Dream Matchup
God of War and all associated characters and interpretations are property of Sony Santa Monica. Kingdom Hearts and all associated characters are property of Disney and Square Enix.
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The tournament went by faster than Atreus had expected. Not to say that his opponents were weak or anything; his third match went on for near twenty minutes, the last five of which he and his opponent, a Vanir warrior named Liv, wrestled on the ground.
But in the end, with an amount of disbelief his father would no doubt disapprove of, he found himself counted among the final eight.
As he'd expected, Sigrún, Sora, and Thrúd made it with relative ease. Sigrún fought as serious as ever, treating it as another one of her duties. Thrúd—and he loved her, no doubt—was unbearably smug about with her victories, especially after she'd beat Hildr to become a finalist. He'd noticed Skjöldr hanging around all her matches and given how she did her best to always been in view of him, she was no doubt showing off for his sake. Sora, as Angrboda predicted, was having the most fun of everyone he'd seen. He was never without a smile on his face, and though he didn't come out and tell his opponent 'I'm giving you a chance to show your stuff', it was obvious. The other finalists were Breyla and Birgir—which wasn't all that shocking, they'd spent years fighting the Aesir alongside Freyr—Geirdrful—who fought a pitched battle with Forseti for her spot that ended up with her breaking his nose and him breaking her wing. Given the wide smiles on their faces, Forseti having broken her helmet partway through the match, throughout it all, they might have been flirting—and, of all the gods, Vidar earned his place as a finalist. Despite the Aesir's martial history, he wasn't the most physical god. His title as a 'God of Vengeance' was more in the abstract sense, as opposed to him personally going out and delivering bloody retribution on behalf of. Still, he knew how to use an axe, and beat a Light Elf general into submission to secure his place.
Tyr and Father called for everyone to gather near the bracket board once more, separating Atreus and the other finalists from the crowd.
"People, we have our finalists!" Tyr called out to the crowd, who roared in approval. Even those who'd lost the competition were at least civilly applauding.
"The final matches are as follows," Father declared as he shifted the brackets once more. "Atreus of Midgard versus Birgir of Midgard. Sigrún of Vanaheim versus Vidar of Vanaheim. Sora of foreign lands versus Breyla of Svartalfheim. And Thrúd of Vanaheim versus Geirdriful of Vanaheim. The matches will take place in the order listed. Atreus and Birgir shall have ten minutes to prepare." He nodded at them. "Good luck to you all."
Atreus let out a breath as the crowd let loose another roar of applause. This was it. He and the other finalists dispersed, though Birgir came up and roughly tapped his shoulder.
"Ready, my friend?"
"As ready as guy that uses a bow and arrow can be against someone that dresses up head-to-toe in solid steel."
"You aren't using your father's axe?" Birgir asked with an arched brow.
"No," Atreus readily answered. "I mean, I could if I wanted to, but all the magic I know works best with my bow."
"Fair enough." Birgir crossed his arms over his chest. "It's why us travelers were all equipped with such large swords. The enchantments on our armor and clothing synergized well with them."
"Is that why I never saw a traveler with an axe or hammer?"
"Yeah. The enchantments we used worked best with swords." He frowned. "I guess they could have also worked with axes, but we had something of a central theme going, so there was no sense in breaking it."
Atreus nodded and held out a hand. "Well, let's give it our all out there!"
"Don't plan on doing anything else!" Birgir replied as he shook Atreus's hand. They parted ways, and Atreus took a moment to summon his bow and quiver full of arrows from his own personal storage magic. It wasn't as powerful as his father's—the man could fit literal tons of stuff inside it—but it was enough for his weapons.
"Not going to use your mother's axe?" Atreus jolted at the low voice and turned to see Grýla and Angrboda behind him, the former crouched low to stare at him. How had she—well, Grýla had to be quiet despite her size, considering all the animals she'd captured to steal their souls.
Atreus was never quite sure how to treat the elder Jotun—perhaps the only true 'Giant' left. Their first encounter was…not positive, but Angrboda had always been adamant, if melancholy, about her grandmother returning to her previous self. At the very least, she had stopped blaming his existence for the slow deaths of her son and daughter-in-law.
