"Now," Heimdall proclaimed, "onto the next round of Ragnarök, the final battle between gods and humanity. Representing humanity…"
With his gesture to the door the stadium fell all but silent. Humanity gazed at the gate, wondering what warrior would emerge. Slowly, a sound came from within, soft at first but growing steady with each second. Deep in the darkness rung the grinding of battle-tested steel.
"A question, if you will," he continued. "Who is humanity's greatest saint? Was it Saint Francis of Assisi who tamed the savage wolf? Nay! Was it Saint Paul of Tarsus who wrote the Book of Acts? Nay! Was it Saint Patrick, the Patron Saint of Ireland? Nay, nay, nay! It was none other than this warrior!"
Her figure, clad in armor, and her banner stretching proudly behind her emerged into the light. All at once, believers clasped their palms.
"But what makes her the greatest saint, you might ask? Was it her divine talk with God? Her battles that made her the Maid of Orléans, a hero of France? Or perhaps, her infamous trial that led to her martyrdom? The answer is: this woman is the greatest saint for one miracle alone! That's right!"
High in the stands of humanity, a bald man in dull crimson robes exalted his hands over his head. That man, King Charles VII, beamed as the knight strode with every bit of dignity he knew she had possessed in life. Anyone who served in King Charles' court knew that humble chainmail, emblazoned with the cross. All his soldiers rose and saluted her banner, saluted the three golden fleur de lis that had led them to victory.
"And her greatest miracle, that makes her worthy of the title 'Greatest Saint' is one miracle and one alone. That miracle? Her relentless faith!"
She stopped, both feet planted together, head lifted in gentle prayer with a poise brought humans to their knees, believers and nonbelievers alike.
"Humanity's representative for round five: Joan of Arc!"
Hefting the banner high, Joan of Arc faced the gods, unafraid. Her smile did not challenge or provoke. It spoke of humanity's grace in the face of doom, of the strength born from conviction so pure and true. Even as humanity cheered and bowed their heads, that smile remained unchanging.
And for once, the gods did not jeer. They were shocked to silence. For Joan of Arc's eyes had nothing but love for all life.
Ares lifted a hand to his mouth. "Brother Hermes," he hissed, "tell me, what is this woman? She's nowhere near as powerful as Lu Bu or Adam, she strikes no fear like Jack the Ripper, and yet, I can't stop trembling. Why?" Hermes said nothing, but for an amused raise of his brows.
Göll looked to her sister but lost all thought when she saw the slimmest of tears forming in the whites of Brunhilda's eyes. Göll's mouth hung open. What kind of person is Joan to make big sister to cry without even saying a word? She wondered.
"Göll."
"Y-yes?"
"Close that mouth before you swallow a fly."
Joan of Arc lowered the banner to her side. Heimdall blinked once, twice. He gaped, like a man who awoke from a beautiful dream. Shaking his head, he turned to the opposite side of the arena.
"And her opponent, representing the gods," he bellowed.
High in his throne, the mighty Zeus shook. His weathered shoulders and small chest heaved with retched chuckles. He absolutely tingled with excitement. The yellow gates swung open. Pouring out came a smell bitter, smoky, thick, and familiar to those who called Athens home. Olives.
"Among the children of the great Zeus, only one stood firm and unafraid when the monster Typhon attacked Olympus! Only she, who knew the gods would prevail!"
Silently out from the tunnel emerged thousands of owls. They funneled the arena in an organized, flawless parade with not a feather misplaced. Their wind whipped the scent every Athenian knew into the sky.
"Among the gods, only one dared stand against the indomitable Poseidon to become his greatest rival among the Olympians! Only she, who knew she would thwart his incontestable power!"
The owls continued to circle. From their talons, olive leaves drifted to the ground, even and flawless. The leaves fell in equal rows and columns, then caught the wind and rose to the sky, before once more falling in an unbroken pattern.
"Among the gods, only one sprung to life fully grown and armed, with a mighty shout that made Earth and Sky tremble! Only she, who knew that to exist in this universe a god must be ready to fight!"
Gods watched, humble and small, as the owls quickened their flight and sent every olive leaf sharply into the sky. Loki smirked at the slight tensing of Odin's hand.
Of all the men of knowledge, only three were unsurprised with the mathematical precision with which the owls inverted their cone of flight and soared away. Those men, Archimedes, Fibonacci, and Einstein, each understood how the whole maneuver was possible. Only they saw when the goddess marched out of the dark gate.
