(A Few Months Before Ragnarök)
"Afternoon, Samson! Wonderful to see you again." Hohenheim said.
"…Good to be back, Doctor," Samson said sheepishly. The two were sitting together in a comfortable room. The windows were open to let in the soft breeze and comforting smells of the outdoors. Hohenheim sat in his large, brown, cushioned chair while Samson sat on a matching couch, the softness of which he was not a fan of. The room was lined with full bookshelves set neatly in place, barely touching the light-blue walls. Between the two was an ornate black, wooden coffee table complete with a simple, white coffee set. Two cups of fresh, steaming coffee sat on the table.
"I was worried you'd refrain from returning, seeing how our last appointment went."
"I was out of line; I know you're just trying to help."
"And as I said before, I will not force it upon you. I would rather you feel safe enough to confide in me rather than feel compelled to say anything. However…I am not that kind of doctor, and I may have crossed a line with my ignorance. For that, I am sorry."
Samson was not used to situations like this. Battlefields, strategy meetings, brawls, and such were far more his speed. Even more discomforting was his company, which was recommended to him. Calling the act of someone apologizing to him with such sincerity off-putting was an understatement. "Doctor, please. I don't need the apologies. You and I are okay."
Hohenheim smiled. He leaned forward and picked up his cup, and took a quick sip. He swished a bit in his mouth before swallowing, letting out a contented sigh. "Wonderful. Also, as I promised, I made coffee for today. It's a bit richer than what I'm used to, but I think it'll fit your palette nicely."
Samson stared at him, barely moving an inch. Hohenheim met his gaze without blinking. His calm air flooded the room. Samson could not stand it. "Why are you doing this? You don't owe me anything. I didn't pay you, no one's making you. I pulled the door off the hinges last time I left. You should be angry with me." Panic started settling in. "Why aren't you angry!?"
Hohenheim sat back, holding his cup carefully so as not to drip any coffee on his white shirt. "To answer your first question, the simple answer is because I am a doctor and because I can. For the second, it's kind of an expectation when dealing with these kinds of things. Tough situations require flexibility and understanding minds. Was it annoying? Yes!" Hohenheim said, laughing softly. "But expected? Absolutely."
"So you knew this could happen, but still did it?"
"To sum it up, yes."
Samson looked down at the coffee cup sitting in front of him. Slowly, he picked it up and smelled it gently. The scent brought to mind cold mornings back home in Israel and the warm drinks they would partake of to keep warm. He took a light sip, swished it, and swallowed it. "That…is pretty good," Samson said, smiling faintly.
Hohenheim smiled with him. "Now, here's my offer to you, Samson. I have enough coffee to make a few pots. Granted, Mist would be on me like a horsefly saying it's bad for me, but this is one poison I'll gladly take to enjoy good company. We can sit here and enjoy it, or we can do that and talk about what's on your mind…or you can just leave. No hard feelings."
Samson looked at his reflection in the coffee. Did he always look so tired? "What do you want to know?"
"Anything you feel comfortable sharing." He did not know where to start, so Samson began talking about his time before arriving in the Heavens. How he discovered his strength when killing a lion as a child by just crushing its head in a hold, his recruitment into the army by his predecessor Abdon, his wartime accomplishments, His wives Timnah and Delilah, and the events leading up to his death. The rollercoaster of pride, shame, regret, and satisfaction carried Samson through his memories, with Hohenheim there across from him listening intently. Not once did Hohenheim interject. He knew Samson did not need his poking and prodding to share. Souls stuck on the mental and physical battlefields, at least in Hohenheim's experience, needed space to unload and decompress. He was not sure Samson ever talked to anyone about this, especially considering he did not tell his parents about killing a lion and eating honey out of it. Good God, Samson, what haven't you done!? Hohenheim chuckled mentally.
"And that's about it," Samson said. He leaned back and stared at Hohenheim. He was scared of what he had just done. He didn't know why.
"Samson," Hohenheim said. "I'm sure you're aware of your story in the Book of Judges, yes?"
