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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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Thrúd and Sora stood on opposite ends of the field. The former only drew her sword and mace to perform a last-minute inspection, Mjolnir hanging untouched on her belt. Sora stood with his arms crossed over his chest, alternating between staring at Thrúd, and looking down at his hand and summoning different Keychains. Eventually, however, he nodded, and summoned a Keyblade in a flash of green sparkles and red spirals. This Keyblade, well, it looked weird. Not as weird as Nano Gear, but still odd. The shaft was some sort of green plant with a small brown hat atop it, a red bandana just beneath it, and thick brown rope winding up it, coming to a stop on and around the teeth of the Keyblade. The teeth of the Keyblade was a stylized star, with a word printed on it that Atreus had never seen before.
The handle of the Keyblade was not at all like the blade, in contrast to the others Sora had shown off. Colored pure white, with blue highlights and a strange, winged symbol where the handle met the blade. He could just make out token off the handle; a squat, three-eyed creature in some sort of blue clothing.
Tyr stared at the Keyblade's shaft as though he recognized whatever plant it was supposed to be—and given his travels, he probably did. But whatever he had to say regarding the weapon, he kept it to himself. Instead, he stood as still as a statue, waiting for the ten minutes to pass.
Sigrún returned to the finalists stands with a couple minutes to spare.
Atreus looked her over. "Fixed up already?"
"Eir's good at what she does." She pat her breastplate. "As is Lúnda." She turned her attention to the field. "I see Thrúd's not using Mjolnir."
"I tried to warn her."
"Well, she's currently high on life. Better she crashes during this very low stakes tournament than risk injury during an actual battle." She clicked her tongue. "Well, even with Mjolnir, I don't like her odds of victory."
"Really?"
Sigrún shrugged. "I've only heard of Sora's prowess, and even if I were to discount the fantastical tales of his past trials, he has an impressive showing ever since appearing within the Realms." Sigrún started listing off on her finger. "He took down over a dozen Raiders on his own without a scratch after a violent magical arrival. He was able to wound Sinmara—the strongest being left within the Realms in terms of raw ability. He slew a large, monstrous dragon almost single-handedly—a feat only Thor, Baldur after gaining his curse, and your father can claim. That whole Dream thing with the Lyngbakr." She turned to stare at Thrúd. "It's not impossible, but, well, she's got an uphill battle. And for all her skill she lacks the innate mastery with Mjolnir that her father possessed."
Atreus hesitated a moment, before leaning forward to whisper, "Sora also fought Tyr to a draw. Rather, Father had to stop them before they went too far."
Sigrún's wings fluttered in shock. "…Thrúd can take this as a lesson in defeat, then."
Atreus nodded grimly, turning back to the field just as Tyr called for the competitors to get ready. Thrúd and Sora stood at opposite ends of the field, both wearing confident smirks.
"BEGIN!" Tyr bellowed.
Sora struck first, the tip of his Keyblade glowing bright blue as he thrust it forward. "Freeze!" he cried, and a massive crystal of ice shot out towards Thrúd, leaving a trail of frost in its wake. Thrúd leapt to the side and smashed the projectile into pieces with her mace when it swerved to her.
Unfortunately, during those crucial seconds Sora, his body wreathed in Flowmotion energy, slid along the ice trail his magic attack left. He reached Thrúd in seconds, and landed two solid, Flowmotion enhanced blows on her midsection.
"Flowmotion truly is an advantageous ability," Sigrun said as Sora performed a large leap to avoid Thrúd's slashing counterattack. "I have to admit, I'm jealous that he was only able to teach you and your father."
"Well, if you want to learn we'd have to—"
"Find some person or creature that's trapped within their own unceasing trauma and bring me and whoever else wishes to learn Flowmotion into the depths of their Heart." Sigrún let out a breath. "Mimir's spoken at length on the topic, believe me."
Atreus chuckled, but his next words were cut off as he sucked in a breath as Sora parried Thrúd's blade and landed a solid blow on her left shoulder. She swung with her mace, but Sora ducked under that and jabbed his Keyblade into her gut, sending her skidding back across the field. "Has he gotten hit even once during this entire tournament?"
"Not that I've seen." Sigrún hummed in admiration. "His defensive skills are second-to-none."
"Thrúd can hit him," Atreus replied. "She just needs to get clever. And not get—" He cut himself off with a wince as Sora spun into the air and hit Thrúd square in the face with the face of his Keyblade multiple times. He didn't draw blood, but Thrúd staggered backwards, face flushing with rage as she recovered. "And not get mad."