Atreus cleared his throat. "No," he answered for the second time in as many minutes.
Grýla grunted. "Shame. You wield an axe with the same grace as Laufey. It was…interesting to see it again after so many years." With that said, she rose to her full, gigantic height, and carefully made her way to the edge of the field—right in between two of the spectators stands Vanir mages had created for the final matches—where Fenrir, Speki, and Scanna, lay in wait. The undead giant wolf eyed her as she approached, and shuffled closer to guard his packmates, but stayed quiet.
"…I didn't know she knew Mother," Atreus said in wonder.
"Of course she did," Angrboda replied, as if it was obvious. "I'm pretty sure Laufey had met every Giant in Jotunheim at least once before she exiled herself to fulfill the prophecy." She smiled at him, leaned forward, and kissed his cheek. "Congratulations on making it this far!"
"Thanks," Atreus said absent-mindedly, still staring at Grýla. Maybe it would be a good idea to talk with her, one-on-one. Now that she didn't blindly hate him, anyway.
"…You keep staring, and I'm gonna get jealous."
Atreus returned to reality. He huffed and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Please. I'm just seeing what I'll have to look forward to when we grow old together."
Angrboda's eye twitched, cheeks gaining a slight blush, before her lips spread into a smile. "Then you won't mind if I do the same with Kratos?"
"Don't know if I could pull off being bald, but I've always liked his beard and muscles."
Angrboda scowled, before gesturing to Sora. "Ha! What if I stare at Sora?"
Atreus sighed. "We're not related, it's breaking this little game we're playing." He laughed and squeezed her tighter when she pouted. "You're really bad at this, but there's nothing wrong with that. I love you all the same."
She playfully shoved him away. "Just try not to eat dirt within the first minute." Atreus chuckled at her petty vengeance and made his way to the field.
Birgir, in full armor, a large shield strapped to his back and his sword planted in the ground in front of him, stood on the opposite end of the field.
Father sat in a seat of honor, Mimir resting on a cushioned stool to his right, on a platform that overlooked the field. The other finalists sat in specially created stands just below him. The audience was roughly divided into the different races—Elves sat with Elves, Midgardians with Midgardians, etc. But the different races were shoulder-to-shoulder each other within the stands, and there were some mixed pockets here and there. Overall, a good sign. Atreus was glad that opening the celebrations to all the Realms had gotten things moving in the right direction.
Tyr stood at the edge of the battlegrounds, a wide grin on his face. "Atreus, Birgir. Are you ready?" They both nodded, Atreus knocking an arrow, and Birgir hefting his sword.
Tyr smiled widely. "Then by all means. BEGIN!"
Atreus struck first, crying out 'Skjálfa', his arrow gaining sonic properties as he drew it back and loosed. Birgir stomped forward, using his sword to block it, and the other sonic arrows Atreus sent his way. Unfortunately, he should have been dodging them. When the fifth arrow hit his sword, a sharp, discordant boom sounded from it. Birgir jolted back as his entire body was engulfed in green energy, and Atreus darted forward, holding his bow by one limb and channeling magic into it. He ducked under a wild swipe and slammed his bow into the back of Birgir's knee.
Birgir stumbled forward but didn't fall. Still disoriented by the sonic magic, he swung wide, but constrained. Atreus dodged the swings and slammed his bow against Birgir's left elbow. Another slash, and Atreus wove around it and smashed his bow against Birgir's neck. The armor held, but the furious eyes glaring at him through the helmet told Atreus that he did more than enough damage. Birgir growled, finally shaking off the effects of the sonic magic, and held his sword in front of him, tip facing the earth.
Atreus leapt back, and summoned a shield for good measure, but he was still caught up in the small snowstorm localized around Birgir. The cold winds bit into his skin, frost blinding his vision, but he held firm, and was merely shoved back when Birgir ended his spell, an explosion of frost bursting out around him.
