"SET!" Armaiti screamed as she walked through the hall. Her pace and bearing failed her when up against the wave of violent emotions crashing down on her. Memories of her time with her student and friend played through her mind without end: their meeting, their promise to one another to support Manuchehr, Arash's first death at Damavand…and his second and last one in the arena. It took all her strength not to fly and strangle the one she saw as the catalyst for this. The masked god who forced their hand. Who had the gall to see and hear her coming, but turn away and continue his walk. "Don't you dare ignore me, you wretched sycophant!" She began to catch up to him, but Set did not stop or speed up. "Do you know what you've done!? Do you have any idea what you started!?" She grabbed him when he was in arm's reach and turned him around to face her.
"What do you want, Armaiti?" Set asked calmly.
"You know exactly what I want. I want to know what you did to fix the vote at the last Council."
"I have no idea what you mean. The vote was fair, and everyone with a say got to vote. I was even the one to collect your votes."
"I know for certain the rest of the Amesha Spenta and I voted for Humanity's survival."
"You did. So did many Gods and Angels. Quite a few, in fact…I track at least a couple hundred or so."
"A couple hundred? If there are so many, how the hell could it be considered unanimous!?"
Her rage began to exude from her like a fire, but Set was unaffected.
"Simple, really. There are two possibilities." Set said and snapped his fingers. A large, gold book appeared above his hand and plopped down in his palm. The title on the cover, 'The Valhalla Constitution, 432nd Edition', is embossed in black letters. Set opened it, skimming through the pages until he found what he needed. "The first possibility is this right here. Based on Article 67, Paragraph 9 of the Valhalla Constitution, the vote for Humanity's survival is considered 'unanimous' in the case of for or against at ninety-five percent of the whole voting body. Taking into account the gathered votes of all the Gods and Senior-ranking Angels, the total of your votes would only equal…four percent."
"You're joking," Armaiti asked incredulously.
"It seems people find a God of Chaos to be a stickler for rules to be a joke. I promise you this is not. Please take a look." Set said. He turned the book to show Armaiti. She looked down, expecting scribbles or something reflecting Set's supposed duplicity.
It was there. Written and approved by the council of the Chief Gods.
Article 67.
Par. 9 In regard to the vote for the survival or destruction of mankind, the determination shall be considered unanimous if the total of all valid votes equals 95 percent or greater of all gods in attendance at the council meeting. Absentee votes will be submitted within five business days or will be deemed null.
The sum total of all in attendance was ten thousand. The total vote was 9,614 'destroy' and 326 'save.' That's 96 percent if you couldn't do math, Armaiti." Set said.
"Don't patronize me."
"Fine then, want to know the second possibility?"
"Does it make a difference?" Armaiti's rage was beginning to fade. The situation dawned on her as hope began to fade.
"It does." Set turned the book back to him and flipped through a few pages. He stopped and showed Armaiti the proverbial final nail in the coffin.
Article 117.
Par. 12 Due to the Winchester Incident, the right to vote for the survival of Humanity is null and void for all participants categorized as 'God of Human Origin', 'Demi-God', or 'Angel'; see Article 10 Paragraph(s) 2, 3, & 4 for definitions of such parties.
Her rage vanished. It was there, plain as day. Her voice, and the voices of so many others, could be ignored without a fight. Human origin referred to gods like Buddha. Brunhilde, the Valkyries, and Heracles were demigods. She, the other Amesha Spenta, Gabriel, Michael, and others were Angels. What could she even do now? "As you can see, none of you have the privilege of voting anymore. It's for the best. You all were too invested in Humanity to see things objectively." Set snapped the fingers of his free hand, and the book vanished. "This was the only way for the vote to be fair."
The air became heavy again. The walls started to shake. "Fair? You took our vote and have the gall to say 'fair?'" Armaiti became wrapped in shadow, and her voice began to reverberate off the walls.
The pressure enveloped Set, but he stood firm. "Careful, Armaiti. I just follow the rules. I didn't write them."