High above, a single owl, whiter and more beautiful than any other descended, landing on the outstretched arm of a goddess. Its body tightened and its talons stretched to the ground, its wings raised high tightened at tips into a white point. Where once there was an owl, now a spear rested in the goddess' hand.
A copper brown helmet on a head ringed with black hair cascading to her shoulder pauldrons. A goat skin coat beneath her silver breastplate. And slung across her back hung a dreadful shield covered in a thick canvas.
"Her name is Parthenos, Pallas, Patron of Heroes, and the Lady of Athens! If Poseidon is the G.O.G and Zeus the G.F.O.C., then this contestant is the Goddess Above Gods; the G.A.G! It's … Athena!"
While the gods applauded her, Athena met humanity with a deep frown. The goddess swept across the stands of humanity, lingering on Leonardo, Antonie van Leeuwenhoek, then Marie Curie. Her godly scowl fell on Columbus, Harry Harlow, and the scientist known as Oppenheimer. Each felt a twinge of guilt in their throats.
None were found undeserving of her judgement, save Gandhi, Martin Luthor King Jr, and the One born in Bethlehem. Them she regarded with little more than pity.
That was how the goddess' gaze fell upon her challenger. Deeply piteous. But resolute in the knowledge that humanity must die.
"Göll," Brunhilda startled the little Valkyrie who let out a yelp. "Do you know why we're fighting for humanity?"
"You said because the gods have … um, 'messed' with the human race for too long. Right?"
"But why now? Why decide their fate now after millennia of existence? The answer is Athena."
"W-What? What do you mean?"
"She brought the motion to the court of the gods. She convinced Shiva, Aphrodite, and the rest to support the motion. Athena proposed to end humanity."
"What? Why would she do that?" Brunhilda shook her head in reply. Göll bit her lip. "Does that mean she's the reason our sisters died?"
The tall Valkyrie's hands tightened.
Joan of Arc never ceased smiling, not once, as she drove the banner into the ground, drew her French arming sword from her scabbard and raised the cross guard to her chin. Athena's look remained unchanged at her opponent's salute, which she answered with a solemn nod. Göll's lower lip quivered at the blade catching light, at the sister she might lose.
"Can she really do this?"
"Hmm," was Brunhilda's sole response before Heimdall spoke.
"Could there be a better matchup? Knowledge versus conviction, logic versus hope, brain versus heart! The reason of the gods versus the faith of humanity! Round Five of Ragnarök, the final battle between the gods and humanity: The goddess of wisdom Athena versus the holy warrior Joan of Arc! Now… let the match—"
THUD! Athena's spear struck the ground, cutting off Heimdall.
"There's something I wish to say first. Joan of Arc," Athena's voice came cold, heavy. "There is no need for you to die a second senseless death. Surrender now. Humanity does not need to suffer any longer."
From the stands of the gods, Shiva scowled, heat blistering from his fists. He agreed with Zeus that a Greek god should take revenge for the deaths of Poseidon and Heracles, so why did Athena hesitate? He would have leapt into battle without hesitation. Zeus' cackling ceased.
"What is that child of mine playing at?"
Ares only sighed. "I guess my sister still can't shake old habits."
"Indeed," Hermes muttered. "She loves humanity far too much."
Mankind watched their champion, waiting her answer.
"Mademoiselle Athena. Are you not the goddess of wisdom?" Her smile broadened. "You should know a martyr does not surrender."
The knight slipped into a fighting stance; sword point at eye level. The goddess sunk with a deep sigh.
Heimdall cleared his throat.
"Right, well, as I was saying… let the match … BEGIN!"
Athena took a single step and, with a move befitting Poseidon's rival, unleashed a mighty thrust at the human's heart. Joan side stepped. One bound closed the distance between goddess and human.
But Athena was a goddess of war and wisdom. Without batting an eyelash, she swung her spear to split the human's torso on the silver shaft. Joan ducked, with a spin, and curved her swing at the goddess' leg.
Athena leapt over the swing and, to the cheers of the gods, lunged. Joan dodged, coming at the goddess' nape with a stroke that was barely parried.
Athena darted away but Joan pursued. The goddess parried a stroke, returned a thrust. The human dodged and counterattacked.
Any move she made, the human evaded.
"What's this?" Heimdall exclaimed. "Joan of Arc is… matching Athena!"