Birgir dashed forward just as the storm ended, unleashing a flurry of blows against Atreus's shield. Now, Atreus was on the defensive, forcing more magic into his shield to keep it from breaking under Birgir's heavy blows. But he'd made a mistake. He was so focused on the sword—which, to be fair, was massive and surrounded in a harsh glow—that he'd forgotten about the man wielding it.
Birgir slashed his sword downward, slamming it into the ground after it cracked Atreus's shield. Instead of lifting it up for another attack, however, Birgir, using a move Atreus had seen his father use on multiple occasions, shifted his sword forward like a lever. Icicles sprouted out from the ground, slamming into Atreus's legs and forcing him onto his back. He landed on his hands to steady himself, but it left him wide open for Birgir to thrust his sword down at him. He doubted his friend would skewer him, but Atreus would be hard-pressed to eke out a victory with the tip of his sword pressed against his chest.
Thus, hiding a smirk, Atreus lifted himself on his hands and held his feet out towards Birgir. He could see the man's eyes narrow in confusion at the move, only for them to quickly widen in alarm as a large shield formed from Atreus's feet and blocked the blow.
Not giving his opponent a chance to recover, Atreus called upon Flowmotion, springing into the air from the shield. He spun in the air and formed another shield about ten feet in the air, staring down at a bewildered Birgir.
"Woo-hoo! Way to go Atreus!" Atreus quickly looked to the side to see Sora jumping in his seat and pumping his fists in the air—somehow louder than the crowd roaring in approval. "That's how you use Flowmotion!" All the other competitors except for Sigrún—who'd seen Flowmotion in practice—shared Birgir's bewilderment. He chanced a quick peek at his Father and Mimir. The talking head's smile took up at least half his face. His father, as was his nature, was far more subdued. But Atreus had known him long enough to recognize the sheer pride shining in his eyes.
Atreus grinned widely at the praise and refocused on the fight. Still wreathed in Flowmotion, he bounced on shields in the air around Birgir as he rained arrows down on him. The arrows, wreathed in Flowmotion energy, pierced through Birgir's solid plate armor, small rivers of blood flowing down his body underneath his armor.
Birgir let out a loud roar of frustration. He held his sword high above him, a ball of blue frost forming at the tip. Not willing to wait and see whatever that was supposed to do, Atreus crouched low on a magic shield, and shot forward like an arrow towards Birgir. With a harsh shout, he slammed his bow into Birgir's torso. The man let out a strangled cry as his armor bent inward at the force of the blow, before Atreus's follow through sent him sprawling to the ground, his sword flying out of his grip.
The Flowmotion left Atreus's body at the same time Birgir lifted a hand up and called out, "I yield!"
The crowd exploded with applause, though none were louder than Angrboda and Sora. Atreus basked in the adulation, holding up his bow with both hands and laughing in glee.
"What a match!" Tyr called out above the roar of the crowd. "Let's hope the rest can live up to their example!"
Atreus let his arms, down, and walked over to Birgir, who was already being helped up by Eir and another healer. Birgir took off his helmet and sent Atreus a sly grin. "You got all sorts of tricks up your sleeves, huh? And here I was thinking the only thing I had to worry about was your turning into a bear or something."
Atreus snorted. "That'd be overkill." He held out a hand. "It was a good fight."
"Says the winner," Birgir snarked, though he did shake the hand. "But really, all that bouncing around you did—Sora called it Flowmotion, right?—was really impressive." Atreus crossed his arms over his chest and nodded along at the praise. "It'll do wonders when you fight Sigrún."
Atreus stopped mid-nod, blood running cold. "When I what?"
Birgir laughed, deep and booming, only stopping when Eir—having taken out the last of the arrows and damaged armor—started to direct him to a small tent for more intricate healing. "I mean, she's still got her own match but, well, we've both seen her fight." Atreus whipped his head around to the other finalists, where everyone listened with rapt attention as Sora gave a completely contextless explanation of Flowmotion, complete with wild gesticulations. Vidar was dressed in plain steel armor, a large, two-handed axe resting at his feet. He'd seen some of his fights, and he wielded his axe with a calm ferocity that even his father could appreciate. And then he looked over to Sigrún, who he had personally witnessed drive his father into the ground more than once.