"Then who? Who must die for what happened to Arash?"
An invisible force slammed down on Armaiti, sending her sprawling on the ground. Shadows began to envelope the hall, resulting in pitch black darkness. Footsteps echoed from behind Armaiti in the darkness as she struggled under the pressure. "Armaiti, you will cease this nonsense." A deep voice spoke. The pressure receded, freeing Armaiti. She stood up and quickly turned around to look, ready to fight back. The moment she saw him, her soul dropped. Staring down at her was a tall elderly god. His long white hair swept back and framed his wrinkled face, white beard, and his pitch-black right eye with a golden iris. He wore a plain black eyepatch over his left eye and multi-layered robes that draped over his body and stopped just short of his ankles. On his feet were open-toed sandals.
"L…. Lord Odin?"
Odin
Chief God of the Norse Pantheon
The shadows began to peel away and converge on Odin, and the hall regained its shape and light. "What are you doing here?" Armaiti asked.
"Odin doesn't need to explain himself to you. Chief Gods go where they-" Set began.
"I had a feeling you would make a move after that Human lost." Odin interrupted.
"Yeah! Someone like you wouldn't know when to mind your own business!" A voice yelled from above Odin.
Two ravens, one white and the other black, flew down and perched upon Odin's shoulders.
"It was just another Human dying, and yet you act in such a brutish manner!" The black bird continued.
Huginn and Muninn
Messengers of Odin
"Have you no shame and decency!?" Muninn chimed in.
Armaiti stood between Odin and Set. She thought of what she could say or do to keep the situation from getting worse, but her rage and pride clouded her judgment. "Brutish?" Armaiti muttered.
"Hmmm? Sorry, we can't hear you!" Huginn said sarcastically.
"Brutish…shame…and decency? You chastise me, you glorified parakeets, and yet the geezer you perch on is no better! How about you learn not to throw stones from glass houses!?" Huginn and Muninn were taken aback. Set continued to observe the situation from behind Armaiti, half-concerned, half-entertained. Would Odin allow this? Did Armaiti finally cross the line? Odin was not a god to pick fights with; among the battle-hungry Norse gods, he was not only their leader and their strongest, but his craving for violence and combat was unrivaled. Even Thor showed deference to his father.
"How dare you!" Huginn and Muninn yelled in unison.
Odin leaned down to meet Armaiti at eye level. His face contorted into a twisted, near manic grin. "Do you want this?" Odin asked.
Perhaps it was how genuine the question was. There was no sarcasm, no malice, and not even a drop of condescension within those four words. The only thing that existed in that phrase, and on Odin's visage, was anticipation. The anticipation of brutal combat forgoes rules and decorum. Perhaps that was why Huginn and Muninn panicked and flew away from Odin. Perhaps that was why Armaiti's life flashed before her eyes.
Perhaps that's why Set stepped in. Without either party realizing it, Set pulled Armaiti back a step and placed himself in front of Odin."As much as I am thrilled at the prospect of seeing you fight again, I must insist we keep these affairs, and the subsequent collateral damage, to a minimum. I will deal with Spenta Armaiti and save you the trouble." Set said.
The smile faded from Odin's face, and he leaned back to tower over the two. Muninn and Huginn continued to soar above the situation, terrified of the potential minefield below. "I will leave you to it, then. Make sure you keep good to your word, Set." Odin turned around and walked away, his ravens flying above him as he went.
Set turned back around to face Armaiti. White hot rage erupted from within his gut. "Are you insane!? No one picks a fight with Odin unless they have a death wish! What's gotten into you!?" Set said under his breath. The fear on her face faded into mild contempt. She turned around and began walking away. "It's not my problem if you wish to die alongside your pet. It becomes my problem when you start trouble like this." He had to spin this correctly to keep Armaiti in check. Despite their lower status in Heaven, Angels outnumbered the Gods over a thousandfold. Worse, Spenta Armaiti sat amongst the upper echelons, and her word was nearly as influential as Michael's or Gabriel's. If it came down to it, a potential Civil War could erupt in the middle of Ragnarök over this. A somewhat one-sided one, but a Civil War would ruin everything.
