Gods of the Great War, a scion fanfic

Fate plays the best tricks. A single assassination in the right place, and the mortals find themselves entrenched in the largest war of their history. The gods, as beleaguered as they are in the endless fight against the Titans, cannot help but take notice. What happens in the Middle World tends to affect the Overworld; human problems tend to become godly problems. Being the creatures that they are, they took sides.February of 1915, Western Flanders. Belgium proved unable to hold back the German forces, most of the country falling in three months. It wasn't until the flooding of the Yser River inundated the land and halted the German advance that the Belgians were able to organize a proper resistance. Although a tiny chunk of West Flanders held, the Germans had what they wanted and used the occupied territory to move troops into France.

Still, West Flanders held, backed by a small gathering of Belgian, French, and British soldiers. The Germans found no way to take it that wouldn't cost more than they gained, and the Entente refused to give it up. It was there that Tenoch would preach to desperate souls, that Lysander Ariti would begin his investigation of the war, that Antonio Ruso found his smuggling operations threatened, that Johanna "Johnny" Laird was stationed to care for a local cavalry division.

Ruso, learning that something was disrupting his normal deliveries to the Belgian resistance, chose this time to travel there in person. Not only could he figure out what his men had failed to, but he could cash in on a favor his father owed to Aunt Athena. Somewhere along the way, in a location he hopes is secret from wandering eyes, he made a little stop and knocked on a door, alerting the lone occupant.

Lysander Ariti knows that he made a deal to get to the war-torn regions of Europe, no more of this being stuck away from the true horrors he wanted the world to witness. Hearing a knock on his door, he stood from the desk he was hunched over, hand-written notes strewn haphazardly all over the place., and creaked the door just a smidgeon. Not recognizing the man outside, but having some suspicions based on the only likely party to be contacting him at this moment, he simply asked, "Hello, how may I help you?" The man smiled politely, offering his hand. "Yes, Mr. Ariti, my name is Antonio Ruso, your mother called in some favors with my father to help you get to the front, though I do have some reservations about bringing someone who's job it is to air other's dirty laundry." Lysander's guarded demeanor softened at the mention of his mother. Opening the door wider, he gestured to for the man to come inside as he chuckled in response. "Oh, I wouldn't be too worried, unless your bloody laundry is stained in the blood of the innocents." Faking offense, Mr. Ruso responded, "oh, none of the sort, my boys keep it professional. But I'm sure you understand that our travel methods do have to stay…confidential. Something some journalists don't completely understand at times." Taking a less threatening and more business-like tone, Ruso continued, "though there is something I would like to discuss about your arrangements." Accepting Lysander's offer to come in, Ruso took off his hat and the two men took opposite seats on hard-backed wooden chairs. Lysander started the discussion. "I'm not here for a scoop, sir. I'm here for justice. To show the world how foolish this entire conflict is." Ruso nodded. "Even if this conflict is foolish, it's still very real, and very deadly if you don't take care. Which is part of why I'm here today. Now, I know you've been looking to get into the Belgian front." Lysander let his eagerness slip as his brows raised in surprise. "Are you finally bring me there?" He felt compelled to ask. "Maybe. Depends on how this conversation goes. While I've been able to maintain some contact with my boys up north they have had some troubles. Troubles that could threaten the routes and your opportunities to see the other countrysides. So, since I'm doing the favor of bringing you up there, I believe you and your investigative wit might do me a favor in return. One cousin to another." Lysander nodded without hesitation. "Alright, if that's what it takes to get myself on the front." Antonio Ruso grinned. "Good, some of the couriers have been disappearing. While it hasn't crippled our operations in the area, it does raise alarms. Doubt it's the Germans as neither the bodies nor the goods have been turning up. Now, normally we'd just abandon that route and use the alternates, but considering how the patrols are mounting up and cutting off our options we can't really do that anymore. So, I'll bring you up north, you find the problem, we solve it, and we both keep getting the ability to travel relatively free through the continent." He brought out a map outlining the area and emphasized what he's been informed of. "We should be able to make our way through here and get to the city, from there we should be able to talk with the locals, see if they know anything, and clear out whatever is causing problems on this trail." As Lysander pondered it, he looked back on what he knew of the local geography. It seemed to be a wooded area, passing through mostly uninhabited land. Without the thick forests, it probably would have been a hot spot for the German-Belgian front, but as it was it turned out to be less than ideal for large-scale troop movements. Looking back on what he had read of the stories and myths of the area, something he had very recently begun to take much more seriously, Lysander wondered what were Titanspawn and what were silly superstitions. Finally, he told his new companion, "There isn't much mundane activity going on in that area, at least from what I know, but we can't rule out the possibility of other, more extraordinary reasons why your couriers have been going missing." Mr. Ruso merely nodded once more. "Yeah, problem is there's too much to parse out. So I figured, why not have you have a chat with the locals, get the story straight from the horse's mouth. Should give us a better idea of what we're dealing with." Lysander stood up, went to a nearby cupboard, pulled out a linen satchel, checked its contents, and came back to his godly cousin. "I'm ready to go when you are." Ruso handed him what looked to be a passport. "This will be useful than your own passport if you get held up by any patrols from either side. I was going to tell you to be pack by tonight, but you look ready to go right now," he said in amusement.

