(Man, I'm shit at keeping a schedule, aren't I? Sorry about all of these delays, but we're nearing the end of the school year, so we have all kinds of tests and shit to do. Ah well. Here's one chapter that was going to to be two chapters but I decided to merge. Enjoy)

-O-

Oliver didn't need the thermal goggles mounted atop his helmet to see where the dragon landed. The chassis of the metal beast was glowing red-hot like a lantern, even in the bitter cold Nebraska snow, which was starting to come down even harder. Aside from the cherry-red corpse of the dragon, visibility was almost zero in the deep night of December. Dark flurries of powder-like snow would occasionally kick up, forcing Oliver to stop and wait for it to subside, least he get turned around or lost outright. The twelve Sons of Saturn were spread out in a loose fan behind him, with Denali and Nina on his immediate left and right, respectively. Oliver briefly considered asking the Magician to clear the weather entirely, but realized that even if she could it would most likely drain her power at an alarming pace, so he didn't bother. He occasionally glanced over his shoulder at Midas's mansion, partially to reassure himself that he could find his way back in this damn snow, and partially to make sure he had a place to retreat to in case this little operation went sideways.

When the squad was about fifty feet away Oliver raised up a closed fist to signal a halt. By now, he could just about see the silhouettes of a few humanoid shapes in front of the dragon's super-heated body. He pressed the radio at his collar, tapping into the comm-line for A-Squad, "Denali, take half of the men and circle around to the other side. Do not engage unless I give the word."

Denali gave a hum of acknowledgment and, along with six of the mercenaries, disappeared into the dark of the snow. Oliver waited a minute or two to allow them to get into position, before checking his rifle one more time and dropping his hand to signal the advance. The crunching of boots on snow along with the blood pumping in his ears seemed to fill the air to Oliver's head. As the group approached the now-cooling body of the dragon, he saw that one of the Godlings, a short male, was crouched over it, fiddling with something near the bronze beast's head. He kept his rifle half-lowered, finger on the trigger, and slowly approached the three, six mercenaries and one magician at his back. One of the Godlings, the girl, saw them approach and frantically tapped the other boy, the tall blonde one, on the shoulder, pointing and saying something Oliver couldn't make out over the wind. The blonde turned towards them, grimaced, and said something to the boy crouched next to the dragon, who responded with something that sounded like a curse.

By now Oliver and A-Squad were only about ten feet away from the dragon's body, and now he saw just how big the thing was; fifty feet long at least, and tall as Schrödinger, with wickedly sharp bronze claws as long as his forearm and a jaw that looked strong enough to crack concrete. But he also saw the damage Schrödinger's cannon had done to it: a burning, twisted hole bigger than Oliver's head was set in the middle of the dragon's chest. Though the rest of it's body had began to cool off, the metal surrounding the hole was still glowing orange and hissing as snow landed. He felt a twinge of remorse in his chest as he looked over the body of the magnificent monster, and what he had ordered done to it. But an idea also began forming in his head as he looked at the damage, and he had to force himself to focus on the task at hand. The blonde had a sword at his hip, which he rested one hand on as he came to a stop a few feet in front of the line of armed men. Oliver had to give him credit; if he was afraid, he didn't show it. The girl and the other boy stayed near the dragon.

There was silence for several long moments as the blonde's gaze shifted up and down the line of mercenaries before he spoke, his voice somehow cutting through the wind, "Who are you?"

Oliver stepped forward, lowering his rifle and saying, "The people who don't want any bloodshed. Come peacefully, Godling. You don't want this fight."

As a way to back up the statement, the Sons of Saturn behind him made as many intimidating mechanical noises with their guns as possible. Oliver had to admit it sounded cool as hell, but the Godling didn't seem impressed. He scowled and adjusted the grip on his sword's pommel, "You say you don't want bloodshed, yet you shoot us down? That statement and those actions don't match up, Mortal."

Oliver shrugged, "Maybe not, but who isn't a hypocrite these days? Now," he raised his rifle and settled the sights on the blonde's chest, "hands on your head. And tell your friends to step away from the dragon."

The blonde didn't move, but the girl rose and moved to his side. Even though her winter jacket was torn to hell and her face was covered in soot, she was one of the most attractive girls Oliver had ever seen, and with a voice to match, "Oh, I'm sure this is just a big misunderstanding! Now, why don't you put down the guns and we can work this out?"

