The Asgardian warriors were beyond skilled. Apollo watched in awe as they fought one on one in the arena, each move carefully calculated like the finest of dances. It was true artistry the likes of which he hadn't seen since the Gigantomachy, when all the gods and giants trained day in and out for their lives. Words failed him, though poems and songs of the beauty of the warriors flowed through his mind like water.
"So, Lord Apollo, what do you think?" Frigga asked in between each match, and his answer was always the same.
"I've never seen anything so-" He never could find the right word, and it pissed him off. He wasn't one to be caught without something to say. If there wasn't the right word, he would make one, but that ability seemed just out of reach. He settled for 'inspiring', even though it didn't even capture a fraction of what he meant.
The matches were fought to the brink of death, with each warrior barely able to stagger out of the arena or raise a fist in victory. The control needed to keep an opponent alive and not permanently crippled was impressive, especially considering the weapons some warriors brought with them. Swords, hammers, axes, spears, spiked chain whips, what looked like a chainsaw, they were designed to kill. Apollo watched as warrior after warrior was brought to within a frayed thread of death before they finally yielded and were healed somewhere out of the arena.
That was another thing he felt, the sweet tingle of healing magic. It was crude compared to his own skill, but damn was it efficient in getting the warriors good as new. Apollo decided to seek out a healer and find their techniques, if not teach them a thing or two about regrowing cells.
"He's got the same look as Bragi," Freya laughed. "I'll bet he'll start singing again once we get him drunk enough. Fulla, be sure to write down his lyrics this time."
"Lord Apollo must be opposed to drinking while Sol watches," Irpa, a dark skinned woman with piercing green eyes and her own healing magic that she hid deep within herself, joked.
Ah yes, Sol. Apollo had nearly run into her more than once. She absolutely refused to modernize her chariot; horses didn't come with turn signals or brake lights. "How could I dull my senses to this glorious display? Queen Frigga, you need not impress me to this degree; Olympus lacks such unrivaled entertainment!" Apollo cringed as he lied; his poetry musicals every third Wednesday were far better than this, but he rarely attended any of the war games in Olympus. He never found them as striking as this; he was familiar with Greek wrestling and tactics. This short, brutal style of going at one's opponent was all for the challenge, none of the performance the Olympian fighters gave.
Frigga laughed with bells in her voice. "Compliments appreciated. I believe there is only one more match today between Asgardians. After this, the Einherjar will fight."
"To the death!" Freya added. Apollo blinked. "Well, second death. They're already dead, you see? But their skills must remain sharper than Gungnir at all times. It's more interesting in my opinion; since the Einherjar are from everywhere and everywhen."
Irpa scoffed. "You only say that because your own Souls are fighting today."
"Yes, but I say that of King Odin's Souls, as well," Freya said, holding up an empty glass for a fraction of a second before a servant took it and replaced it with a full cup in a smooth, practiced movement. "I've been thinking we should have the Valkyrie's training in more modern techniques. Midgard is nothing if not innovative; why shouldn't we take advantage of the Einherjar's knowledge for ourselves? Won't do us much good if we wait to use it for Ragnarök."
"You've been saying that for centuries, Val-Freya," Frigga said. "How many times must I grant my blessing before you grant your time to renovating your own protocols?"
"At least once more, my Queen." Freya shrugged and followed the movements of the latest warrior to enter the arena; a dark-haired woman carrying a sword as big as she was, an ornate golden headpiece catching the sun just right to glare on Apollo's eyes. Judging from the cheers of the crowd, she seemed to be rather popular, but Apollo cared more that the glare was blinding, and he couldn't get rid of it with his powers. "I'd hate to lose this ritual we've shared for so long by simply following through with my whims."
Five warriors came from the opposite entrance to the arena, all armored much more protectively than the woman's simple leather. Apollo squinted against the glare; perhaps he was seeing…almost triple. Five on one just seemed unfair, unless she was a god to their mortality. Even worse, Apollo finally realized- "Why only melee weapons? No archery?"
"It's less exciting to watch," Freya said. "Less intimate."
Apollo bit his tongue; nothing was more intimate than staring down your opponent from across the universe, waiting for that one little glint in their eyes that signaled the time to release an arrow. Perhaps they simply didn't want him to affect the outcome of the matches, consciously or not. He looked away from the beginnings of the fight, the five warriors were carefully stepping themselves into a formation around the woman. It was painful to look at her for too long.
"Lord Apollo, I must apologize for Lady Sif," Frigga said suddenly.
"Who?"
"The woman putting on a damn fine show right now," Freya answered.
"Yes, her," Frigga said. "Her circlet holds a reflection the light that Sol casts towards Midgard. A powerful artifact filled with power adjacent and incompatible with your own." She raised her hand and a blue sheen fell over the balcony, shimmering with what was undeniably magic. "That should make it more comfortable for you to observe."