"I am and not too proud of it." Samson looked to the side. "I fought for years and made a joke out of our enemies, but my story became a lesson in pride and its consequences."
"Well, from what you told me, it's not that far from the truth. A bit off-track, but close."
"What do you mean?" Fear started to grow in Samson's gut.
"Who did your people think of you as? Not your occupation or title, but you."
Samson dived back into his memories.
"…I don't know. They all adored me because of my victories, and we partied together. I had friends when I joined the army, but we drifted apart."
"You were a war hero, and one so powerful your enemies had to trick you to get to you."
"I mean, yeah."
"However, I confess I don't recall you ever saying anyone thought fondly of you for anything else."
"What do you mean?"
"I have no doubts you had admirers, but they seemed to admire the icon and not the person. Were you ever able to find affirmation in anything else? I hope that's not a harsh statement about your loved ones."
Samson pondered the question. "No…it's just I don't know. For as long as I can remember, it was always like that. My strength and wit were always what helped me stand out."
Hohenheim pondered on the response. "Samson, hear me out on something."
"What is it?" Samson asked hesitatingly.
"Even as a youth, you stood out because of your gifts. So much so, you may have over-relied on it." Samson tilted his head, puzzled. "If my hunch makes sense, your efforts to stand out amongst your peers brought you the attention you craved, but it was the only thing that mattered to many of your people due to the war."
"So…I am the cause of all my misfortune?"
"No…just a part of it. Your people found themselves in constant war due to their actions. It was one of the major struggles you all went through in the infancy of your people. They needed champions, and you fit the role well. As such, it became a feedback loop. You desired recognition, you gained it, your people got a champion, but neither you nor your people realized that you are not just your strength or your role. They are both parts of a greater whole."
"Those two things did nothing but bring me loneliness and misery in the end."
"Yes…but only because you tethered your whole identity to them and poisoned the truth of who you are. There truly is more to you than you know, just like everyone else. And I know a good way to help you do that."
"…Okay, how?" Samson had no idea where Hohenheim was going with this.
"My friend Mist is one of 13 sisters. A baker's dozen like no other! She's right there in the middle of them and sees where the dysfunctions in their relationships can sprout. She's particularly concerned for her younger sisters, especially one named Hlökk. One can best describe her as…"
"A brat?"
"Your words, not mine. It's normal for younger siblings to act out due to a lack of attention. Hlökk's sisters are all too busy with their work, and so I think both of you have something to gain out of you spending time with her."
"Like what, a play date or something? That's just weird, Doctor."
"More like a big brother or mentor kind of relationship. When we're responsible for others, it teaches us about ourselves. I think with this change of roles, you'll figure a few things out. What do you say?"
He wanted to say no. It sounded like glorified babysitting, and Hlökk sounded like the type of kid you'd leave someone with for torture. However, Samson conceded. He took on the role of big brother, then butler, after scaring Hlökk during their first interaction. He was terrible at it. Not much good a soldier could do in such a situation, but he learned. He soon mastered etiquette, tea-making, baking, and grooming. Just in time for Brunhilde to meet with him and request his participation in Ragnarök.
Samson took a few deep breaths and began running towards his dagger. Baldr jumped in between them and sprinted towards Samson. Blood dripped from the inside of his gloves as he ran, something Samson took note of. Both fighters ran through every possible scenario of how the next clash would go. Just before Samson was in Baldr's range, he recalled a tactic he used earlier. Changing it up a bit, he dived to the ground and rolled up. Baldr could not react in time, and his legs collided with Samson's sturdy frame. Samson could feel his opponent flop over him and took the opportunity. He quickly jumped up and sprinted towards his dagger. Baldr was hot on his trail. Just before he touched the floor, Baldr landed palm-first on his left hand. He twisted his body mid-fall, aided by the twisting and grinding of his glove, and landed on his feet and immediately sprinted after Samson. "Damn it, I thought that would work!" Samson shouted.