Leaving these two for a bit, we come to a small unit of British troops surrounded by a much larger army of men speaking French, Flemish, and Dutch. Among those who preferred the English tongue, two were looking after the unit's horses. Or rather, one was looking after them while the other was complaining about how Belgium was a worthless country that was wasting their time and how they should be seeking glory in France. The whiny Charles Helt turned to Johanna, or "Johnny," as he thought she was named, and felt the need to ask, "what do you think? Even a half-wit paddy can't be happy about wastin' his time with the Belgies?" Johanna "Johhny" Laird continued to brush the horse as "he" replied, "and what would ye do? Wade yer way through the blood, mud, and shit between us and the Frenchies?" "I'm still wadin' in shit," he replied while gesturing around at the surrounding stables. "At least there'd be some glory in it. Ah, what would some potato-sucker know?" Turning back to do a half-assed job of cleaning the horse in front of him, it was not long before he did a double-take. "Bloody hell, has another one gone missin'?" Laird immediately snapped to attention and counted the horses, coming to the same realization her wonderful English compatriot had. "Fecking hell, how many is that in just the last few days?" Looking at the area where a horse should be, she didn't see any signs of a struggle. While hoof prints were hardly rare in the area, she was able to pinpoint some that seemed to be leading into the woods. Following them until she reached the edge of the tree-line, she found no more signs of where the animal could possibly have gone. The trail was dead, broken branches at a horse's height proved unreliable, she couldn't hear anything in the distance when she tried to cup her ears, and she eventually came to the frustrating realization that finding it would require wandering out into the forest, way too far to be safe. Besides the general state of war, her ma had always insisted that the woods were dangerous, and when she learned the real identity of her da she realized that some of the creatures her ma was so terrified of just might be real. Thus, she was relieved rather than frustrated when one of her commanding officers found her. She immediately snapped to attention. "Sir, either some of the horses have decided to go on a walkabout or someone is playing silly buggers." He grimaced at this news. "Another one gone? That's just what we need. I don't want you to drop this, Laird, but we have another matter to address. Some big-shot Italian car-maker is coming. He has some top-secret relationship with the Brass that we're not allowed to talk about. You keep looking for information on those horses, but when he gets here I want you to keep an eye on him, make sure that his interests actually align with the Empire's. Until then, please try to figure out what's going on with our horses. I certainly don't trust your partner today." "Aye sir, I'll bed down with the horses tonight and take a fresh look in the morning. I'll either find the horses or be stringing up a thief." Her superior nodded. "Good work, soldier. By the way, the fact that this is even coming is a secret. Loose lips sink ships. Dismissed." Saluting, "Johnny" returned to the stables, took care of what needed to be cared for for the day, and bedded down with them, hopefully out of sight of any would-be interloper. She really did want to do this for herself as much to maintain military duty; she liked horses, oftentimes better than people, and didn't want to see them hurt.