Apollo rubbed away the last of the sting in his eyes, catching tears that had involuntarily fallen as he did so, hopefully before any of the goddesses noticed. He glanced up towards the arena; Sif's circlet was much more bearable to look at, though it still gave him the sensation of forgetting to blink for too long. It draped over her long, dark hair in a veil of carefully woven gold and crystals and…berries. "Yes, thank you, Queen Frigga."
He'd never been affected so harshly by any power before, not even when Zeus had taken away his power after he slew Python. And to be affected by a power so near his own, when he hadn't even flinched passing Sol in the skies, Apollo doubted there wasn't some other factor at work. Perhaps Frigga's magic, so different from what he was familiar with, what Hecate commanded, was at fault for his reaction to Sif's circlet.
And Sif was a natural-born performer; every move she made was punctuated with a flourish designed to get the crowd riled up and they cheered in time with every swing of her massive sword, every acrobatic leap from one opponent to the next. The crowd cheered just as much when she was harmed; a bloodthirsty crowd that couldn't wait until the death matches to follow.
She easily got the better of her opponents one after the other, taking advantage of tiny missteps Apollo was forced to admit to himself that he probably wouldn't've caught if he wasn't observing safely. And he could've sworn that as she fought her way around the battlefield with a certain…ferocity, it was all aimed at him. Granted, that could simply be a side effect of him being, well, Apollo, a naturally captivating figure to anyone so inclined.
The last of her opponents fell with one hand waving in surrender, the other grasping a nastily spurting leg wound. Sif raised her sword and shouted in triumph, the crowd yelling along with her. Apollo noticed more than a few coins exchanging hands as the healers came in to help the wounded from the arena.
Sif lowered her sword and pointed it directly at their little lounge, probably thanking Queen Frigga for observing. Wait, no, she was definitely scowling. And pointing her sword at him. Freya whistled low and muttered something to Irpa in Norse, a language Apollo had never cared to learn. A low hum from the Queen behind him, the hairs on his neck standing-she'd been thinking of him for the entire match.
Under any other circumstances, Apollo would've been flattered.
Lyra didn't see much point in training with the Brotherhood. All they did was run around and throw clumsy punches at each other. Sometimes Fred threw another car. None of them had very much power at all. Almost no potential, except from maybe Lance, the earthshaker. She sat on a stair and watched the Brotherhood run laps around the yard, jumping and weaving through each other and obstacles set up from ladders and barrels while Lance tried to throw them off balance, Pietro tried to trip them, Fred tried to hit them with whatever he was throwing, Todd tried to…lick them. This was worse than watching the X-Men train.
At least they had power that was worth keeping around. The Brotherhood were nothing but talentless wastes of life. Lyra stood to walk back to the Institute. She had to get back before they noticed she was missing, especially before they found her with the Brotherhood. Her heart raced at the thought of how she would be punished if Professor Xavier learned she disobeyed the only rule they gave her for her first day of school.
Even worse, how her mother would feel if she was rejected from the very place she was sent to grow stronger. Lyra shivered. She hadn't even won anything from the throwing contest.
"Hey!" Lyra paused at the gate and turned. Lance stood huffing, the others slowing to a walk and looking in their direction. "Where're you going? Don't you want to try the course?"
The course looked awfully asinine. The Brotherhood finished it with ease, growing slower with each lap around the yard as they tired outrageously quickly. "I am leaving."
"What? Why? You haven't even shown us your powers, yet," Lance argued. Lyra didn't care. She turned away from him, her foot freezing in the air when she felt a hand wrap around her wrist.
Lance slammed to the ground as Lyra spun and kicked him down. She inspected her arm for any marks or runes he may have placed, her momentum from the kick carrying to pin him underfoot. Nothing there. Lyra sneered down at Lance. He groaned like a weakling; she hadn't hit him very hard at all. She walked through the gate, pausing when Pietro ran in front of her to block her path. "I am leaving," she repeated.
"What'd Lance do?" Pietro asked. Lyra shrugged and moved around him. "Eh, who cares about him, anyways! C'mon, you can't leave now! You don't even have your bag!"
She stopped. It had her homework that she had to complete so she could show her teachers that she was the best student. "Where did you put it?"
"I'll get it for you if you tell me what you can do," Pietro said. Lance sat up and clutched his side. He stared daggers at her.
A negotiation. "I control thermal energy." Exactly what the Professor said she could do. He liked her to practice boiling and freezing pots of water, shaping flame, easy tedium that left her mind numb. And yet she couldn't bring herself to show him the true extent of her power, just in case he was an enemy. Storm seemed to do the same thing; she relegated her powers to watering plants outside instead of summoning massive clouds like the others said she could.
"Oh, that's pretty cool. I used to know someone who can do something like that-"
"My bookbag," Lyra cut him off. She had no interest in his attempts to keep her around.
Pietro frowned. "I'm just trying to be friendly, damn!" He ran and returned with her bag, moving much faster than he had earlier. Fred helped Lance up from the ground, and he spit blood, the metallic smell sweet and sharp against damp mud. "Here's your bag, come and get it." He slipped the straps over his arms as she approached.