Armaiti halted at Set's words. She turned around slowly, with a look that could burn a hole through Set. "Why the hell should I care about your problems, and pet? Arash was my student. My best student and a dear friend. Do you know how rare it is to find such talent and character in existence?"
"About as hard as it is to find a quality show-dog in a bunch of rundown animal shelters. It's not my fault you got a bad deal and a wounded pride out of it."
Armaiti's patience wore thin, but her hands were tied, and the wind was pulled out of her sails. If she continued down this path, she knew it would do more harm than good and invalidate Arash's sacrifice. "I'm done with this conversation, and have places to be...it's like talking to a damn wall with you." Armaiti turned back around and continued to walk away. "I won't start anything, Set."
"I knew you'd come around!" Set said playfully.
"It's not because I know better. It's because I know Brunhilde will bury you."
Set was left alone after Armaiti's departure. 2-0. The Gods continued to prove their strength and glory in battle. Now, it was Brunhilde's turn to pick the challenge. Set's heart began to beat faster and faster at the thought. Dionysus' adaptation. Indra's intelligence. What would he send next to destroy Brunhilde's ambitions? Set's tablet began to beep. He pulled it out of his suit pocket to check what the notification was for.
Round 3: Snowdrift
Round 4: Quickdraw
"Not even waiting to see how your first pick goes, Brunhilde? Not surprising." He then saw the Fighter for Round 3. "HIM!?"
Deep within the halls of the arena, Brunhilde and Göll found themselves at the entrance of the hall of the Einherjar. Both stood in place, unable to push forward. They could feel it; it was not visible, not tangible, or anything of the sort. Rather, it was instinctive. The hall was filled with pure, raw energy that coursed through all beings who suffered and saw the suffering of others. Only a few words could describe it, with one being the most suitable in Brunhilde's eyes. Rage. White hot, burning rage. Brunhilde could feel Göll shaking next to her. "D-d-do we have to go down there?" Göll asked.
"Don't show fear, Göll. These warriors are not waiting for their turns just to see us come to them looking like fools." Brunhilde could not admit it to Göll, but the rage emanating from that hall shook her to her core. Did she underestimate how the Einherjar would react to the losses? Were they mad at her? Would they stay to fight? She pushed those fears, along with her grief for the deceased, deep down and made her way through the hall. Göll, hesitating for a moment before realizing her sister was going alone, tried to keep up with her.
Near the end of the dimly-lit hall was a large, single wooden door and the epicenter of the rage. Embossed on it were pictures reminiscent of smashed columns and slain men. In the center stood a single figure wielding a small dagger lifted to the heavens. "W-who's behind here!?" Göll asked, shivering. "This isn't normal, Hilde! We need to go!"
"Behind this door, Göll, is a man who slew thousands of men unarmed. He would walk onto battlefields, alone, and butcher the armies of his enemies. He…is mankind's avenger and the one who will win Round 3."
Brunhilde knocked, and the rage vanished. The entire hall felt eerily empty. It was coming from here!? Göll thought.
Soft footsteps could be heard behind the door, coming up to the entrance. A few locks were heard clicking, and the door glided open. Behind the door stood a tall, young, dark-skinned, handsome man with swept-back, long, flowing black hair that reached the back of his knees. He wore a plain, black, swallowtail suit, pristine black shoes, and white gloves. "Good day, Lady Brunhilde. And you as well, Lady Göll." The man said in a soft tone. "Are you here to see Lady Hlökk?"
Brunhilde and Göll looked at each other and back at the young man, confused by the sight. "What are you doing?" Brunhilde asked incredulously.
"Samson! The tea will get cold!"