"You're almost there!" Hlökk shouted. Her voice was tinged with panic. Baldr was catching up again. Samson figured adrenaline was keeping him up and helping him ignore the pain from his gloves. Samson leaned over and scooped up his dagger, swiping it behind him. Baldr stopped just in the nick of time to avoid a cut across the eyes. The swipe spun Samson around to face his opponent, and the two came to a halt. Their bodies lurched and shifted from heavy breathing, both bleeding heavily. The last sprint put both of them on empty, and now the endgame was upon them. Neither knew who would win: the grinding spiral or the razor-sharp bone. Not a single word passed between the two as they caught their breath.
I've never fought someone who can do what you, Samson. These gauntlets...I don't know if they can hold up against that weird power of yours...Baldr pondered. As long as I avoid that dagger, though, this match is mine! The two crept slowly towards each other. Their breathing, for the first time in the match, synced up. Neither had reached this level before against an opponent. The strain, their aching muscles and joints, their lungs begging for relief. However, for the first time in their lives, they began to feel pure elation, unlike anything they had ever felt before. No woman, no food, no drink, nothing had ever caused them to feel this type of joy. Only near-death combat against a powerful opponent could birth such an emotion. The emotion began to grow within them both and turned into a powerful, unstoppable high, forcing two involuntary actions.
Uncontrollable smiling and loud roaring. The two attacked. Samson started with a quick thrust, and Baldr a jab. The gauntlet and dagger sent out sparks as they clashed and flew past each other. Baldr twisted his hand open at the strike and tried to scrape at Samson's face. Samson barely ducked under it and took a quick slash at Baldr's left ribs. Baldr pulled his arm back as quickly as he could to get in between his ribs and the blade's edge. The blade sparked against the gauntlet once more as it passed, failing to make contact with Baldr. Baldr wanted to scream with pure joy. I can stop it! He thought. Now, he had the momentum. Baldr began throwing more quick jabs and threw a few crosses in the mix. Samson had no choice but to parry each blow with his dagger, lest he take more severe damage. Sparks flew with each clash, and with every blow, the speed picked up. Both fighters lost their ability to focus on the pain and poured every ounce of non-existent energy and attention into their blows. Samson's blade failed to cut into Baldr, but Baldr's fists could not reach Samson.
"Sparks are flying down here, everyone! Both fighters looked like dead men walking, but they were fighting like it was the start of the match! How are they doing this!?" Heimdall shouted.
"That would happen a lot back in the day," Abdon said. "He'd walk out onto the battlefield and fight until his body gave out."
"How long could he go for?" Shamgar asked.
"On a full belly and rest? Three whole days, non-stop. Now? He's running on empty. He'll be down before long if he can't kill that god soon."
"What a beast."
"Not at all. Just a man fighting for the people behind him."
"Hmmm?"
"One of my biggest failures with him. I turned him into a weapon motivated by his desire for approval. I tried to teach him it's not about that, but the people back home who cannot fight. We're protectors, not weapons. Many cowards within the army'd rather give up and join the enemy or just run away. Not Samson. When everyone would refuse to fight, he went alone…and won."
"How confident are you that he'll win this?"
Abdon looked over to his predecessor. "Without a doubt."
"Have you ever seen Baldr that happy before, Thor?" Týr asked. He could not bring himself to pull his gaze away from his brother.
Thor shook his head. "…Me neither. Thor…are we…are we awful brothers?" Thor looked at Týr, confused. "He was never that happy when he was with us. Is that our fault?"
"No." Týr sat in silence, hoping for an explanation. "Stop worrying about him. He's down there fighting with everything he has." Týr sighed and continued to look on. The event below continued to fill him with regret.
"Samson! We're in trouble!" Hlökk shouted. Samson knew what she was referring to. The dagger was holding up far better than Samson anticipated, but the prolonged struggle began to take effect. Cracks began to show along the edge, and each new blow and parry made them grow. He was running out of time. He made his last-ditch move. Baldr threw a quick jab aimed at Samson's chest, but Samson took the risk and caught Baldr's forearm in his left hand. The sleeve of the gauntlet reverberated and ground against his palm. He squeezed a little tighter to hold onto Baldr and raised his right hand far above his head. Baldr caught on to what he was doing. His left hand was already loaded to fire from the movement of his jab. He twisted his hips and back, firing his left hand straight at Samson's stepped into Baldr's frame, the punch glided off the back of his arm and right delt, tearing away skin. He pulled Baldr's right arm away from his body, shifting Baldr off-balance, and created an opening at Baldr's left clavicle. Samson dropped his hand and dagger down like a bolt of lightning. Enough force existed behind that cut to cleave anything in front of it in two.