Ares ground his teeth as the human gained on his sister, each blow closer than the last. How many times have we sparred? He thought, sweat snaking down his neck. And not once have I ever come close to besting Athena. So how can this human…?!
"Calm yourself, brother," Hermes whispered coolly. "Athena hasn't been lashing out at random."
Ares looked again. Indeed, Joan was no closer to landing a blow than when the battle started. Her strokes lacked the refinement of Kojiro, the raw power of Lu Bu or Adam, and the deviousness of Jack the Ripper. She was a child, lashing out at a warrior.
Athena's every thrust came with the same power and angle, missing Joan to the exact inch every time. She had been deliberate in her strikes, conditioning Joan's body to a single type of attack. All for this next moment. Athena released her most powerful, rapid thrust that once slew Typhon. It was unlike any attack the human had ever experienced in her life. Göll looked away. Gods waited the sound of metal piercing flesh.
When the dust cleared, one contestant bled, drip, drip, onto the sand from a cut in her side. Athena stared at the thin line of blood on the human's sword.
"Incredible! Joan of Arc has drawn first blood!" Heimdall proclaimed.
Humanity cheered to see their faith rewarded. Joan of Arc had never once stopped smiling.
"Wow," Göll exclaimed. "She's keeping up with Athena! Is she like Kojiro?"
"Not quite," Said Brunhilda. "Unlike Kojiro, Joan has no need for prediction. She already knows Athena's next move. That's her divine technique."
"Divine technique?"
"Yes." Brunhilda smirked.
According to legend, Joan of Arc heard the voice of God, calling her to fight for her country. Her devotion made her worthy of divine instruction. But there is more to that legend.
"Humans pray to the gods, and in doing so they can actually brush the realm of the divine. Joan of Arc's prayers have gone beyond any mortal prayer and permanently connected her to that divinity. If Adam has 'The Eyes of the Lord,' then Joan of Arc's gift could be called … 'The Voice of the Lord:' The ability to hear the thoughts of the gods!" Brunhilda let loose a broad jeer. "What will you do now, goddess of wisdom?! Anything you think Joan will know! Just give up you owly bitch!"
"You know you can be really childish sometimes…"
Athena realized this power of Joan's. In the face of an opponent who could know her every strategy, the goddess showed neither fear nor rage.
Shaking blood from her hand, she regarded her opponent. Of the gods, only Hermes and Ares could recognize the emotion blazing in the goddess. Of humanity, only the three who had earned the goddess' saddest gaze could name what Athena felt for her opponent.
The cheering died down, but that emotion grew in her chest, bubbling into the next words that escaped her lips. "I pity you, Joan."
A chill ran through the stadium.
"I pity you as I pity every human with good intentions. Those intentions are a drop of water in the hell of humanity's pyre."
Ares paled, as Athena loosened a strap across her chest. Athena! Don't tell me you're using that! His deepest fears were confirmed when she reached for her covered shield.
Immortal gods trembled. Even the mighty Thor could not squash a twinge of unease.
Of all the armaments of the gods, the number that rivaled his Mjolnir could be counted on a single hand. Athena's shield, once worn by Zeus himself, was chief among those rivals.
When the monstrous Typhon attacked the heavens, one goddess stood firm and unafraid. She had strategy to direct her spear, a clear pathway to victory in her head, but above all else, she had that shield. In one moment, when the face of the shield was revealed, it broke all hope in Typhon and his followers. Athena slew them all like helpless ants. From then on, the gods named the shield Aegis, the Will Breaker.
Beneath the cloak, Aegis hissed, rattling with rage. But Athena spoke calmly.
"I am sorry."
The cloak fell.
Humans who had fought in all manner of conflict and the gods who from birth had only known war, wept at the snarling Gorgoneion leering out from the goddess' shield, and her yellow glare harder and hotter than steel. Serpents coiled across a demonic face that bore its horrible fangs. Even knowing Athena's strategy, even seeing the shield through the goddess' eyes, could never have prepared Joan for this paralyzing despair.
Athena hoisted her spear.
It tore through armor, through shoulder. Blood seeped down Joan's arm and across her knuckles.
Gods cheered.
"That's Athena for you!"
"You stupid humans thought you had a chance?!"
"G.A.G! G.A.G!" They chanted, pumping their fists.