…Yeah, he was screwed.
It was with that dreary thought that Atreus trudged over to the other finalists and plopped down beside Breyla.
"Tired?" the Dark Elf asked off-handedly.
Atreus just sighed and shook his head, choosing to listen to Sora's excited chatter until the next match. Which, as it turned out, was his own; him versus Breyla. He didn't want to disparage Breyla, but considering the fact that Sora was…Sora, he didn't like her odds.
The two made their way to the center of the field at Tyr's command and were waiting for him to call for the match to start.
"I can't believe I missed Sora showing off that Flowmotion thing in Vanaheim!" Thrúd said with a harsh sigh. She lightly kicked Atreus's shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me you could do that either?"
"Never had a chance to find you and chat," Atreus shot back, rubbing his shoulder.
"You were the one who insisted on secluded…training to prepare for this event," Geirdriful reminded her.
"That doesn't mean you don't come and find me when something cool happens!"
Sigrún chuckled. "We just assumed you wouldn't want to be disturbed during your…training. It was a lucrative time, no?"
Thrúd cleared her throat, fighting a blush. "Y-Yeah. Of course!" Given the way Sigrún, Geirdriful, and even Vidar smirked, Atreus had to wonder how secret Thrúd's 'secret relationship' with Skjöldr really was.
They were distracted from Thrúd's horribly kept secret by Tyr calling for Sora and Breyla's match to start. Breyla spun her spear twice before settling into a two-handed grip. Sora held his right hand out and summoned a Keyblade—Nano Gear—in a flash of green light, drawing appropriate 'oohs' and 'aahs' from the crowd.
"BEGIN!" Tyr bellowed, and the pair were off.
Sora struck first, dashing forward with a horizontal slash. Breyla parried the blow with her spearhead and swung the butt of it up at his head. Sora dodged the strike and leapt back, the tip of his Keyblade glowing red. He thrust his Keyblade forward, shouted, "Fire!", and a large fireball shot out towards Breyla. She fired her own magic blast from her spear, forming a large explosion when the two attacks collided. But Sora was much quicker on the draw and fired two more fireballs in rapid succession. Breyla's wings buzzed as she dodged the first fireball, and she leapt into the air to hover above the battlefield to avoid the second. Unfortunately, both fireballs looped in the air, and crashed into her back. She faltered, but stayed in the air, even as her armor smoldered from the attacks.
Geirdriful winced. "Oof, that had to sting."
"I didn't know magic could move like that," Vidar remarked. "I didn't even see him shift that weapon to direct the fire."
"Sora's magic is different than what we're used to here," Atreus supplied.
Breyla fired energy blasts from her spear down at Sora, who deftly blocked them all, save for a couple that went wide. Atreus recognized that particular move and knew that it was only a matter of time until they exploded.
Unluckily for Breyla, Sora also understood the danger, sprinting away from the magical mines seconds before the erupted. Breyla scowled and changed her grip on her spear in preparation of skewering Sora with it. But there was the sudden sound of breaking glass, and Sora, wreathed in the magical blue particles of Flowmotion, shot up towards Breyla like an arrow. The Dark Elf warrior scrambled back in panic but was unable to avoid the powerful slash Sora landed on her shoulder. Breyla crashed to the ground, and Sora, to the continuous shock of the crowd, stayed up in the air, floating in place.
"So, the rumors were true," Thrúd mused. "He really can fly without any kind of assistance. And there's that Flowmotion thing again."
"You really shouldn't have left Vanaheim when you did," Sigrún mock scolded. "So many interesting things happened while you were gone." Thrúd grumbled beneath her breath.
Sora aimed his Keyblade down at Breyla, the tip of it glowing blue as he fired shards of ice down at her. Breyla, clumps of dirt and grass stuck in her armor and hair, scrambled to her feet, batting away the first blast of ice. She decided to dodge the rest when a large crystal of ice formed on the tip of her spear.