The young man looked behind him. "Yes, Lady Hlökk!" He turned back to Brunhilde and Göll. "Please come in. She's been in a bit of a... mood since the end of Round 2. Please save me."
Samson
(Israel)
Samson pulled the door open and beckoned the two through. Göll and Brunhilde walked past him and entered his chambers…or what they thought were his chambers. Hlökk had commandeered his room and given it what could only be described as a twelve-year-old's imagination turned into a hand grenade and detonated in the middle of the room. The wallpaper was a pastel menagerie of pink, white, and blue stripes, the floor was covered in various intricate rugs, fine, ornate furniture was everywhere, and in every corner of the room was a mountain of stuffed animals. In the center of the room, sitting at a small table, wearing a haughty expression, was a young girl barely older than Göll. Her strawberry-blonde hair was done up in large pigtails complemented by her black, gold-trimmed kokoshnik, black and white dress, and indigo skirt. Pink feathers sat under her skirt, and her dress was held up by a black choker decorated with a red gem while she wore dress-matching poofs on her upper arms. Her slippers were a deep red, and black gloves covered her hands. The most striking part was her eyes, a vibrant red that matched her temperament and pride.
Hlökk
(11th Sister of the Valkyries)
Samson walked past the three into another room. The sound of china clinking came through the door. "So what brings you to my abode, Hilde? Have you finally come around to enjoying proper company and good tea?" Hlökk asked eyeing Göll.
"What's that supposed to mean!?" Göll asked.
"Nothing!" Hlökk responded, waving her hand delicately towards her younger sister. "It's just sometimes it's good to spend time enjoying the finer things…and varied company."
"I'll have you know-" Brunhilde placed a hand in front of Göll. Samson walked back in, carrying a white tea set adorned with indigo flowers on a silver platter. He quickly staged everything, immaculately, much to the guests' surprise.
"Playtime's over, Hlökk. You and Samson will be fighting in Round 3."
"But we just started tea time! He's finally good at it, too!" Hlökk said.
Samson just stood there, eyeing Brunhilde. "Lady Brunhilde, how did Hohenheim and Arash do?" Samson asked.
"No 'Lady,' please. Not really into it. They…" Brunhilde thought back to the first two matches. The struggles both Einherjar faced and the major plays they made. Then their deaths. "They fought well and died gracefully. Both of them looked satisfied."
"I see." Samson looked to the ground, then to the right. His chest swelled and shrank from breathing. "Please don't worry, Brunhilde. Lady Hlökk and I will begin preparing."
"But we just started tea time!"
"…after a few cups of freshly brewed tea, of course."
Brunhilde looked at Samson and then Hlökk. "Good luck to you both. I'll see you when you return. Let's go Göll." Brunhilde turned around and began walking to the door, but Göll stayed still. "Göll?"
"Hlökk…" Göll said.
"What?" Hlökk asked haughtily.
"You're a stuck-up jerk sometimes, but…please come back."
Hlökk was taken aback. "O-of course I'm coming back! Don't underestimate us, you brat!"
Hlökk's face was turning a light shade of red from her sister's words. Göll smiled and walked out of the room with Brunhilde. Samson inhaled and let out a deep sigh. "Must be wonderful to have sisters who love you that much, they're willing to put up with your antics," Samson said. His tone deepened, and his demeanor shifted.
"Some of them are such pains. Honestly, Mist was a worrywart over everything! Thrud kept asking for makeup tips because she wanted to be cuter. No way she…could ever be cute…"
"Hlökk, there's nothing wrong with mourning your sisters."
"What are you…"
"You put on a brave face for them." Samson walked over and kneeled to become eye-level with the young Valkyrie. "That's how a young lady presents herself to keep morale, but they're gone…so you can cry now."