It would be several hours of sleeping before she found her wonderful and pleasant partner for horse grooming on this day sneaking in with a concealed lamp. Laird kept completely still. With eyes glancing from side-to-side, Helt nervously let out, "I, as someone who has rightful access to this domicile, invite you in," at which point a gray skinned man wearing, of all things, a traditional Viking ensemble walked in leaving no footprints and making no sound. Laird grit "his" teeth and gripped "his" rifle. "Care to introduce me?" "He" asked the Englishman. Said Englishman squealed before catching himself and desperately trying to create some aura of dignity. The gray skinned man looked at his companion disapprovingly, but said nothing. "Listen, Paddy, they pay us shit to work with shit, and for what? There's good money in just givin' a few horses away. Besides, could you say no to that guy?" He gestured at the gray-Viking-Thing's features as he said that last part, prompting said Viking-thing to stare at him. Its expression was unreadable. Laird looked at the creature, trying to think back on her studies, on the things she had learned, especially about the Norse myths since the Aesir had thrown in with the Krauts. Einherjar, she was almost certain. "Well, Viking, what business do you have playing horse-thief, with a weak-will rollover?" It's voice, when it deigned to speak, was strange but comprehensible. "Hel's daughter asked for large animals. I was ordered to obey her. They preferred beasts taken from the enemy. This cowardly Anglo-Saxon was easy to persuade." The Englishman looked miffed at its words, but said nothing. "Now far be it fer me to dictate yer orders but did Hel's daughter specify horses? Maybe you should try cows or even bears, a much fiercer option fer Hel's daughter, doncha think?" "Yes, and we gathered some. But this gave us a steady supply, at least until now." The Einjerjar pondered its situation. "You are of the Tuatha?" She nodded. "Even if I kill you, it will take too much time, enough for you alert the rest of the camp. Let me take this one," he said, pointing at the Englishman's whimpering form. "Traitor's blood is useful for several rituals. And then, I'll never bother you again." Helt looked up to him in shock. "Don't suppose ye could make a good show of being driven off, fleeing with this one as I raise the alert?" "Understood," the Enherjar responded. The remaining mortal stared at Laird, shock and terror giving way to desperation. "As a fellow loyal citizen of the glorious British Empire, I implore you to…" Laird interrupted him. "Well, let's make this a good show then." She points out which horse belonged her well-loved partner, and the Einherjar beckoned to it with one hand while the other held the Englishman's squealing form. Silently leaping onto the horse's back, the animal moving as if under a spell, Laird took a shot and purposefully missed. "WARE THE CAMP" she shouted as the horse bolted into the woods.

The two shocked sentries who managed to get off shots at the horse's fleeing form cursed themselves as they missed, especially as they realized that they had lost him and moved back to find a cursing Irishman. "What's going on?" Someone shouted. "Helt was selling our feckin' horses!" Laird shouted back. "Helt? He was a good Englishman. Why would he betray us?" The sentry's eyes narrowed. "Especially before some Irish dog." "He would have had the opportunity," another soldier noted. Choosing to answer the question and ignore the insult (it was nothing she hadn't heard before), "money, apparently. He was always complaining about how we should be in France and not shoveling shit here." "That does sound like Helt," the same one who noted Helt's opportunity opined. Laird pointed out that Helt's horse was missing. "I guess he wanted it with him." The two sentries conferred with one another. Finally, they told her, "we'll do our own investigating, but it looks like your story holds up. Of course, some higher-up is going to have to look things over before we act." Laird looked to the troubled and panicking horses. "I'll calm them down until we can figure things out." "You do that, and we'll look into Helt." "I still can't believe we're trusting a fucking paddy over a good Englishman. It'll be your head if things turn out sour!" Johanna ignored them as she thought over how she was going to resolve this matter of the 'Italian car-maker.'

From there, we move to what was once a small village that now finds itself swollen with refugees. Among the poor and desperate, there was a well-dressed man, of mostly indistinct but vaguely native american features, following the pull of fate that led him to this area. While his features were indistinct in that describing them to be identified later proved inexplicably impossible to many, that is not to mean that they were bland, for his beauty was something that caused mortals to stare in shock. Between his alluring appearance, and the fact that he clearly wasn't another starving refugee, he found himself assailed by requests for food, money, medicine, anything, many with offers of sexual services attached. Where he could, he provided, demanding nothing in return and refusing all offers to the contrary. They found his food sublime, and what medical services he could offer sufficient, if not miraculous. Moreover, they found that he listened; when they needed to discuss their troubles, he heard them, neither judging nor enforcing his will, just listening. As word of his actions spread, two children came to him, one reluctant , the other eager. "Listen, you're the one who's been helping people, right?" The boy asks, only to be interrupted by the girl. "He can't help us." "We can try!" The boy shouted back. Tenoch nods. "I have helped some. What sort of help do you need?" "It's our brother, he fought the Germans, and got his arm hurt really badly, but he won't let anyone look at it because they might find out he's a desert-" the girl slapped him. "He got hurt, and won't let any of the few doctors help him. Now, if you see him, you might notice that he looks like a fighting age man, but there's a perfectly good reason that he's not in the army, as you see, well," she desperately tried to come up with an excuse, making it way too obvious that that was what she was doing. Tenoch smiled with the warmth of a Summer day and filled in for her, "he might be mistaken for a man who should be in a war he has no business being part of?" She vigorously nodded. "Yes, you never know what people might accuse him of. But his leg and arm are broken, and he won't get them fixed. He just keeps looking at the walls, staring, with this dead look in his eyes. It's…scary." Tenoch responded, "I'll try to help him, if he'll let me. I imagine he is scared and in pain and sadly those can make people make bad choices, but nobody needs to know about him except for those you and he can trust. No elders, no doctors, no governments, no busy-bodies." The girl was surprised, but the boy was excited. "Come on, I'll show you," and he led the man to a series of tents leaning against the side of a house, making their own make-shift dwelling.

