
Oh God.
What would happen to Godou?
Loki gulped. How was she supposed to stop Apollo? If he was the sort of man that could be convinced by words, there wouldn't have been a War Game in the first place. Apollo would be invoking his Arcana. There was nothing Loki could do to stop him. Aiz, even at Level Six, wouldn't even be able to slow Apollo's least powerful attack.
The only mortal thing in the world that had a chance of repelling a God's attack was a Spirit. But Aiz… Aiz couldn't tap into that part of her heritage. Not yet.
No, not just Spirits, she corrected herself. There's Godou, too. Damn it! Why hadn't she dragged him out with her this time?
If she truly wanted to stop Apollo… she'd need to use her Arcana, too.
Loki didn't want to die. She'd only just started living. But she couldn't be selfish. Not this time. Real, mortal lives, would be at stake. She wouldn't be truly dead. She could still watch Godou and her Familia from Heaven. She needed him to know that.
"Aiz," she whispered into the girl's ear. "If I die today, tell Godou I love him, and that I'll always be watching over him."
The girl slowed down for the shortest of moments. Then she nodded and continued sprinting, her wind magic propelling them as she cut down any branches and bushes in their way.
"And make sure he doesn't kill himself from depression or something. He'll be lonely, so you, Finn, Riveria, and the others need to keep him company, okay?"
Another nod. Then, "you're not going to die, Loki. I'm not going to let you."
Aiz didn't understand, did she? Loki swallowed her next words. She wasn't going to let Aiz raise a finger no matter what happened next. This might turn into a battle between Gods. There was no place for Aiz in it. She was choking on her words now.
She still had so many things she needed to tell Aiz and the others. She loved them too. She was proud of them. How far they'd grown, who they'd become to be. She knew they would be fine without her. They were adventurers; they had to be.
She bit her lips and tasted blood. They were so strong. She never realized before this. Everything she was feeling now… how many times had Finn, or Riveria, or Gareth experienced it in the Dungeon? When Aiz was battling the Udaeus by herself, where did she find the strength and resolve to fight and stare at Death at the same time?
They were heroes, every single one of them. No, they were more than that. They were adventurers—people who didn't give up even when standing on Death's door.
Maybe, while mourning for her, they would say she was an adventurer, too.
She forced herself to smile. "Faster, Aiz. We'll stop Apollo together."
Hopefully, Aiz would be too overcome with grief to hate her for lying.
XxXxXxXxX
Aiz ran like she'd never run before. Even with Loki on her back, she couldn't recall ever moving this fast in her life. Everything except what was right in front of her was blurry. Trees, ferns, and grass melded into a green-brown tinge in the peripheries of her vision.
A branch blocked their path. Her arm moved by itself and cut it apart. The winds that propelled them coated her sword as well, draining on her magical reserves. She wondered how she was going to fight a God if she used up all her magic.
She didn't understand what was going on, but for Loki to be acting like the way she was, it had to be serious.
"Damn it," Loki cursed behind her.
Sunlight started to filter through the canopy of the forest. Was it her, or did it feel unusually hot?
"Faster, Aiz. He's starting to tap into his Arcana!"
Aiz pumped even more magic into her legs. They were burning now. But she had to keep going. If Bell could do it, so could she. She could be a hero too.
She couldn't even feel the ground anymore. It felt as if she was sprinting on nothing but air now.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.
"SHIT! We're too late! Aiz, HIT THE FLOOR!"
Loki pulled her down, and then the world in front of them exploded.
So much light. So much heat. So much fire.
And then everything turned dark.
When she opened her eyes again, Loki was the one carrying her.
Aiz looked around. Was it snowing?
She stuck a tongue out to catch a falling snowflake. Then she spat it out. It tasted like charcoal.
Ash. So much of it. Falling from the sky like rain.
She looked up. Where was the Sun? She remembered it being so bright and hot. Now, everything was just gray. There hadn't been any clouds earlier, so where had they come from? How long had she been unconscious?
"You're up?" Loki asked. "Can you walk?"
Aiz slid off Loki's back and tried to stand. Her legs turned to noodles and she sunk to her knees. All the ash on the ground turned her legs grey.
"I'll take that as a no," Loki said. "Never mind. My turn to carry you. It doesn't matter, we're not in a rush anymore."
She climbed back onto Loki's back. "Where are all the leaves?"
"Gone. Burnt to a crisp," Loki said.
Had they really been in a forest? There wasn't a shred of green to be seen. Only burnt, withered skeletons of trees. "What happened?" she asked.
"Apollo happened," Loki said.
A flash of light caught her eye. A fire. Then it disappeared, extinguished by some unseen force. Another fire popped up, this one a few meters away, hiding behind a tree. It danced for a little bit, then vanished as mysteriously as the first. The same thing kept happening over and over again, and Aiz was convinced some kind of mysterious fiery sprite was playing Peek-A-Boo with her.
Loki stopped. Aiz turned back in front and saw why.
She thought they were dead at first. Apollo's Familia—what remained of it, lying on the ground, a layer of ash and soot coating their bodies like a fuzzy grey blanket. Small twitches and groans were the only indication they were alive.
There was only one person standing, and Aiz blinked.
"Godou?" Loki said.
Kusanagi Godou turned around to look at them. For a brief few seconds, his eyes were gold, as if the Sun had fallen from the sky and taken up a new home within them. Then they returned to normal. Aiz had never seen Godou look so defeated in his life before.
She looked around. "Where's Apollo?"
Godou sighed. "Apollo's gone."
XxXxXxXxX
WARNING (because some of you don't seem to read): next chapter is not a chapter.
A/N: At over 10k words, this is officially the longest chapter in the fic so far. Godou's perspective of everything will be explained in the next official chapter, so I'm not being lazy and skipping a major fight scene. Welp. There's no going back from here. For a long time, I've been wondering how to do a God vs. Godou scenario without turning everything into a mess. After 21 chapters, here it is.
PS: It says the next chapter is uploaded—it's not. It's a compilation of Freya's and Sigurd's history, in case anyone wants to read it as one go instead of needing to read it as 4 broken-up parts. I'm really like what I've done with it, and to be honest, writing Freya's backstory has been the most interesting thing I've had so far in this fic. If you skipped out reading those bits at first, and were confused during the Freya portions of this chapter, I highly recommend reading it since it's all been compiled nicely for you in what's basically a novella.
As always, Review,Fav,Like,Follow,Comments are appreciated. (Guest review moderations is now on, btw.)