Hlökk couldn't fight them back anymore. Her memories of her deceased sisters were too heavy. "Idiots…"
"But satisfied." Samson held out his hand. She grabbed it tightly as she cried. He could barely restrain himself. Two good men and Valkyries were gone. He could tell all three were in pain from the loss of their sisters, but he chose to stay quiet out of respect for their wills. However, the sight of them, combined with the knowledge of the fallen, ignited a deep, burning flame within the deepest part of his soul. An all-consuming rage that demanded retribution. Hohenheim, Mist, Arash, Thrud. The names of the lost became kindling for the wildfire that was about to engulf the arena in Round Three.
Set walked with a frantic pace down the corridor. The image on the tablet still shone brightly between his fingers.
Contest for Round 3: Snowdrift
Fighter for Humanity in Round 3
Samson
Why the hell is she sending him out now!? Set thought. I thought he would be one of her closers! Is she desperate? Is she planning something? Dammit, what!? Set was on the verge of sprinting. This is bad. Really bad. I have to use one of them now. Those damn annoying brothers. Only things worse than the father are his damn sons. He soon found himself in front of two large wooden doors. Set did a quick self-check to make sure he looked squared away. Satisfied with his review and relaxing his breathing, he walked in. As soon as he crossed the threshold, something slammed into the wall a few feet to his left. Set was too shocked to react and gazed over at the fresh new hole.
"Hey! How was that one!?" A voice yelled from a distance. A pair of boots popped out from the hole, with a pair of deep-blue pants connected to them shortly after. As if built-up pressure pushed him out, a young, shirtless god shot out of the hole and onto his feet. He only wore pants and boots, his pants held up by a simple brown leather belt. His head was shaved save for a tuft of blonde hair on the top, pulled back into a small bun, and he had a massive, well-groomed mustache wrapping around his mouth.
"Still nothing!" He shouted out into the distance, his voice gruff but light. The young god turned and looked at Set, his black and gold eyes piercing into Set's being. "The hell are you here for?"
Baldr
God of Light
(Norse Pantheon)
"Good to see you too, Baldr. Are you and your brothers passing the time with one of your usual…recreations?"
"Pretty words don't cover up insults, Set," Baldr responded. He then turned out into the distance. "Hey!" He yelled. "Get over here! The brown-noser's here!"
Wish he was as dumb as he looked... Wait, Brown-noser? Set thought.
"Whatever you have to say, it can wait until they get here."
"…Fair point." Set looked out into the distance in the same direction as Baldr and saw them. Two imposing figures were heading their way; one was clad in white robes, gold boots, and black gloves. His red hair was long and luxurious in contrast to the massive horse-sized hammer he carried on his shoulder. The other one, taller and with brunette hair tied back in a ponytail, barefoot, wore black pants, and his uncovered chest and left arm were covered in purple body paint. His golden mechanical right arm gleamed in the distance. As both drew closer, Set was not surprised by how drastically different they all looked. Different mothers and whatnot, but they all shared one thing in common: their father, Odin's, piercing black and gold eyes.
"Well, what do you know? I was wondering when you'd grace our humble home here in Asgard." The tall Brunette said.
Týr
God of War and Martial Combat
(Norse Pantheon)
Thor
God of Thunder
(Norse Pantheon)
"I'm just glad the threshold portals are still functioning properly," Set said.
"Heard the last time someone passed through one, it cut them straight in half. Looks like you got lucky there!" Týr said.
Set sighed. "…Yes, I did. Anyways, gentlemen. I am here because I need one of you two to go out and fight in Round 3."
"This early? I thought the two of us were for later." Týr asked.
"As much as I would like to keep it that way, the challenge and the opponent are a dangerous combination for us, and the moment I saw what and who, I knew I had to seek you both out."
"Is it him?" Týr asked as a smile started to form on his face.
"…No. It's a warrior named Samson." Týr slouched and waved his mechanical hand at Set.
"Then pass. I'll wait until he shows up."
Dammit. Set thought. He trusted Týr with this situation more than Baldr. Týr was a much better match than Baldr, all things considered.
Baldr did not miss the hint of disappointment in Set. "Since you didn't ask yet, I'll go," Baldr said.