"A hard ask," Sigrún blandly remarked as Thrúd roared in rage. She clenched her weapons tighter, blue lightning arcing around her body and layering over them. She swung with all the force and speed of a winter storm, but Sora was just little bit quicker. He'd lost his smile, face twisting into a determined frown, but he still dodged Thrúd's mace and sword with all the grace of a dancer.
Thrúd disengaged with a growl, holding her weapons together over her head with a defiant shout. The air itself crackled with energy, strands of blue lightning sparking all around Thrúd. She threw her weapons at sharp angles across the field, sinking them halfway into the ground. They sparked violently, tendrils of lightning lashing out at Sora. The Keyblade Wielder expertly blocked the lightning. But he was distracted long enough for Thrúd to call Mjolnir to her hand with a snap of her fingers. With a triumphant roar, she dashed forward, and swung Mjolnir in a powerful uppercut that caught Sora square in the stomach.
Sora let out a surprised yell, electricity crackling over his body as he flew in the air from the force of the blow.
Despite his initial wavering on which of his friends to support, Atreus let out a loud cheer for Thrúd. The crowd itself erupted in applause as well—not that people were hoping for Sora to lose, but Thrúd had earned that blow.
All noise died, however, when Sora flailing through the air, suddenly backflipped, practically freezing in place. A burst of wind rushed out around him, and he dropped to the ground with a wide grin.
Sigrún gaped. "Uh…Was that Flowmotion too?" Atreus slowly shook his head. He had no idea what the hell that was.
"Nice hammer!" Sora called out to a dumbstruck Thrúd. "But mine's better!"
Sora thrust his Keyblade forward, the entire Keyblade at least doubling in size—the tiny hat at the tip of the blade bouncing up before landing on the blade again. The handle spun around as Sora pulled the Keyblade back, the blade shrinking into the handle—the top of which grew and spun and overtook the rest of it—as some…object appeared from thin air behind him. It was some sort of domed cylinder, with fire roaring out the back like a dragon's breath. The shape spun around Sora, before coming to a stop near the spinning handle. Sora drew his arms back, the handle and the roaring object flashing white as the Keyblade's shaft extended to slot into the domed cylinder, and a thin metal shaft shot out from the bottom of the transformed handle. Sora's clothes also changed, becoming bright red, Some strange, three-pronged flower—a lily?—printed along it's back. Around his sleeves and pantlegs were runes that spelled the word 'Strike'.
Sora, lips spread into a wide grin and eyes flashing with delight, stood before them all, a giant hammer held in his hands. Not that they had any time to admire this new weapon, because Sora pulled his hammer back, the open end bursting into flames again as he propelled forward, laughing with glee as he spun towards Thrúd like a top.
The young goddess let out a rather undignified yelp and dove out of the way. Sora spun past her, but stopped on a dime, and turned towards her. He twirled his hammer around into an underhanded swing, the fire from the hammer head boosting him forward and dragging across the earth before catching Thrúd in the gut, launching her and patches of dirt into the air.
Atreus chuckled nervously. "Wow. This…really got away from her, huh?"
Sigrún shrugged. "Even Thor suffered defeat before becoming Asgard's greatest warrior." She winced when Thrúd tried to use Mjolnir to fly away, only for Sora to use his hammer to ascend towards her and smack her back into the ground. "…Many a defeat."
Thrúd picked herself back up with a loud groan, her body crackling with lightning, Mjolnir absorbing and amplifying it. Sora, however, had different plans. He ran up to her and swung his hammer above him in a wide circle. It grew three times its size, the roar of the fire from the hammer's head becoming deafening. He let out a triumphant laugh and slammed the hammer onto Thrúd with enough force to crack the earth and shake the stands.
When Sora raised the hammer, Thrúd and Mjolnir were driven face-first into the ground amid the cracks left in the earth. Sora made to dash away, only to pause when Thrúd didn't move.
"Uh…Can we get a count going?"
Tyr, it turned out, had been counting since Sora slammed Thrúd into the ground. He called out 'Ten' just after Sora finished speaking. The crowd stared in silence for a moment, before cheers rang out.
"And that's that," Sigrún said with a sigh.
Atreus clicked his tongue. "How long do you think she's going to stew on this?"
"Assuming Skjöldr isn't able to properly distract her? A few months?"
"Oh. Are we not dancing around that topic anymore?"
"Only when she's around," Sigrún blandly replied as Eir rushed over, and, well, plucked Thrúd up like a vegetable.