The cheering was not unanimous. Hermes's lips curled grimly, Loki's forehead furrowed, and Zeus's white brows pinched. Even Ares could not cheer for this. He understood that from the moment this fight had started Athena only wished to end this as painlessly as possible. But her strike, meant to run through Joan's heart, and grant a quick death missed its target. Joan had moved just as the spear cut through the air.
Athena could only stare at the human in amazement. For something happened that defied all of Athena's strategy, defied the Will Breaker Aegis itself.
Joan did not yield. This young woman trembled before Aegis. But nothing more. And to Athena, it defied all logic.
"You seem surprised," muttered Joan. "Every saint has fear. But our faith keeps us strong. I will not falter."
She can still move. Athena scowled at the thought. But she wasn't prepared for Aegis, even with her divine power. Her movements slowed from fear. I see the path to victory. Overwhelm Joan!
She fell on the human. A rain of flashing silver spears poured down. Blows aimed for Joan's legs, her arms, and beating heart. The spear needled a tapestry, every strike woven into the grand masterpiece.
As that tapestry took further shape, silver spear thrusts became red.
Humanity, still petrified from Aegis, all but despaired.
Göll fell to her knees, watching helplessly.
"No way," she sobbed. "There's no way we can win against that…No way…"
Brunhilda bit her nail. Had she overestimated Joan's divine power and underestimated Athena? "No," she growled with frustration. "We have to beat her. The architect of humanity's destruction. We have to."
"Brunhilda," Göll murmured. "How can we? Joan's not a warrior like Kojiro or Lu Bu. She can't…"
Brunhilda glared at the battle, at Athena who moved agile, silent as the owl hunting at night, her movements refined by millennia of guiding humanity's heroes. She, who had granted mankind her many blessings, now drew Joan's blood across a loom of destruction.
Upon her birth, before she even had a name, the goddess safeguarded humanity from the wrath of the gods. When Poseidon flooded the earth, she gave humanity an escape from destruction. Death by drowning would be long, painful, and tortuous. To prevent another flood, she proposed the very contest to the god of the sea that made her so revered.
"The gods are unmatched in their might," she declared. "Dueling will prove fruitless. Let us prove which of us deserves to decide humanity's fate by finding which of us best understands their needs."
Both would give the unnamed town a gift. The court of the gods would decide who offered the better gift. Should Poseidon win, he would receive Aegis and the town's inhabitants. Her gift to the unnamed town, the olive tree, won their contest. And her prize was this: never again would the gods flood the Earth.
The humans asked her her name that they may honor her wisdom. But the goddess born only a week ago, had no name. Those humans, of that unnamed town, offered their goddess a name. Then, she in turn, granted the town its name.
From that day, she was Athena born of Zeus and named by man, bound to gods and humanity.
She granted champions her wisdom to better the world. Countless humans she touched with her gifts of heavenly knowledge.
Humanity took the wisdom of fire to burn those they deemed wicked. With the gift of steel, weapons to wage senseless, inglorious wars. Their wheels became the power of tanks, fossil fuels, trains that carried six million Jews. And their discovery of a new land… Humanity used her gifts for its selfish gain. Each new atrocity they could justify with their twisted logic. "God's will," they called it, as if they knew what she wanted.
The humans who could do good were thwarted by reality. The One of Bethlehem, the humble man from India, and the man who had a dream were destroyed by the world they sought to save. Joan was no different. In her final moments, she cried out, "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!" So-called men of God drove her to despair.
The goddess heard their prayers for salvation, generation after generation of desperate voices. Every millennium, she made the motion to the courts of the gods: Grant humanity a quick end that they might no longer suffer.
Her hope, that drove every bloody flush of steel, was one alone: grant Joan of Arc a swift, merciful death. A kind death her tormenters refused the saint.
For all the blood Joan shed across the threads of Athena's tapestry, she denied Athena that hope. Through it all, Joan of Arc never once stopped fighting back.
A flash of Aegis made the human shudder, gave Athena an opening to pierce more flesh. But with every flash of Aegis, every stab of the spear, that opening shrunk. As Kojiiro grew in technique over the course of his battle, Joan was growing with every moment. For hardship tests conviction, but can also strengthen it.
Athena circled, stabbing. Joan bled, parried what blows she could, and dodged the rest. Athena's speed raised dust, covering Joan's slow, human sight. She crushed the human between phalanxes. Joan hacked bloody spit. Aegis howled.
But Athena made one mistake.