"Really?" Both Set and Týr asked.
Baldr just jutted his chin out a little at the response. "If you're here, that means this guy's strong, right?"
"One of the strongest humans to walk the earth. He slaughtered armies all on his own, many with his bare hands. There are tales he destroyed one army with only the jawbone of an ass."
Týr's eyebrows raised at that. Baldr saw him. "Týr, you passed, so it's my turn now. You can wait."
Týr turned away from the small grouping. "Fine. Have it your way, Big Bro. He's all yours."
"Spectacular," Set said. He quickly punched in the information and sent it.
Contest for Round 3: Snowdrift
Fighter for the Gods in Round 3
Baldr
"Gentlemen, I must be off. Baldr, please make your way to the arena shortly, and best of luck to you." Set pocketed his tablet and walked back to the door. He opened it and went past the threshold, closing it behind him.
The three sons of Odin stood there for a moment, contemplating the situation. "I still don't trust him," Týr said.
Thor nodded silently.
"Speaks out both sides of his mouth, and too much of an ass-kisser to be trusted. Don't know why the Old Man's working with him." Baldr added.
"Be that as it may, are you sure you want to do this, Baldr? We don't doubt your abilities, but this guy's got Set worried. Plus, the last two rounds haven't been exactly lopsided. I heard word Dionysus is still in critical condition, and Indra just got checked in with fractured bones, ruptured organs, lacerations, and a busted eardrum. These humans are no damn joke."
"They're not, but that doesn't matter. If I can take a full-power swing from Thor's mightiest blow and feel nothing, then what the hell can this Samson guy do?"
"Good point, but still-"
"Týr," Baldr walked up to his brother, barely inches from him, and stared up at his face. "Are you doubting me?"
"No...I just don't think you should take this lightly."
Baldr turned around and walked towards the door. "Fine, I'll take it seriously."
He opened the door, walked through, and was gone. Týr looked over to Thor, who remained silent throughout the entire exchange.
"Couldn't even bring yourself to say a kind word or step in?" Týr asked. "Smooth and cold as always."
Thor looked away from his youngest brother. "He doesn't need anything like that from me. For me to say anything now…would seem like I worry for him. He knows where my faith in him lies."
Týr smiled. "Don't hear that from you often." Thor turned to look back at his brother, staying silent. "Shall we invite ourselves into Set's box and watch the fight?" Thor flashed a small smile. The two then turned to the door and made their way to give Set an unwelcome visit.
"Why did you call me here, Indra?" Armaiti asked. She stood over him while he lay in a hospital bed. The bed was set up to allow Indra to recline.
"I needed to share a word with you about your student," Indra said.
"If you're trying to rub more salt in the wound, then forget it."
"Spenta Armaiti, I'm sorry," Indra said without a shred of hesitation.
Armaiti stood in silence for a brief moment, trying to comprehend what she heard. "You're what?"
"I'm not great with words... but Arash was a man among men. In all my years... I never fought against someone like him. Not just in skill, but in warmth. Gratitude. Kindness, even. That was the greatest fight I ever had…" Indra struggled to speak the words, but he pressed on, "…and now I regret fighting him. I'm sorry for taking him from you and the rest of his loved ones. Looking back on it, he reminded me so much of my son and ward that a part of me wanted to let him win."
"He'd hate you if you did…" Armaiti said.
"If you seek vengeance against me, Armaiti, I don't blame you. I ask, however, that you please leave Arjuna and Karna out of this."
"I have no intention to seek vengeance. I also don't want an apology from you…but I'll take it."
"Thank you, Armaiti. Also, I need you to do something for me."
"What's that?"
"Stay away from Set. No matter what he does or says, do not get involved with him."
Armaiti's mind recalled the incident from earlier. "Screw that guy. But fine, I'll steer clear of him. Anyway, I need to go. Shah Manuchehr has been alone too long, and I'm sure he needs company."
Armaiti bowed. "Rest well, Indra."