Then Sora thrust his Keyblade above his head and cried out, "Thunder!". Less than a second later, Breyla was blasted by a giant ray of lightning that appeared from nowhere.
"Hey, that's my thing!" Thrúd good-naturedly complained.
"Such a blast would have impressed Thor," Vidar muttered.
Breyla fell to her knees, smoke drifting off her charred body, and held up her spear. "I yield!" she called out.
Sora halted his next spell—another thunder spell, based on the light gathered at the tip of his Keyblade. "Aw, really?" he said with a pout. Breyla stared at him like he was crazy—which was a fair assumption—as Tyr called the match in Sora's favor and Eir and a couple healers collected Breyla, who slowly staggered over to meet them halfway.
Sora floated over to the finalists stand with a great sigh and landed beside Atreus. "Can't believe she called the match short," he bemoaned. "It was just getting good!"
"You fried her with lightning," Atreus replied.
"She was still standing!" Sora crossed his arms with a huff. "Whatever. I just need to get to Kratos. That'll be a good fight!"
"Awful cocky, aren't you?" Geirdriful remarked with a chuckle.
"Nah. I've got a shot."
Vidar let out a bark of laughter. "You're really cocky!"
Sora frowned at the dismissal, but just shrugged and leaned back in his seat, hands clasped behind his head. At the same time, Geirdriful and Thrúd walked onto the field.
"This will be interesting," Vidar said as he leaned forward in his seat. "Who do you think will win, Sigrún?"
"Hard to say," the leader of the Shield Maidens replied coolly. "Thrúd certainly has more raw power, and tremendous talent, but Geirdriful has literal centuries more battle experience." She inclined her head towards Sora. "Either way, my young friend, you'll have quite the match ahead of you." Sora nodded, staring more intently at the pair as they readied themselves for their match.
Geirdriful flapped her wings and stared down at her hands, small clouds of mist bursting out from her body and dissipating into the air. Thrúd was inspecting her sword and mace, Mjolnir still attached to her belt. Atreus wondered whether she planned to use it at all. He shifted his gaze to Sora and Sigrún, before finally settling on Father.
For her sake, he hoped so.
The wait passed quickly, and Tyr soon called for the match to start.
"BEGIN!" he finally shouted.
Geirdriful acted first, pulling her wings back before quickly bringing them together in front of her, dark gray mist spilling out from her body and covering the battlefield in an instant.
Sora clicked his tongue. "Aw, man! We can't see anything!"
"Neither can Thrúd," Atreus remarked, wondering how his friend would deal with this. He recalled when he and Father had fought the Geirdriful, then a corrupted Valkyrie, years ago. Father had asked him, after the fight, what made her such a difficult opponent. Atreus had immediately pointed to the current tactic—covering the battlegrounds with thick smoke. But Father shook his head and said that Geirdriful's true strength was her ability to feint and misdirect her intentions. Which, he'd admitted, was very easy to do when surrounded by fog.
All they could hear through the mist was the clashing of metal and the occasional roar of effort from Thrúd. Then, blue electricity sparked from within the fog, and a windstorm erupted into life and blew the smoke away. It revealed Thrúd, her weapons planted in the ground before her, her eyes shining blue as electricity danced around her. It made for an impressive display.
Not so impressive, however, that it kept Geirdriful from decking her into the ground.
Sora winced and sucked in a breath as Thrúd quickly picked herself up and engaged Geirdriful. "That had to sting."
"It'll teach her to not grandstand," Sigrún said with a huff. "Even after drinking half his weight in mead, her father wouldn't have made such a mistake."
"Ah, she's still learning. She'll get it eventually." Sora replied. Vidar and Sigrún eyed Sora. "…What?" Vidar looked like he had something to say, but settled for shaking his head and returned his attention to the fight. Sigrún's gaze intensified for a moment, before she too did the same.
"What's up with them?" Sora asked Atreus.