A swing of her blade severed the tapestry of death. The second swing cut through breastplate, threw off the bronze helmet. With the final, Joan scored a nick into Aegis.
Athena leapt back. Joan met Aegis, bloody and afraid. Though she heaved, dripping with sweat mingling with blood, she smiled, as she had the entire fight.
"Well, well," Hermes mused. "I believe our sister underestimated the human's resolve. No, perhaps it would be more accurate to say; she misunderstood."
And indeed, Athena who had assumed Joan could be driven to complete despair misunderstood her opponent.
The Hundred Years' Wars taught young Joan of humanity's cruelty. She lived under the threat of invasion and death. Under that threat, most of her village fled their homes in despair. Joan had every reason to despise humanity, to see their foolishness as the gods had. But in those circumstances, her teaching fostered only love.
Her pious mother installed a deep love for the church and its teachings in young Joan. She learned of God who so loved humanity that He sent His only Son to die for their sins. Joan's family never fled their village because their hearts were so full of love that despair had no hold on them.
The voice of God called her to fight and she humbly obeyed. She had no dreams of glory, no hate for the enemy. Deep in her heart, she loved mankind. And she knew with all her heart, that her God who loved humanity believed in them, believed they would one day be worthy of His love.
Upon her pyre, Joan cried, "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!" But it was not a scream of despair. As she burned, Joan cried that name in prayer. A prayer begging her God to forgive those who persecuted her, as He forgave those who persecuted his followers. And she prayed for her persecutors, to remember that they were deserving of her forgiveness. Even in her deepest suffering surrounded by humanity's ugliness, she never lost faith.
As the goddess began to grasp that truth, new waves of pity fell upon her heart. Joan's naïveté, her selflessness, and above all else her divine power frustrated the goddess.
A flick of the spear sent blood across the ground. Athena regarded that blood, then Joan of Arc.
"You know my thoughts," the goddess said. "You know I set humanity's extinction into motion. And you know why. Still, you fight for them. Knowing all that I know, you still fight. Blinded by misplaced faith."
Humans sunk beneath the weight of Athena's words heavy with truth. Many knew their crimes, even as they sought to deny them in life. Others recognized they had no blamelessness. Jurors who condemned Joan of Arc to the pyre shed silent tears.
Joan of Arc met Athena's condemnation with sad eyes.
"As you say, I have seen what you seen, Mademoiselle Athena," said Joan at last. "You may pity us. But I have been privileged to witness how even amidst that pain, we never stop marching towards goodness. That march is slow, and full of stumbles. We keep marching, nonetheless. Should your reason tell you otherwise, then I pity you, for the love that makes you so blind.
"Mademoiselle Athena," Joan said. "I am grateful, that I can fight for our chance to keep marching."
Martin Luthor King Jr. and Gandhi shared in Joan's smile. Both still held to hope, as Joan had long before them.
Joan stumbled forward, dodging and parrying Athena's strikes. It remained as her sword rang against Aegis. Even as Joan struck without a plan, for she could only march forward, it remained.
"Regrettable," Athena said. "You believe in a false hope."
A shove sent Joan rolling away. The gorgon shield throbbed when Joan came swinging once more. Another stroke deepened the nick in Aegis.
No matter how Athena knocked her away, Joan of Arc rose all the stronger. No blow of the goddess' spear could touch Joan. Even Aegis once petrifying had only tested Joan's faith and left her all the more relentless.
King Charles VII and his men offered their prayers to Joan's strength.
Gods shook. For at that moment, they considered the unthinkable; that humanity would slay another god.
Humanity could hope for their victory, but they could not deny reason. Even with the Voice of the Lord, Joan fought an uphill battle. For the human could not pass Aegis again. Nor could she match Athena's experience and power. Her human body would reach its limits when she bled out.
Athena lashed, her spear a flurry of rapid jabs. Joan dodged, parried, slowed by loss of blood. Aegis smashed into Joan, sending her flying through the air. Her feet had only touched the dirt when Athena closed the gap and swung the shaft of her spear. Joan hacked up blood. And still, Athena attacked with total abandon.
Ares gaped. "How…moments ago, Joan could see her every move coming. What's changed?"
"I believe," said Hermes, "Athena is no longer thinking."
"W-what?"
"Some warriors can briefly fly into a frenzy of thoughtless violence. Berserkers, they're called." Hermes frowned. "For a God of War, I'm surprised you didn't know."
"Whatever," he said. "Well, that human's done for now."