Except Baldr's gauntlet. I KNEW YOU'D TRY THAT AGAIN! Baldr screamed in his head. Just before the moment his left arm would straighten out, Baldr snapped it back and placed it right in the path of Samson's dagger. The gauntlet and the dagger screamed as they made contact, and more sparks flew out. Samson put all his strength into the strike, and Baldr placed all of his strength into his legs and back to keep himself upright. A loud crack popped out, and the blade of Samson's dagger shattered. His arm continued down; his momentum got the better of him. Baldr saw him heading down. Twisting his left arm straight up, he followed behind Samson with a brutal hammer fist aimed straight at the back of Samson's head. "I'll crush your skull to dust! Crushing Hoof of Authulma!" Baldr roared. The world went quiet…everyone in the crowd held their breath. Brunhilde, Göll, and Li watched in horror as they were about to be down another Einherjar and even further behind in Ragnarök. Despair loomed over humanity. Many in the crowd felt hope drain from their bodies. Abdon and Shamgar gasped in horror. Even the Philistines within the crowd were horrified by the sight, including two women who would rather see Samson die if the situation were different.
Samson could hear the whirring sound growing closer and closer. Time began to slow to a crawl around him. Memories flooded back in. Guess this is what they call 'life flashing before your eyes' or something. Samson thought. Ah, damn. He continued. I wanted to win…
Everything went black.
"Oi, Samson!" Abdon called out.
A young Samson, barely above ten years old and wearing a brown robe, ran towards his teacher in a field.
"Yes, Sir!" Samson yelled loudly.
"Ready to continue training?"
"Yes, Sir!" The two would spar for hours on end when there was an opportunity. Samson proved too strong for almost anyone, including most of the adult soldiers, to fight and train with. Abdon was a rare exception, but even he knew before long that Samson would outmatch him.
Why the hell am I remembering this now? Samson thought. God, I hated those days. Stupid old coot would fight me until I could barely stand.
Hours flew by in the blink of an eye, and the two finished their training just before sunset. Abdon sat down in front of an exhausted Samson, sprawled out on the ground. "Now that's how you do it, boy!" Abdon yelled, smiling.
"Shut up, you old fart," Samson said gasping for air.
"Total of seven hours, with breaks for eating. Probably your best yet."
"Who fights for seven hours!?"
"We do," Abdon said, stone-faced. Samson was taken aback by the sudden change. "I'm the Judge. One day, you'll be the Judge. It's our mission to lead and fight for our people. To do that, we must train harder, fight longer, eat more, and sleep like there's no tomorrow. For many of us, there is no tomorrow."
"You take this way too seriously, Abdon," Samson said, twiddling with his hair in his fingers.
"Probably do, but our people need us. Your parents, my family, and everyone down there below us at camp. We have to be the example that our people compare themselves to, in the hopes they become as strong and determined as us."
"Pfft, if that were the case, then this war would be over already."
"You may be right, but it isn't, and so we carry forth. Until the day comes and you're ready to lead, we will continue your training. When that day comes…you'll still be training!" Abdon said, laughing.
That day never came. Samson thought. You died in battle before you finished training me. And I became this. In that darkness…that empty solitary darkness…Samson finally broke. "Why the hell did you die, you damn old fart!? Why are all the good people dying, and I'm still here!?" Sam screamed into the abyss. "That damn annoying Doctor! That stupid, happy-go-lucky Archer. So damn…so damn stupid…why did they die and I'm still here!?" He received nothing but silence. "Answer me, damn it!"