Atreus shook his head in disbelief. "Just focus on the match." Sora shrugged and did so, just in time to see Thrúd stab her sword through Geirdriful's left wing.
"Eir just healed that wing," Sigrún muttered.
Despite the devastating wound—not helped by the electricity now flowing through it—Geirdriful did not scream in pain. Instead, she landed a solid punch on Thrúd's gut. The young Aesir grunted in pain, but pulled through, and struck back by bringing up mace and slamming it atop Geirdriful's other wing. Despite the Shield Maiden's attempt to pull it back, the blow struck true, and Thrúd used the chance to shove Geirdriful to the ground, impaled by her left wing.
With no small amount of respect, Geirdriful called out. "I yield!"
It was no shock to Atreus that the loudest cheers celebrating Thrúd's victory came from Sif and Skjöldr. His friend basked in the praise, but not before removing her sword from her opponent and helping her up and into Eir's arms.
"Not bad," Vidar said with a nod. "Nice to see all that training put to work."
"She has come far," Sigrún said, voice alight with pride.
Thrúd made her way back to the stands, a wide smile on her face. She fell back on a seat and rested her arms on the one behind her. "Hah! Now that was fun!"
"Oh yeah, skewering your sister-in-arms," Atreus said with a teasing tone. "Great past time." Thrúd reached over and flicked his ear.
"Why didn't you use that hammer?" Sora asked, gesturing to the legendary weapon.
"Didn't need to," Thrúd replied.
Sora hummed. "Well…you better use it during our fight." He grinned widely. "I wanna fight you at your best!"
Thrúd snorted. "Yeah, sure," she said dismissively.
Sora arched a brow at her but kept silent as Vidar and Sigrún exited the stands towards the field.
Atreus, wanting to ease the building tension, tapped both their legs. "Who do you think is gonna win?"
"Sigrún," Thrúd replied with easy confidence.
"Sigrún," Sora said resolutely.
Atreus and Thrúd turned to him, surprised. "Wait, really?" Thrúd asked. "I mean, I know why uou think she's going to win." Probably the same reason Atreus himself thought so too. He turned to Sora. "But why do you think that?"
Sora shrugged. "Just a feeling. You know, like how your hair stands on end when someone builds up a lot of magic before blasting you."
"Well…I'm rooting for Vidar," Atreus said.
Thrúd snorted. "I guess someone has to."
"BEGIN!" Tyr shouted, bringing their attention to the match.
Sigrún moved first, summing a scythe made of magic energy and slashing diagonally at Vidar. The god parried the blow with his axe and snapped his leg up to kick Sigrún in the chin. He followed up his kick with a vertical slash of his axe, but Sigrún dipped to the side and twisted, her left wing stabbing forward and hitting Vidar in the chest.
Sora sucked in a breath. "Doesn't that hurt her wings?"
"Nah," Thrúd replied. "If you look closely, you can see that she's got a thin layer of magic layered over her feathers." Indeed, they could see her feathers shimmer in the light as she flew into the air to dodge a low slash sent her way. "Used to be, when the Shield Maidens were the Valkyries, they wore specially made armor on their wingtips. But it played a part in the curse Odin put on them years ago, which soured them on the idea after Kratos freed them. Queen Freya helped them develop this instead."
"Cool," Sora said as Sigrún closed her wings around her body, multiple magic projectiles forming around her and firing down at Vidar.
Vidar dodged and batted the projectiles away. Then, in an odd move, he shifted his grip on his axe and…unscrewed the axe head from the shaft? After one full turn of the axehead, the weapon fell apart into two pieces—the axehead, separate and floating at his side, while the shaft split apart into a segmented metal whip.
"Ooh!" Sora leaned forward, stars in his eyes. "That's so cool!"
"I didn't know Vidar could do that," Atreus said as the god began his assault, using his whip to keep Sigrún at bay while his axe head telekinetically slashed at her. "Looks kinda like what Mjolnir, Ingrid, and Father's axe can do."