He sprinted across the yard when Lyra came into reaching distance. "Aw, come on dude, don't piss her off!" Lance called. Lyra jogged towards him, he ran back to the others, just out of grasp again. Oh, this was just like capture the flag in the Danger Room. Only there were no lasers, no obstacles, and the flag couldn't even fly.
"No, piss her off more!" Todd argued. "It'll be funny!"
"Shut the fuck up, dude." Lance spat again, holding his side and shoving Fred away.
Lyra launched herself at Pietro, barely touching the ground to pivot when he ran past. She raised her hand to freeze his blood but paused-no powers allowed in capture the flag. And no powers to be wasted on, revealed to these whelps. Pietro dodged to one side just in time to avoid absolutely nothing. She trailed him, following closely behind as he twisted through the yard and out into the field behind. Lyra closed the gap between them by taking corners tighter than he could; Pietro extended it each time he ran straight by more.
He had been hiding his speed earlier. Maybe Pietro was better than he let on. Perhaps all of them had been hiding their powers; they weren't as stupid as Lyra thought. Perhaps-no, no she hadn't underestimated them, she hadn't tipped her hand, shown them what she could do. She was simply training with them, not chasing Pietro around, letting him annoy her more with every step-
The ground in front of Pietro exploded. He tumbled and rolled, landing on one knee on the other side of the small crater. Lyra jumped over it and slid to a clumsy stop in the mud beside Pietro. "Shit," he muttered. Lyra pulled her bag from his shoulders, frowning at the mud caked to it. He didn't resist.
Scott sprinted over, one hand holding his glasses firm to his face. Behind him, the rest of the Brotherhood stood on the defensive against Jean, floating a foot above the ground with her hands on her hips. "Lyra! What part of 'don't go with the Brotherhood' did you not understand? C'mon. We're leaving," Scott said, waiting for her to come towards him. Lyra obliged, stepping around the hole and only almost slipping once, a calculated move to look weak. She couldn't be as agile as she'd just shown if she nearly fell into a hole three feet across-let the Brotherhood doubt she'd nearly caught up to Pietro on agility alone, thrown a car further than Fred.
"Stay away from her, Quicksilver," Scott warned, stepping between Lyra and Pietro. Jean floated down, a gentle hand on her shoulder and a quick once over, a nod, Lyra was unharmed, if muddy.
"Or what? Careful, pretty boy, it'd be a shame if someone snatched those glasses from you in the middle of the hall."
Scott didn't respond. He stomped through the mud, sending splashes of dirt clinging to his pants. Jean finished staring down the Brotherhood and followed behind Lyra. Scott paused one time at the gate and raised his glasses, a laser sending them jumping back. "Come back whenever," Lance spat.
"Are you hurt?" Jean asked, circling Lyra once they were in the driveway, mud and dirt rising from her skin and clothes in an easy layer. "What did they do?"
"Talk in the car. It's a long drive back," Scott said. He slammed the door as he got in. Jean flinched and smiled at Lyra.
She slipped in the backseat. Lyra stared at Scott's white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel as he peeled out of the driveway. She should've left the instant she realized how weak the Brotherhood was-hopefully they were as weak as she thought they were. Now she was in trouble. Jean twisted around in her seat. "Well? Are you alright?"
"Yes."
"What happened? Why did you go with them?"
"They asked me to train with them. I have to get stronger, so I went," Lyra answered. "I didn't get stronger. They're weak." She didn't mention how Pietro was faster than her. Something painful boiled in her abdomen, and she wanted to beat Pietro more than anything. Lyra realized she'd never had any competition; being the best was simple when she was…well, when she was the only person she knew.
"That's literally the one thing we said not to do!" Scott said. Lyra leaned to the side as he turned to a different street. "They're dangerous. Not weak, not worthless, dangerous."
Dangerous. A thrilling chill shot down Lyra's spine.
Jean put a hand on Scott's arm and sent him a glance. He didn't turn to see it. "You really could've gotten hurt. I'm glad you're safe."
"My mother sent me here to get stronger. I want to train."
Scott scoffed. "Don't tell the Prof about this and I'll make sure you're running a hundred miles a day by the end of the week." He turned out of the one street neighborhood without stopping at the sign; nobody came down these roads to mostly abandoned houses. "And don't disappear again; tell me or someone else where you're going. Or, better yet, don't leave at all with people you just met an hour ago."
"Ok, Scott, we can be mad about it later," Jean said. "Let's use this as a learning experience."
"I learned we need to keep her on a leash," Scott muttered.
Jean placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled back at Lyra. "We need to stop by the café," she said. Scott opened his mouth to say something, but Jean continued without giving him a chance to finish breathing in. "The others are covering for us. We're taking Lyra for coffee for having a successful first day at school."
"Successful? Jean-"
"Drop it. I can think of ten ways her first day could've been worse," Jean argued. "We're done discussing this. Lyra, ever had coffee before?"