"I'm not so sure," said Zeus. "If that human can last long enough…"
The human rose from the dust. Her chest heaved with exertion. Sweat and blood mixed across her chin. And still, she smiled. Athena shot forward like an arrow. This time Joan met her. Drawing from a well of strength alien to the gods, she swung her blade. Their clash rang out through the heavens, down to the netherworld. Athena's power sent Joan sliding across the dirt, but Joan remained standing.
They collided again, and this time Joan stood her ground. When the goddess unleashed her savage attacks, raining down blow after blow, Joan withstood it all, parrying and dodging. Surprise surged through the goddess, and with surprise came the return of thoughts. Human and god clashed once more. Now, the human forced the goddess back.
Athena dug her feet into the soil. She raised her shield, ready to block an attack. It didn't come. The human stood back, swaying and dizzy. Her spirit unyielding outpaced her mortal body.
Athena's lip curled. She could only curse Brunhilda for forcing humanity to endure this torture. "Wait a while longer, Joan," she said, "I will give you your rest." Athena charged, prepared to end humanity's suffering.
Move left, Athena thought as she moved right. Strike the heart, she thought when she thrust for Joan's head, gashing the temple as Joan only just dodged.
Move right, stab the stomach. But as Joan heard Athena's thoughts, the goddess shifted left and clipped her shoulder.
Move right and strike the leg, Athena thought. Joan glancing to her left, felt a stab of pain shoot through her right arm.
Do it again. Think move left but move right and thrust for the neck. End it now. She closed in on the left with a thrust streaking for Joan's hip. The human's blood wet the sands.
Phalanx formation attack, and Athena slammed Aegis into Joan with CRACK and sent her sprawling. Athena pursued. Crush her skull beneath foot, she thought before her spear flew for Joan's ribs.
Now, you can have rest.
Joan leapt; the spear struck empty space. She landed on the shaft of Athena's spear, and Aegis just parried her overhead strike. With a swing, Joan was flung away. She landed on her feet when Athena came at her.
Ram through her heart! Her mind raged as she thrust for Joan's head. Joan sidestepped. Athena parried Joan's returning blow. Think move left and rapid thrust, then go to her right and smash her with shield and pierce her heart. She moved left and ran her shield at Joan.
Her opponent sprung aside and landed a deft cut into god flesh. Athena drew away as her shield arm grew heavy and limp.
Impossible, she marveled. Has her divine power adapted? Just how deeply into my thoughts can she read?
"Deeply enough!" Joan shouted as she charged, hearty and full of life.
The goddess struck. Joan drew ever closer, slipping through holes in the goddess' phalanx strikes. Her sword clanged against Aegis.
That's when Athena saw something she did not anticipate.
One by one, the wounds she inflicted on the human had faded. Even now, the cuts through her temple, shoulder, and hip began to seal.
Göll saw it too, and gasped. She searched for an explanation, when her eyes fell on Joan's French Arming Sword reflecting a tinge of green in the sunlight.
And she realized what Brunhilda had done.
Most gods believe there are only 13 Valkyries among the heavens and would not even know their names. A select few gods, older, wiser, and humbler than the rest know that the 13 Valkyries are the 13 Valkyrie warriors who stand at the pinnacle of an entire race led by Brunhilda.
The Valkyrie who Brunhilda chose in this round, normally crippled by coughing fits and fevers, begged to become Joan's partner. Her heart and the human's resonated the moment they met, forming Joan's volund.
She was not a warrior born to fight, but then, neither was Joan. Both were born with love for others.
"Brunhilda, that's Eir, isn't it?"
"I had my doubts choosing her, but it seems of all the Valkyries, none could better suit a warrior of faith."
"But I thought her power was impractical in combat because it took time to even work."
"Normally, yes, but Joan's tenacity and divine power kept her in the fight long enough for it to kick in. And luckily for us, the 'flawless' Athena made one fatal mistake."
"One mistake? What was it?"
"When she realized Joan's divine power, she assumed this was a war of attrition. That's why she used Aegis and strategy separately rather than at once. In her godly arrogance, she thought every wound would carve her path to victory when the human lost strength. But with Eir's healing power, that path never existed. Now that Joan can counter Aegis and Athena's strategy, the goddess lost her two most valuable weapons."
"Did you plan all this? From the start?"
Brunhilda ignored her. "This truly is a battle between the power of the gods," she grinned wildly, "and the relentless faith of humanity."