"More Ingrid and Mjolnir." Thrúd eyed the floating axehead as it slashed erratically at Sigrún, who flew in the air to avoid it and Vidar's whip. "Never seen your father's axe move on its own like that."
"Wonder if it can talk too," Atreus said, shifting his gaze to Mjolnir.
Thrúd rolled her eyes and flicked his head. "Mjolnir can't talk, Loki. It's not sentient like Ingrid was. I've lost count of how many times we've had to tell you."
"You saw it during that bar fight!" Atreus countered. "No way a non-sentient weapon could match Ingrid like that without someone directing it. And Thor was way too drunk to do that. And neither my father nor mother were ever able to use their axe like that"
"My dad also had Mjolnir for centuries before your parents' axe was even made. He trained relentlessly with it that entire time. He just had enough time to work on making it move without really thinking about it. There's no—what are you doing?" she interrupted herself when she saw Sora lean down to stare at Mjolnir and poke it.
"…Nothing," Sora eventually said, shifting his attention back to the fight.
Atreus leaned close to Sora and whispered. "Please tell me the hammer's sentient."
Sora's lips thinned into contemplative frown. "…Well, it might have a Heart," he whispered back.
"…What?"
"Well, it feels like—ooh!" Sora jumped in his seat and returned his attention to the fight. "I think Sigrún's about to finish it!"
"Wait, no. Sora, explain." Atreus's plea fell on deaf ears. "Sora!"
"Shh!" Thrud shushed him. Atreus felt his mind break a little—he suddenly felt a great deal of sympathy for Mimir—before slumping in his seat and turning towards the fight.
Sigrún and Vidar both had dents and scratches in their armor, and the former's wings had several bent feathers. Vidar's floating axehead wobbled dangerously in the air, whatever magic he used on it running out. Quick as a flash, Vidar snapped his whip towards the axehead, wrapping it around the handle and slashing at Sigrún, much like how Father used his Blades of Chaos.
Unfortunately for Vidar, Sigrún has a lot of experience fighting against the Blades of Chaos, and Vidar's mimicry was of a much lesser caliber. She ducked under one wide swing, grabbed onto the weapon where the blade met the chain, and pulled. Vidar stumbled forward, unable to stop Sigrún from rushing forward and swinging a magically formed scythe at him, stopping just before it could pierce his neck.
Vidar let his weapon fall to the ground as he let out a breath. "I yield!"
The crowd exploded in applause, Freya and the Shield Maidens providing the greatest cheers.
Tyr let out a joyous laugh as Eir and the other healers helped Sigrún and Vidar to the healer's tent. "And with that, my friends, we move onto the semi-finals! The first of which shall be Sora versus Thrúd!"
Thrud grinned widely and thumped Sora on his back. "Don't worry, buddy. I won't beat you too badly."
Sora grinned at the taunt. "Back at 'cha!" he declared, before leaping onto the field.
Thrúd rose and walked down, much less peppy, but no less eager. Atreus stopped her, however, by grabbing her arm. She turned to face him. "What?"
Atreus took a deep breath. "You'll need to use Mjolnir."
She snorted, and started to laugh, only to trail off into uncertainty when he didn't join her. "Damn…You're serious?" She shook him off. "Look, I know you like the guy—he's fun, I'll admit. But I don't think I need to whip out the hammer."
"…Your funeral," Atreus eventually said with a sigh. Thrúd stared at him, before shaking her head and making her way to the field.
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A/N: Part of me feels like I'm making Sora too much like Goku with how fight-happy he's being. But then I remember that when he was 14 he wanted to fight Hercules all by himself, at full strength. Plus, it's canon that he beat all the colosseum cups in KH1—and the Hades Cup only unlocks after beating Hollow Bastion i.e: after Ansem is maybe two steps away from getting to Kingdom Hearts and, as far as Sora knows, destroying the universe. So…I think it I'm good. Also, about Mjolnir *maybe* having a Heart: at the end of Dream Drop Distance, the data projection of Ansem the Wise said that puppets, trees, and even 'the petals on the wind' can have Hearts. Fucking absurd, but I'm running with it.