Oliver was inclined to agree with her. After all, there were probably a bunch of Godlings who can ride on metal dragons, right? Maybe they got the wrong one. They probably did, come to think of it, it was really dark out. He glanced to his left and right and gave a short sigh of relief when he saw the mercenaries slowly begin to lower their guns. Even Nina had her staff planted in the ground, a strange look on her face. Maybe he should just let them-

The pain came from the back of his head and flashed through the brain matter to the front of his skull in an instant. It was a cold, burning feeling, filling his head and whisking the air from his lungs from the sheer intensity of it. But his mind was cleared, and he heard the Charmspeak for what it was. Fury filled his heart, and a growl rumbled in his throat as the cold-burn intensified in his head. Who did this Godling think she was, trying to charm him like some low-life thug? Who did she think she was, not realizing who she was playing with? What she was dealing with? His thoughts escaped him as his body went into auto-pilot, and he drew one of the handguns at his belt, aiming it and shooting her in the center of her torso in one smooth motion. The gunshot snapped in the air like a whip, the .45 caliber round punched right through her chest and out of her back. Blood bloomed in a crimson circle, staining her white winter jacket. She crumpled to the ground like a puppet with it's strings cut.

The blonde screamed something something, but the blood pounding in Oliver's ears drowned it out. Whether Oliver could hear him or not, the next immediate threat was the blonde, who had drawn his sword and was already almost in Oliver's face. A kind of savage joy filled his cold-burning chest, and he rushed forward to meet him. At some point he had dropped his rifle, but that didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. The blonde went in for a stab and Oliver deflected it aside with his left hand, but before he could train his handgun on the blonde's chest as well the Godling thrust out his hand. The smell of ozone and burnt hair filled his nose, pain exploded in his chest, snow was kicked into the air by the invisible force, and his stomach dropped through his shoes as weightlessness took hold.

Oliver crashed through the snow and hit the unforgiving ground beneath. All the air came out of his lungs in a single woosh, and the back of his head cracked against frozen, hard-packed dirt. The cold-burn flashed even colder, light exploded behind his eyes and-

My breath came in ragged bursts, lungs burning

My arms were lead, numb from combat

The taste of blood was thick in my mouth, choking me

The pounding of my heart, like a drumbeat it filled the air

My enemy roared, and I smiled

-he gasped, his back arched into the air. The cold-burn flashed throughout his entire body, rushing through his veins, shocking his nervous system. And then, abruptly, it dissolved, leaving behind a vague, numb sensation. What was that, he wondered, how did I do that? Oliver shook his head to clear his mind of questions: that wasn't important right now. What was important was the mission. He wasn't sure how long he was out for, but it seemed in that time all hell had broken loose. Stuttering bursts of gunfire, screams of tearing metal and cries of pain filled the air. He groaned and lifted himself into a sitting position, rubbing his head and shaking off the snow that had coated his head and face. Then his eyes landed on what was happening, and he said to himself, "Oh, what the fuck?"

Somehow, impossibly, the metal dragon was alive again. The hole in it's chest was still gaping, still glowing slightly in the center, but that didn't seem to slow it down as it bit a mercenary clean in half, throwing the poor bastard fifty yards into the darkness of the snowstorm. On it's back he saw the smaller Godling ride the beast, shouting and whopping with every Son of Saturn it killed. The girl was somehow tied in place on it's back, still unconscious by the looks of it. Mercenaries, about seven of them, surrounded the monster in a loose circle, peppering it's hide with gunfire, and he thought he saw Denali among them, trying to draw it's attention by aiming at the face. Nina was engaged in a duel of winds with the blonde Godling, their clothing and most of the surrounding snow whipping about them in a mini-tornado. Though the two seemed to be equally matched, Oliver saw that he was slowly gaining ground, that sword flashing dull-silver in the light of the gunfire.

Oliver aimed with his handgun and went to pull the trigger, only to realize that his hand was filled with nothing. He had dropped his handgun somewhere during his fall and crash. Cursing, he drew the second pistol he kept in the holster behind his back. He racked the slide and was about to dive into the fray when he stopped. He looked at the .45 in his hand, then at the dragon, who was getting hit with hundreds of rifle-grade ammunition and barely slowing down. To the .45, to the dragon. It wasn't enough. Trivial. Pointless. He swore and threw the handgun into the snow as the cold began to really feel the snow. Some of it had gotten underneath his collar and balaclava, and now his neck was beginning to go numb. Another scream tore through the air as another Son of Saturn was torn to shreds. They needed something big, right now, or they were all going to be killed by some big stupid fuckin' robot dragon and it was going to be his fault they failed and he was going to go back to hell no he didn't wanna go back please-

Everything stopped. The gunfire stopped chattering. The dragon froze, it's jaws wide open, the back of it's throat glowing ominously. Snowflakes and bullets hung in the air, side-by-side. Oliver swallowed and briefly wondered if he was dying when a voice, deep and accented, spoke up to his right.