"If you wanted a damn answer, ask politely." A familiar voice said behind him. Samson turned around to see a familiar face: Abdon. "If being good meant you'd live forever and being bad meant instant death, why the hell have laws and such?" Abdon asked. Samson stood in silence. "That's not the real question you need to ask."
"Of course it is! It's the same damn question that's sat there in the back of my head since you died!"
"So? Doesn't make it the real question."
"Then what is?"
"It's really two. Do you deserve to live, and do you deserve the chance to seek joy?"
"What?"
"Not 'what,' you slack-jawed halfwit. The two I said. Just so you know, the answer is yes. Stop beating yourself up. Stop comparing yourself to me and everyone else. You're not a damn weapon, you're a person. A dumb one at least, but a person. Just like those two, and just like me."
"Easier said than done."
"When has that ever stopped you?" Samson could not find the words to say. He wanted to refute him, but Abdon knew him too well. "It's not a village or a people anymore, Samson. It's our entire species. If that doesn't motivate you, remember that the kid's life depends on you. Now get out of your way for a bit and win this one."
"Yes, Sir…"
"Besides, the dagger wasn't the Völund anyway, was it?"
Samson's focus returned. Shifting his left foot ever so slightly, Samson twisted his head out of the way of the hammer fist. Letting go of Baldr's right arm, Samson pulled his left in tight and clenched his fist. He was too close to generate enough power to finish the match, but he knew it would be enough to give him space and pressure Baldr. Just before he could counter, the air around the two became heavy. Samson's heart went into overdrive, beating faster and faster. His muscles grew under his skin, and his bones hardened. Feeling the power swell through him, Samson fired a short, sharp left blow towards Baldr's ribs. Baldr got his arm in front of it just in time. It did little to stop the blow. Baldr felt the force surge through his body and out of his back. His arm and ribs cracked under the force, the blow lifting him off his feet. He sailed through the air once more but managed to get his feet under him before landing, stumbling lightly.
Baldr shook his arm. Nothing was broken, but the sight in front of him sent chills down his spine. The air around Samson grew heavy, but his body seemed eerily light. His breathing slowed and calmed, and his eyes focused on Baldr. His wounds from before still bled, but Samson paid them no mind. What…what the hell happened!? Baldr thought. I destroyed his dagger! I destroyed his Völund. How could his punch even hurt me!? How is this happening!? A thought popped into Baldr's head. He…never needed the dagger. Hlökk's not the dagger! What is she then!?
Samson's hair rose and came undone, the golden band shining as it melded into his hair. Waves of hair flowed all around Samson's back. It was soft and moved like water. "Hlökk, one more time, please." The golden strands hiding amongst his hair took control and weaved Samson's hair into ten long braids, one wrapped around the other nine. The golden strands weaved through his hair and reformed back into the hairpin, holding it all in place.
"She was the hairpin!?" Baldr screamed out loud. His eyes were wide with panic and incredulity.
"Never said the dagger was the Völund, did I?" Samson asked, smiling. The outcome was nothing that Baldr expected. He put too much stock into the theory that Samson's weapon was the Völund. None of his attacks harmed him before Samson started to use the dagger, but he failed to notice that a few stabs from the blade were used before the initial cut. He pondered that it may have been a simple build-up of the effect to bypass his protection. The idea that it was just a normal weapon never crossed his mind, and now the oversight forced him into the worst possible situation.
An even stronger Samson. One that possessed skill near Týr's level, wit that rivaled Baldr's, and now, based on the pressure and the last blow, might that rivaled Thor. Baldr could not possibly be happier. "Finally…finally! The ultimate test is before me!" Baldr planted his feet firmly down and threw himself back. Four towers activated, and the barrier appeared behind Baldr. Baldr's entire body reverberated, but his planted feet kept him in place. "I'm coming for you, Samson! Get ready!" Baldr clenched his fists tightly, forcing blood out of the cuffs. The skin of the gauntlets squealed faster and faster.
Samson said nothing. He did just as Baldr did; planting his firmly in the ground, he threw himself back. The other four towers formed a new barrier behind him, and he began to reverberate as well. "Sorry, but I'm not waiting for you!"