When he lets them lead him inside, they find a twenty-something year old boy sitting up, wearing soiled clothing and staring at the wall. Tenoch was reasonably certain that the boy wouldn't answer at first, but knew that he had to start somewhere as he walked in with a warm smile and informed the boy, "you seem hurt and your siblings are worried about you. Do you mind if I take a look?" Several minutes pass before he gives an answer. "You can fix my arm if you want, but you can't fix me." As Tenoch starts tending the wounds, he says, "that may be true, it may not. We can talk about that while we work on your physical wounds. If it truly is unfixable, then we've lost nothing. If it turns out to be something else, then we've made progress." The work on his arm was slow but steady, which gave the boy time to work up to an answer. "The first time I killed a man, I vomited. Some told me to man up. Others told me it meant I was human. After what I saw in Liege, I didn't want to be human." As Tenoch set the bones, he inquired, "if you don't want to be human, then what do you want to be?" The bizarre question caught the boy off-guard, but he eventually managed an answer. "Something else. Someone else. Anything else. Maybe even another human, one who never killed a German, one who never saw the Germans give it back tenfold, one who never fought when it was about a border dispute in a country I never heard of and one who did fight when the massacres started. I guess I do want to be a human. Just not this human." This admission prompted the benefactor to nod. "Being another human is possible. You've done it before. Ten years ago you were an entirely different child than the one that sits here now. Before you killed a man you were a different person. The you of just last night had never seen this morning. You are a different person with each moment. Being a different human is easy. Even the impossible seeming parts of what you want are possible. I'm sure your siblings could tell me things that are entirely beneath notice to you. Things that you have forgotten were once part of you and now no longer are. You can be someone who never did the things you did. You can be the person who acts when massacres occur, if that's what you really want. You need only to know who you are, who you want to be, and nudge yourself ever closer to the other. It is often slow and painful, but always happening." He shook his head. "But I can't. Whenever I look at myself, I am reminded of who I am. What I've done. You know, I had another sibling, he wanted to support us. He started working for some smuggling ring, until he just vanished. Every time I see my reflection, that's all I see. The guy who, after everything that's happened, couldn't keep his family together. Who doesn't even know what happened to his other brother. Besides, my own countrymen will hang or shoot me if they find me, and I probably deserve it. They are all pretty words, but at this point I can't change who I am on the inside any more than I can change my face." This brought a smile to Tenoch's face, as changing a man's face was actually rather easy with his father-mother's soap. "When you're ready to shed who you were and tell me who you are, I will help to fix the issue with your reflection, if you find that you're reflection is truly the issue." He snorted. "If you can really change my reflection, then I'll start anew, maybe join the Red Cross or something where I can do some good for once. But, even if that wasn't impossible, I can't move forward until I find my brother. The sheer mystery of it would drive me insane." "Then it would seem that the next course of action would be to get well enough to find the information that would restore your insanity. Healing takes time, but that doesn't make the task impossible. You will need something to lean on; your siblings have helped you thus far, and I would understand if you chose to continue to lean on them. If you want me to walk this path with you, I will. Are you sure that this is the path you must walk? You will lose yourself, you will lose everything." He looked at his two younger siblings. "I've only got two things left to lose, and the way I'm going can't be good for them. If you think you have a path that takes me away from my current self, then I will walk it." Realizing that the path had changed from healing to mobility, Tenoch turned to the man's siblings and asked them to fetch him some clothes. It could be his, it could be someone else's, but those soiled pants needed to be changed. Getting him among the walking wounded was the first priority, then learning about the next twist of Fate was the second.