"God's wounds man, it's just a dragon. And not even a real one, at that."

Oliver jumped and turned. Standing a few feet away, somehow not breaking the snow despite standing atop it, was a man. He was tall, taller than Oliver and a good deal more muscular, with long blonde hair tied back in a warrior's braid and a wild blonde beard. His eyes were the coldest shade of blue Oliver had ever seen, though they were warm with humor as the mystery man cocked an eyebrow. He was dressed in armor made from interlocking scales that gleamed like silver, and a long white fur cloak was wrapped around his shoulders. He wasn't armed, yet Oliver had a feeling that this was one of those people who didn't need a weapon to be lethal.

He rose to his feet and cleared his throat, asking, "Who are you? What's going on?"

The man gave a shallow bow that seemed a bit cheeky and responded, "My name is Beowulf, Godkiller. Honored to meet you."

Oliver blinked at him and, unsure how to respond, decided to follow the Danish legend's lead and bowed in return, "The honor is mine, Beowulf."

Beowulf's other eyebrow joined his first, and he said, "You aren't surprised about who I am?"

Oliver gave a weary shrug and confessed, "A little bit, but it's just been a really long couple of days and I'm just burned out right about now. Now, tell me what's going on. What are you doing here?"

The warrior smiled and spread his hands, "I was not doing anything; you are the one who brought me here."

Oliver blinked and started at him for a few moments before the answer hit him like a truck, "That vision," he said, "something about the vision I just had summoned you, or something?"

Beowulf sighed and rubbed his face, "You're so close to the truth, Keeper, but you must find the answer to that question on your own. In the meantime, I believe we have a dragon to fight."

Oliver was about to ask what was so special about that last vision that it summoned an ancient Danish hero, when he heard what he said, "We?"

Beowulf just smiled and held out his hand, as though he expected a shake. Oliver looked at the outstretched hand and considered his options. There was no way that they had enough firepower to kill the dragon, not without Schrödinger here. But since the Tiger Two was back at the mansion, their best bet would be Nina, who was currently in a heated duel with the blonde Godling. The mercenaries were getting ripped apart like tissue paper, and their rifles seemed to be doing exactly dick against the beast's armored hide. He looked back at the Beowulf's offer and, with a sneaking suspicion as to what was about to happen, took the legend's hand. A deep, glacial blue highlighted the warrior's form, and he disappeared in a flash of light. At the same time, the cold-burn feeling returned and raced up his arm along with the dark blue light as his veins seemed to glow. It felt different this time, though. It wasn't as wild as before. More... consistent, as it spread through his body evenly, coming to a stop at the base of his skull.

Beowulf's voice manifested in his mind, You have my strength, Godkiller. Use it.

Time resumed. The dragon roared and fire came gushing forth like a hose, bathing two mercenaries in the napalm. Oliver took in a breath. The air seemed cleaner now, fresher, more packed with oxygen. The blonde Godling flung out his arms, and Nina went tumbling to the ground, her staff flying from her grasp. Oliver let the breath out as the pleasant, cold-burn feeling he now recognized as power settled in his limbs. Denali was sent through the air as the dragon's tail crashed into him and a crack echoed across the battlefield. Oliver was crossing the snow before he knew it, arms pumping, muscles burning cold as he tackled a mercenary out of the way. A split second later the dragon's claws carved a deep gouge into the snow, kicking up dirt and grass from the force of it. It's eyes, two rubies as big as his fist, glowed hateful red as he stood in front of it, a mouse to an owl. It's other claw came whistling down, flashing in it's own ruby gaze.

And stopped dead in it's tracks as Oliver caught it. The cold-burn intensified for a moment, his veins glowed in correspondence. The dragon made a confused, grinding noise in the back of it's throat as Oliver took one of it's forearm-sized talons in his hand and pulled. The blade came loose with the sound of tearing metal, and Oliver shoved away the dragon's claw. It's jaw's opened wide, bronze teeth like finger long drill bits whirling in their sockets as it's head lashed down. The Keeper lifted his left arm in response, and the dragon bit down. Pain screamed in his arm, but the cold-burn soothed it somewhat and Oliver managed to keep from screaming himself. The awful, screeching sound of metal on metal filled the air as Oliver flipped his new knife over in his hand and stabbed downward, jamming the dragon's own talon in between it's ruby eye and it's socket.