Sora audibly winced as he looked the young goddess over, covered in dirt, bruises, and blood. "Oof, that's really bad. How is she worse off than when I fried Breyla? Aren't gods supposed to be super tough?" His hammer vanished in a shower of lights, his clothes returning to normal. "Let me fix that up real quick." He summoned his Keyblade, pointing it towards the sky. "Heal!" he cried.
Eir jerked back as an ethereal, plant with three orange flowers connected to a pink bulb underneath appeared above Thrúd, a circle of bright green vines and petals floating around her. Now, the crowd watched on in hushed awe as Thrúd's wounds and bruises disappeared before their very eyes.
"And he can cast extensive healing magic," Sigrún remarked. "Did you know that as well?"
Atreus slowly nodded. "Yeah, saw it in Muspelheim. He healed up Father after we rescued him from Sinmara. Haven't seen it again until now."
Thrúd groaned awake as the crowd erupted in applause once more. Atreus could see the confusion in her eyes, but Eir swept her to the healer's tent for a thorough check-up before she could start asking questions.
Atreus pursed his lips. "…Do you think Thrúd's going to be mad that healed her up like he hadn't just kicked her butt?"
"No." Sigrún replied. "She probably won't be able to stand looking at him for a couple weeks, but she's not ungrateful." She reached over and pat his shoulder. "Well, my young friend, out time is almost come."
"Yeah." Atreus rolled his eyes. "Promise me you won't beat me up too badly?"
"Oh, Atreus." She clucked her tongue in a motherly way. "You do yourself too little credit." She rose to her feet, and nodded at him, before making her way down to the field—Tyr directing some Vanir mages in repairing the cracks Sora made in it.
Atreus waited in the finalist stands, doing his best to calm his thundering heart. Sigrún…was tough. She could give Thor a run for her money. He'd seen her knock his father into the dirt more times than he cared to count. Maybe he couldn't beat her—especially since he was making a point to not rely on turning into an animal—but he could make her work for her win.
"Heya!" Atreus jerked in place as Sora sat down and pat his arm. "Woah! Sorry. Didn't mean to spook you."
"It's fine." Atreus looked down the field at Sigrún. "You're not the one I'm worried about."
"Hey now!" Sora lightly punched his shoulder. "You can beat her! Or at least try."
"Ha!" Atreus scoffed. "I wish I had your confidence. Course, when you can beat Mjolnir at its own game, what do you have to worry about?"
Sora sighed and thumped his back. "You'll be fine! I'm rooting for you!" He said, before leaping into the air and gliding away. He circled the stands, looking for a new seat. Soon enough, he angled down and landed beside Father and Mimir. The pair greeted him—Mimir exuberant, Father stoic, as usual. But the pair frowned as Sora spoke with them, and as one, they directed their attention to Atreus.
Atreus rubbed his temples—really, Sora? Still, when Father arched a brow in fond exasperation, Atreus felt his heart surge with courage. He took a deep breath, summoned his bow, and marched to the field.
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Atreus let everything else wash away as he focused on Sigrún, and only Sigrún. The woman stood still as a statue, shoulders hunched, staring down at him through her helmet. Unlike with Birgir, he couldn't hop through the air to try and gain an advantage. He'd have to stick to the ground, make shields above him to keep Sigrún form diving down and trying to cave his skull in with her heel.
Tyr moved to the edge of the field, nodding at them both. "Three."
Sigrún flexed her wings.
"Two."
Atreus drew an arrow.
"One."
Atreus nocked his arrow as Sigrún tensed.
"BEGIN!"
Atreus struck first, loosing his arrow while shouting, "Skjálfa!" Sigrún soared high over the shot, before forming a scythe out of magic and diving down towards him. Atreus dodged the slash—Sigrún creating a large gash in the earth instead—and summoned a shield to block the elbow jab she sent his way.
He called on Flowmotion, letting her attack push against his shield and shove him back several feet. Still wreathed in Flowmotion, he fired two arrows at Sigrun as he cried out "Auka!"
Unlike the regular arrows he'd fired on Birgir in his last match, imbuing his arrows with sigil magic in conjunction with Flowmotion could not pierce through armor. What they did do, however, was home in on a target. It had taken a bit to figure that out during the last week of training, but was he glad he did.
Sigrún was caught off-guard as one arrow sank into her shoulder despite her dodging to avoid it but recovered in time to catch and break the other one.
Atreus smirked—he couldn't help it—and fired arrow after arrow, aiming for Sigrun's wings. The Shield-Maiden flew through the air, batting away what arrows she could, but a fair few slipped past her defenses and pierced her wings. Not enough to ground her, unfortunately, but it certainly made her day worse.