The goddess quivered. All her attacks meant to wear down the human had come to nothing. Her strategy had failed, Aegis had failed, and she, Athena, could fail. The end to an uphill battle was within grasp for humanity.
Joan persisted, leaping between thrusts. Smiling, her sword flashed against Aegis again and again. Her attacks never allowed Athena a moment of peace, and the goddess' arm grew weaker by the second.
She was an unrelenting whirlwind, slipping through Athena's phalanx technique to once more lash at the goddess, then disappearing before Athena countered. Never tiring and never touched.
But Athena was no ordinary god. Amidst the thrill of battle, she never once stopped plotting or once questioned her victory.
Deep in her soul, within the recesses of subconscious that Joan could not pierce, Athena realized she would not win without sacrifice. Deeper still in her heart, she braced herself for that sacrifice.
A proper flick of the spear closed the holes in her phalanx strikes that Joan had exploited. Joan could only move forward. Even as she bled, she could not stop. Aegis flashed its Gorgonian visage, snakes twisting shrilly and fangs snarling.
Though she faltered, Joan could only move forward towards Athena's vulnerable limb. Joan's swing carved the goddess' shield arm. It split through elbow. But the human was vulnerable.
Athena's spear burst through her gut.
Blood erupted from Joan's mouth. Athena's eyes bored into her pained face; her red-stained teeth that smiled weakly.
She sacrificed an arm, but Athena left a wound that not even Eir could heal in time. This match was over.
Then, Joan dragged herself down the spear, came face-to-face with the goddess, and defying all reason, plunged her sword into Athena.
As her life faded, Joan offered one prayer: Eir, give me your strength. Just long enough. Her other hand clasped the goddess' shoulder for leverage. With all her might, she carved through mountainous god-flesh, working the blade to the goddess' heart.
Athena grimaced as her life seeped from her chest. Stop this, Joan. Stop putting yourself through all this pain. But even while Athena twisted her spear, tore apart the human's stomach, thrashed with mighty kicks that broke ribs, Joan's volund parted her insides on its steady march.
One final battle of perseverance. Neither the god nor the human would release their weapon. Each endured, for her beloved mankind she wished to save.
Joan planted her left leg by the goddess' instep to stop her kicks. Athena brought her other knee hard into the saint's side. A sharp, wet crunch of bones. She stomped, and flattened Joan's foot. Joan clenched her bloody teeth, grateful for the pain that kept her from lulling into that deadly sleep. She tightened her grip on the goddess' shoulder, leaning on her as a walking stick, and dragged her sword further, further, sawing through sternum.
It broke through. But the blade had not moved an inch further when Athena let lose a final kick that bent Joan's broken ribcage into her lungs.
Human and god froze. Blood streamed down their armor, mingling into pools.
Athena and Joan, as if of one body and soul, raised their faces and looked upon their opponent. What unspoken words parted in that final glance none will know.
Athena frowned and Joan smiled, but the two were united by one similarity beyond the blood they spilt. The tears they shed.
"It's over," said Zeus. "She's dead."
Heimdall rushed to the fighters. The two, both unmoving, stood with mouths open, teary eyes locked. Statues, frozen. Cold.
"L-ladies and gentlemen. Gods and goddesses. This is unprecedented," he said. "For the first time in history… we have a draw."
With that, human and god crumbled into flecks of glass. Their particles seemed to weave together on the winds so that one being both human and god had passed.
Göll wept as another sister disintegrated before her eyes. Humans and gods alike sobbed for the passing of their champions. Ares' lip twinged as he fought against the rising heat in his eyes. He swore that Athena's death would not go unavenged. Zeus merely sunk into his throne.
Scholars and saints felt they had lost and gained some enlightenment. King Charles and his entourage clasped their hands, to offer a prayer for their saint. Humanity as a whole had been condemned by the goddess and exonerated by the saint, but loved by both in equal measure. Joan's march was now theirs to carry on. Athena's love remained their burden to carry.
Brunhilda said nothing for the longest time. At last, she placed a hand on Göll's shoulder.
Göll wiped her eyes. "What happens now?"
"Our march continues."
The carpenter from Bethlehem looked to the ashes of the saint and the goddess. Smiling, he whispered a blessing on them both that only He would hear.
Round 5: Joan of Arc versus Athena
Length: 8 minutes 41 seconds
Winner: Draw