"Stay safe, Armaiti."
The muffled roar of the crowd outside made Baldr's hair stand on end. He knew Týr was used to this, but the anticipation was brand new for him. Unlike any other battlefield he fought on, the arena seemed oddly overwhelming despite the familiar stakes. As he continued his walk, he made sure to touch his back pocket, making sure the Divine Treasure he used was there. The slight bulge under his palm brought a little comfort, but not as much as he hoped.
As he came upon the entrance, shadows crept out of the wall and ceiling. The hallway was slowly devoured until nothing remained but pitch-black darkness. Baldr stopped. "The hell do you want, old man?" Baldr asked.
The shadows immediately receded to the spot in front of Baldr, forming a tall figure that began to grow more defined. Color began to appear, and the form of Odin stared down at Baldr. "Are you prepared?" Odin asked.
"Good grief, yes. I got everything."
"Good." Odin stepped back a little from his son. "Remember what you represent, Baldr. You do not go out there just as yourself, but also a representation of- "
"You're doing this now? Really?" Baldr walked past his father, refusing to spare him any sort of eye contact or chance to respond.
"Stuff your pride and grandiosity somewhere, I don't have to suffer with it. I have an entrance to make."
Odin stood in silence as Baldr continued to the arena entrance, smiling all the while. "That's how you should be. Now win…"
Valhalla Arena
"Ladies and Gentlemen! We thank you for your patience! Due to the extreme damage caused in the last round, the arena required renovations suitable for our next bout! Behold!" Heimdall shouted. What was a deep pit in the last round became a smooth stone floor, even with the arena's East and West Entrances. The floor was immaculate, clear of any cracks or imperfections. The arena walls now formed an octagon with eight black, tall, metallic towers at each corner. In the center of the arena stood Heimdall, wearing a tuxedo complete with a bow tie. "Behold the amazing feats of Valhalla Arena's Construction Team! Within minutes, they turned an arena for archery into one meant for up-close and personal brutality!" The arena shook with the cheers from the audience. "With a close call in the last Round, the gods now hold a commanding lead of 2-0! Will they continue their dominance over mankind, or will the fangs bared at their throats finally taste blood!? Let's watch and see!" The gods in the audience yelled and jeered at the idea of mankind winning. Many of the humans continued their prayers, but some began to falter.
"Now, without further delay, it's time to start Round Three of Ragnarök!"
Heimdall pointed to the East side of the area with his free hand.
"Introducing the Fighter for the Gods!
From the distant lands of Asgard, he makes his way here!
Blessed with unbreakable invulnerability, he made a name for himself on the fields of battle for his unparalleled defense!
Could the Giants break through? Nay!
Could Dragons!? Nay!
Could even the strongest Gods in the Heavens!? NAAAAYYY!
Not a soul in all of creation could damage this God, hailed as one of the Trifecta of the Norse!
He now enters the field of his next great triumph!
Give it up for the Shield of Asgard!
Baldr!"
The doors on the East Side slid open, and out walked Baldr. His piercing eyes scanned the audience as he made his way to the center of the arena, the crowd roaring as he walked. "Now this…I could get used to." Baldr said, smiling. "Wonder if this is why Týr always does stuff like this?" He came to a complete stop right at Heimdall's right.
Heimdall pointed to the West side of the arena with his free hand.
"Introducing the Fighter for Humanity in Round Three!
In the land of Israel in the distant past, a lineage of mighty men and women called the Judges emerged to lead the people and fight their foes! Among them was this man!
His fierce strength made him a terror on the battlefield!
No army was too large for him to decimate!
No warrior is too strong!
No beast fierce enough to devour him! Even monstrous lions crumbled beneath his might!
He laid waste to many with nothing but his bare hands, save for one poor army who fell to a blade made from the ass' jawbone!
Amongst the fierce Judges, he was known as the strongest of the strong!
He returns to the battlefield once more to bear his unstoppable fangs at the neck of the Gods!