Eventually, however, she flew flexed her wings, a wave of pure energy bursting out from her and knocking the arrows off course. She raised her left arm, magic coursing up her body, and then swung it down, the magic dissipating into the air.
Atreus felt a shiver down his spine, instinctually summoning a shield to cover himself from the fireballs raining down from the sky. His shield held firm, even as his vision was overtaken by waves of fire that wouldn't be out of place in Muspelheim, the heat seeping into his bones.
Sigrún, however, didn't stay idle. She dove towards the earth like a meteor, pulling up just before she hit the ground and zooming towards Atreus from underneath his shield. Recalling his lessons with the Giants, Atreus split his magic between both arms, dropping his left arm and forming a large shield to block Sigrún. Unfortunately, he severely underestimated her agility, because she banked to the side just before she would have crashed into the shield. Before Atreus could even think of moving it, she spun around him and landed a solid kick right in his ribs.
Atreus couldn't help the pained shout that burst past his lips as Sigrún launched him across the field, through a few patches of burning grass. Flames licked his body, but what his armor didn't abate, his godly vitality staved off easily enough.
Acting more on instinct than the scattered images he saw as he tumbled through the air, after he landed Atreus gripped his bow tight by one limb and imbued it with magical energy. He rose with an upward swing, diverting Sigrún's charge at the last second. She was too close for him to even think about trying to get away, so instead he kept on the offensive, jabbing his bow sharply at her to force her back.
Still, didn't Sigrún count among one of his father's greatest foes for nothing. She flowed through his attacks with almost contemptuous ease, before using her superior reach to duck under his last strike and land a solid punch in his chest.
Atreus let out a pained wheeze as he was sent sprawling, just barely managing to catch himself on his feet. Sigrún dashed forward, a scythe forming in her hands. He could feel his Rage building, his body's now natural inclination to shift and change begging to be let loose.
But he refused. This whole tournament, for him, would mean nothing if he had to fall back on his trump card. Well, his oldest trump card.
Quick as a flash, Atreus drew an arrow. Just before Sigrún slashed at him, he leapt backwards, calling on Flowmotion energy, pulled the arrow back—aiming right at Sigrún—shut his eyes, and shouted out "Skjálfa!"
All he could hear for the next second was the twang on his bowstring, followed by a sharp gasp and some kind of call from the crowd. After which Atreus's senses were overtaken by a deafening explosion of sound.
He was blown back dozens of feet, his eardrums popping from the force of the explosion. He rolled against the ground; his sense of balance destroyed as he willed his godly vitality to focus on healing his ears first. He opened his eyes just as his hearing returned and rose to his feet.
Just in time to see a still standing, undoubtably pissed off Sigrún dash forward and grab him by his head. He barely had a chance to let out a strangled yelp before she leapt high into the air and throw him face-first into the ground. He lifted himself up just enough see Sigrun's boot heel impale itself into the ground, inches away from his nose. Her other foot very carefully, deliberately, pressed down on the back of his neck—a slow parody of the same move she'd once tried to kill her father with.
"I yield," he squeaked out. Sigrún didn't move. Oh, right. She couldn't heal as fast as he did.
He tossed his bow to the side and held his hands up. Finally, Sigrún removed her foot from his head. Atreus rolled over with a sigh, and gratefully accepted the hand she offered him.
He rose to his feet, nodding guiltily at Sigrún, finally able to clearly see just how much she had been affected by his Flowmotion infused Sonic arrow. Bits of her armor was stripped away, her wings had lost dozens of feathers, she had open, bleeding wounds on her limbs, and her helmet was cracked and broken in several places. Despite all that, she chuckled, and pat him on the back. "You fought well," she said, full of pride, hints of a smile peeking through her broken helmet.
Atreus blushed at the praise, only to frown as he realized that he couldn't hear the crowd. He looked around and was taken aback at the sight of some sort of barrier surrounding the field, the crowd cheering silently beyond it, Tyr, Freya, and a handful of Vanir and Aesir mages maintaining it. They all lowered their hands, and Atreus was struck by a sudden cacophony of cheers.
Sigrún gave him one last reassuring pat as Eir, Freya, and the other healers, rushed over. Eir and Freya immediately took their shield-sister in their arms, while Atreus managed to push off the man that tried to look him over. He was fine! The only reminders of the fight on were the dirt clinging to his forehead and wounded pride.
"Don't try and pretend you're fine, young man!" Freya called out, face set in a scowl.
"I'm a god, Freya. I'll heal." Her scowl deepened at his words, but Sigrún stumbled in her arms, forcing Freya's attention back onto her.