"Göll," Brunhilde said. "Don't look away. Samson finally reached his full strength and has become the strongest form of the Blade of Certain Death's Vow. He and Hlökk are putting their lives on the line with this move."
Göll tried to avoid her sister's awareness, but she caught on to Göll turning away from the fight. "It's too much, Sis. Why are they going so far? They're both close to dying!"
"Göll," Li said. "Let your sister focus."
"But-"Li placed a hand on her shoulder.
"The two warriors down there have reached the pinnacles of their strength, even in such a poor state. They're fighting to not only win but also validate themselves. I ask you to respect their effort. Respect your sister, and watch the match until it ends." Göll couldn't argue with him. He was softer than he was before. Maybe the fight resonated with him. She followed their lead and watched.
Both fighters waited. Neither wanted to act too early nor act recklessly. The reverberations coursed through their bodies. Blood flowed from their wounds. It was then that it happened again. Their breathing synced, and their bodies swelled and shrank at the same pace. Both took one last deep breath. Both raised their feet and shot off. Two high-speed blurs shot towards the other. Their fists are ready. The ground beneath them shook as they passed, and loose gravel flew away. Despite the velocity, both Samson and Baldr were able to keep track of the closing distance. The timing had to be perfect. Too short or too far, they would fail to deal the decisive blow.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer…
Both fighters raised their dominant hands back as their lead feet slammed into the ground. Both entered their ideal range. The last ounces of strength combined with the kinetic force generated from stomping their feet twisted their bodies with so much force that anyone watching knew that being in front of just one of them was a death sentence.
"Twin Spiraling Horns of Authulma!"
"Peerless Blow of Certain Death!"
Baldr's left cross, holding the dreams of a god who wished more than anything to be seen as a respected peer by his Brothers and held to their prestige, soared. Samson's right, holding the duty of a Judge, the trust of his newest friend, and the desire to protect his people, flew. Neither fist aimed at the other person. Rather, their fists flew towards the other. They knew that trying to aim for the other would leave them open to a counter. They must destroy the weapons of their respective foe. Their fists clashed. Their faces were contorted by pure and raw fury. Knuckle to knuckle, Baldr's gauntlets drilled into Samson's clenched fist. He could feel his arm propelling forward, victory finally in his grasp. He couldn't feel any pain from the collision. He could see what was happening. Samson's fist...smashed through Baldr's hand. His bones and flesh gave way, the gauntlets tearing as Samson's attack pierced through his arm. Everything below the bicep was gone. Blood and flesh caked both fighters.
Baldr did not hesitate. A single opening appeared. Twisting his body back to the left, Baldr fired a sharp right uppercut straight for Samson's chin. Samson saw it in his peripheral vision and made the same movement to his right, firing his left hook straight into Baldr's right. Samson's fist erupted through Baldr's arm, severing it at the elbow. Samson twisted back to the left, pulling his right arm in as he spun for his last blow. Ahh...so this is how it ends... Baldr thought. Not too shabby... Samson saw something, but he couldn't stop. He threw his final blow… but slowed down and gently tapped his open palm and fingers on Baldr's chest. "I win," Samson said softly, smiling.
"What?" Baldr asked.
"After the second strike…" Samson saw him lower his head and shut his eyes. "You closed your eyes."
"Huh…figured it was over. Would have been a good way to go..." Baldr smiled, his breathing growing shallow.
"Sorry, but I don't feel like giving you the death you want. I've done enough."
"Why...why are you doing this?"
"I've got to set a good example. For my people, and my 'little sister.' Someone has to!" Samson's smile grew wider. Samson didn't want it to show, but all the energy in Baldr's body was gone. The rune vanished, and the only thing keeping Baldr standing was Samson's hand holding him in place. "Besides, you shouldn't waste your breath on me. Go use it on someone who matters."
Baldr took one deep breath and stepped away from Samson. No barrier appeared. Baldr took it as a sign he was losing time. He knew where the people he valued most were. Barely able to hold himself up, he walked and trailed blood from his injuries.