The metal dragon screamed and let go of Oliver's arm, slashing at it's own face in an attempt to free it's eye, and failing horribly. The Godling on top of the dragon cried out and was about to climb forward to help his monster, when a bullet from one of the mercenaries caught him in the shoulder. He fell from the beast's back and disappeared into the snow. Oliver was about to advance and finish off the dragon, when the smell of ozone suddenly filled the air. Oliver flung himself onto the ground and buried his face in the snow. He felt more than he heard the bolt of lightning arc over his head, his hair standing on it's end and his skin prickling. He was on his feet in an instant, turning to face the blonde Godling. The blonde had his steel sword drawn in one hand, and a long golden javelin in the other, crackling with blue light. About half of the remaining mercenaries, now freed from the dragon's rampage, turned to the Godling as well and opened fire as the rest kept the monster busy.

The Godling raised his javelin and held it horizontally, creating a shimmering blue shield of static electricity in front of him. The bullets, when met by this shield, turned to dust on impact. For several seconds bullets whizzed through the air only to be destroyed by the shield, and Oliver held up his hand to call for a stop. Aside from the men fighting off the dragon, the gunfire ceased and Oliver stepped forward, "Give it up, Godling. Your friends are out, your dragon's half-blind and useless, and you're just plain outnumbered. Just make it easier for everyone, please?"

He had barely finished his sentence when the dragon's roar cut through the air. The metal monster must have heard him, because a particularly powerful torrent of flame reduced the few men left fighting it to ashes, and it turned to Oliver. Somehow it had managed to dig out the talon in it's eye, and it's remaining ruby shined like a scarlet spotlight. It came bounding across the battlefield, the ground shaking beneath it's fifty-ton footsteps. Oliver swore under his breath and jabbed a finger at the Godling, "Keep shooting! I'll deal with that!"

The mercenaries complied, and gunfire once again filled the air as Oliver faced the threat, fifty feet away. The Godling's shield was back up, and Oliver had to force himself to focus on the dragon so he didn't charge the blonde and leave his men open to dragonfire. Thirty feet away was the dragon, pounding across the field with strides as long as a man was tall. The cold-burn feeling, once a pleasant reminder of power, was starting to make his limbs feel numb, heavy. The back of his head began to throb, and his vision began to swim as the dragon neared ten feet away. It's jaws opened wide, napalm glowed in the back of it's throat and it's head reared back as it prepared to turn his bones to ash-

-only to be flung bodily to the side as a hole bigger than Oliver's head was suddenly ripped open in it's flank. A split-second later the soundwave hit him, a deep sub-bass WHHOOMP that almost made Oliver's chest vibrate. His head whipped around to the origin, and a yell escaped his throat as Schrödinger's immense bulk became visible in the distance. Kevin's voice crackled to life in his ear, distorted slightly through the snow and the distance, "Jesus boss, you leave us alone for ten minutes and everything goes to shit."

The dragon, now with a second gaping hole in it's torso, screeched in fury and tried to rise to it's feet, only to have a second shell rip off one of it's forelegs at the knee. The dragon slumped against the ground, no longer possessing the strength to hold itself up. It managed to get out one last, grating roar before the third and final shot landed square on it's head, and the basketball sized metal skull exploded in a shower of sparks and bits of shrapnel. The dragon's ruby eye landed a few feet away from Oliver's foot, flickering once, twice, three times before dying.

The mortal turned to the Godling, whose shocked expression was one Oliver thoroughly enjoyed. He cleared his throat as the mercenaries leveled their rifles at the blonde and said, "My offer stands, Godling. Only you can stop the bloodshed."

The blonde's eyes flicked from the mercenaries, to the dragon's dead metal body, to Oliver, to the King Tiger in the distance with it's cannon trained on him. Eventually he grimaced, threw down his weapons into the snow and spoke for the first time that Oliver could hear, "Fine. But you need to tell me what's going on."

Oliver gestured towards the Godling, and two of the Sons of Saturn stepped forward, locking his arms behind his back as Oliver said, "No, actually, I don't."

He nodded at one of the Sons, who in turn punched the Godling in the back of the head, knocking him out instantly. He pressed the radio at his ear and told Kevin, "Get the cars ready. We have the Godlings."