Atreus head a chuckle from behind him and turned to see Tyr walking up behind him. "I don't think you should worry about Atreus, Freya. After all"—he turned to address the crowd, projecting his voice—"Sigrún is the victor, who shall face Sora in the final match of this tournament, for the right to face Kratos in combat!"
"I can't wait!" Sora called out as the crowd cheered.
Atreus shook his head and said to Tyr. "I didn't know you guys had put up a barrier on the field."
Tyr pat his shoulder and directed him off the field. "Well, considering your father, Freya and I developed it for when things would inevitably get out of hand." He snorted. "Almost didn't react in time for the explosive arrow you used on Sigrún. Thankfully Angrboda shouted in alarm when she did, otherwise things could have gotten…messy."
"Ah." Atreus rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry."
"It's quite alright. You are your father's son, after all." Warmth bloomed in Atreus's chest at the teasing compliment. He nodded gratefully, and walked away from the field, waving at the crowd as they cheered his name.
Unbidden, he found himself walking to his father, Mimir, and Sora. Sora leapt to his feet as Atreus neared and threw an arm over his shoulders. "That was an awesome fight, Atreus!"
"Aye lad!" Mimir called out from his cushioned stool. "Aren't too many people in the Realms that can bloody Sigrún's nose like that. Not even Kratos was able to break her—or any Valkyries'—helmets. Course, he didn't blow any of them up."
Father chuckled from his makeshift throne. "Indeed." He rose from his makeshift throne, stepping up to Atreus and placing both of his hands on his shoulders. He stared down at Atreus, eyes shining with joy. "You did well, son."
Atreus felt his face heat up like a bonfire. He turned away and cleared his throat. "Ah, c'mon. I mean, I didn't win."
Father grunted, his tone gaining an edge of admonishment. "Do not downplay your success. That you lost to a warrior with many more years' experience than you—after defeating many others that can boast the same—is no mark against you." Father bent down slightly to stare him in the eyes, a soft smile on his face. "You have made me proud today."
Atreus's breath caught in his throat. He gulped and reached up to place a hand over his father's. "Thanks, Father. That…Thank you."
Father grunted, before letting go and rising to his full height. He turned to Sora. "You should use the time it will take Sigrún to recover to prepare. She will be a tough opponent."
Sora clasped his hands behind his head and grinned widely. "Just how I like 'em! But I've got some ideas, don't worry."
"I was not."
Sora's smile shrank into a predatory grin. "And once I've beaten her, I'll wipe the floor with you!" He strolled away with an eager whistle.
"The lad wears confidence well," Mimir remarked. "Which, considering how often he's come face-to-face with soul destroying monstrosities and plots to destroy all of creation—to say nothing of the fantastical abilities I've personally witnessed him wield—isn't entirely unwarranted. Much as it pains me to say, he might actually have a decent chance of beating Sigrún. Especially after his showing against Thrúd—the poor thing." He clicked his tongue. "Not many people can take a direct blow from Mjolnir and just shrug it off." Father nodded solemnly.
"Yeah, I should check on her soon," Atreus said. "What was with that hammer, anyway? How it spewed fire from one end?"
"Ah! Sora told us about that while waiting for your match to start. He called it a rocket." He glanced up at Father. "Kratos has some experience with them, as it turns out."
Father nodded and sat back on his throne. He removed Mimir and his cushion—placing them on one of the armrests—and gestured for Atreus to sit down. He eagerly did so.
"It is a mortal invention," Father began. "It uses fire and explosives as a means of propulsion. It is not just limited to weaponry. Many objects can be augmented by rockets." He grunted. "The mortal Isaac Clarke had them attached to his armor to augment his movement."
"That's the man that insulted Zeus, no?" Mimir asked.
Father laughed—a hearty thing that just pulled Atreus in. "Regularly! He showed the King of Olympus neither respect nor fear. One of the first times I saw Isaac use his rocket-propelled movement was to, of all things, catch one of Zeus's lightning bolts and hurl it back at the god's feet." Atreus listened, entranced as his father detailed the various ways he'd seen rockets in use. Usually in relation to killing or destroying things, but Atreus wouldn't have had it any other way.
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A/N: Thrúd was…never going to win against Sora. But I couldn't just have her get completely stomped, so she got one solid hit in. Unfortunately, it just wasn't enough. Same with Atreus, but he had a better showing because, as far as I can gather, he's got way more practical battle experience than her. As in, during the three years leading up to the events of GoW: Ragnarök, Atreus was either training extensively with Kratos—Mr. God of War himself—and fighting monsters, raiders, and Freya on the regular. Thrúd spent her days in Asgard, training sure—with Thor, even—but…that's no substitute for actual experience.