The Greatest Judge has arrived, folks!
Give it up for Samson!"
The crowd roared at the call, and many eyes peered at the West entrance, but the doors did not budge. "Huh?" Heimdall said. Heimdall looked at Baldr, who just shrugged. He looked up at Set, who gave no response. Suddenly, a heavy thud hit the doors. Another. Then another. Countless heavy blows slammed against the locked doors. The stone and wood began to crack under the pressure.
It went silent.
Everyone focused on the door, waiting to see what would happen. One last heavy blow hit the doors, forcing them open and clean off their hinges. Both doors sailed through the air for a second before landing with heavy thuds on the ground. "W-what are you doing!? You can't break the doors like that!" Heimdall yelled at the figure standing in the entrance. "We now have to clean those up!" Samson walked out of the hall and into the arena. He wore only a pair of brown pants and beige ankle wraps. His long black hair was tied in an intricate ponytail held in place by a gold hairband and pin. Just below the small of his back was a blade held in place by a leather scabbard, bone reinforced with a gold edge and leather wrap on the handle. He walked over to one of the doors. Looking at it for a moment, he grabbed it with one hand, dragged it back to the entrance, and set it back in place. He did the same to the other, clearing the arena floor.
"Good enough!?" He yelled at Heimdall, his cheeks turning red.
Good grief, these humans are ridiculous. Heimdall thought. "Yes, that's fine! Now hurry up!"
Samson walked over to Baldr and Heimdall at a slow pace. He stopped just a few feet away from his opponent, towering over him by at least 30 centimeters.
"Now that that's out of the way, it's time for the rules of the battle; Snowdrift! For those unfamiliar with this game, it goes by many titles around the world as the ultimate challenge of reckless courage!
1) Both fighters can move in any direction except backward. Both intentional and unintentional are counted. If hit that way by your opponent, it will not count against you!
2) Whenever a fighter moves backward, a reflective barrier will be summoned by at least two of those towers. Contact with the barrier will forcefully throw you back the way you came!
3) Each time you make contact with these barriers, the rebound effect will intensify! Do it too many times, and you'll fly straight into the arena walls or, worse, your opponent!
4) The last fighter alive wins the Round!
Do you both understand these rules?"
"Just a complicated game of chicken, right? Easy enough." Baldr said.
"Must be easy for someone with a handicap as big as yours," Samson said.
"The hell you say!?" Baldr and Samson stepped up to one another, nearly butting heads.
"Gentlemen, do you understand!?" Heimdall yelled while getting between them.
Both nodded and stepped back. While he lived for things like this, even Heimdall had an inkling this was going to be rough.
"No way, this was the contest for this round!?" Týr asked, full of excitement. "This is amazing!" He and Thor made their way to Set's box and sat down to his left, much to Set's displeasure.
"…Yes. I told you and everyone else about this." Set answered in exasperation. "That's why we discussed this, to figure out who would do best in each round."
"Would you believe me if I said I tuned you out?"
Set inhaled deeply. "…I would be surprised if you said otherwise."
"Týr," Yama said. "How certain are you that Baldr can win this?"
Týr smiled as he looked down at the center of the arena. "No spoilers from me. Just watch, Yama."
"Fighters, are you ready!?" Heimdall yelled. Both took their stance: Samson in Orthodox and Baldr Southpaw.
"FIGHT!"
At the moment Heimdall finished the word, Samson blitzed towards Baldr. Baldr was too slow on the uptake. Samson's curled-up right fist was clenched so tightly it nearly drew blood. Samson twisted his whole body to throw his weight into his right fist and slammed it right into Baldr's nose. The force of the blow displaced the air around Baldr's head for a brief second as Baldr's head snapped back. His body followed and flew like a bullet into the arena wall, caving it in with a massive crash. Everyone, indeed every God and Human, stared in utter shock at the crude but brutal first blow of the Round and its aftermath. "Get up. I'm not through with you, yet." Samson said.