Baldr sat in a white hospital room, reading. Next to him was an elaborate bed occupied by a tall, brunette man missing an arm and heavily bandaged. Save for the turning of pages and the beeping of machines, the room was silent. Baldr sat there for hours, days, even. He felt it was improper of him to leave after making the effort to get his brother, near death at the hands of the giants, off the battlefield and stable. He thought he had better things to do, but this was far more important.
It was at this time that Týr began to stir. "Where…where am I?"
"Back in Asgard, resting after surgery."
"What happened?"
"The giants got you and your forces. I managed to get in and save you, but by the time I arrived, they had already taken your arm."
Týr looked over to the stump where his right arm was. He plopped his head back on the pillow. "Guess I screwed up again…"
"You did, but you're alive. Next time, you'll do better."
"What's the point if I can't be Thor?"
Don't say that. Baldr thought.
"Be Thor? What the hell are you on about?"
"I can win fights. I can beat anyone in a one-on-one, but I'm useless in war. That's all Odin cares about. My mother's no better."
Stop saying that.
"Please don't tell me you rushed into battle like that to prove you're just as good as Thor."
The room returned to silence. He's not supposed to say these things. Baldr thought. He's better than this!
"Quit wasting your time. You'll never be as good as Thor at that. He's power incarnate for Heaven's sake!"
"Then what's the damn point of all this!?" Tears flowed from his eyes. "If I can't be what is needed of me, then what's the point? I lost my damn arm on top of all this crap!"
"Your arm can be regrown."
"That's not the problem. People will know. They'll always know…that I'm not Thor or you."
Baldr did not plan on consoling his brother. One of the biggest sources of his frustration and inadequacy was reduced to a broken mess in front of him, but he was dejected at the sight. And did Týr think he was less than both older brothers?
Damn being the older brother.
"Then do what I do. Wear it."
"Wear it?"
"Our scars are reminders of our past. Whether we wear them with shame or humility is up to us and no one else. How many can say they were willing to do what you did?"
"So, walk around without an arm for the rest of my life?" Týr asked, chuckling a bit.
"That, grow it back, or try something else. I heard Hephaestus can build artificial limbs like no other."
"That…might not be a bad idea." The two chuckled a little. "Baldr, I need to know. Why did you save me?"
Baldr was taken aback. Did Týr know how he felt? "That's a stupid question."
"Baldr, I know how you feel about Thor and me. I doubt you don't feel some sense of joy at my situation."
Baldr sighed. Týr stared at him, fear and uncertainty in his gaze. "Týr…I don't hate you... Or Thor. I just…hate the mess we're stuck in. Were it not for the old man and his obsessions, I think life would be better, and we'd all be a happier lot."
"So you don't hate me?"
"You're annoying and a pest sometimes, but no. And I saved you because you're my younger brother. That's what big brothers do... and I'll always be there for you."
"Well, that's a rough memory," Baldr said to himself. He continued to shuffle across the arena floor, Samson watching in the distance. Hlökk appeared by his side, watching. Baldr stopped just before the edge of the arena and stared straight up at his brothers in Set and Yama's box seats. He took a deep breath. "Týr!" Baldr yelled. "Thor!" Both looked down. "I finally got myself some scars! Pretty cool, right!?" Baldr's body began to glow with green energy, and cracks erupted from his wounds. "I'm sorry I was such a crappy brother! I just wanted…you two to look at me with pride! That's all... I have ever wanted!" He fought back his tears as emotions slowly erupted from his chest. His eyes met theirs. It must have been the delirium brought on by his blood loss, but the two of them…were looking at him with so much pride it must've been overwhelming. Tears flowed from Týr's eyes. Thor's expression softened, and a soft smile grew. "Guys…that's not fair!" Baldr yelled, smiling and tears trickling down from his dimming eyes. The cracks began to grow and encompass his body. "You can't give a guy what he…wanted right at the end! Can't…enjoy it…for very long…" Baldr's body shattered into green crystal. The wind caught the crystals and blew them away. Samson and Hlökk stood in silence as the arena on the human side erupted into cheers and cries.
"We did it!" Brunhilde and Göll screamed as they hugged each other.
"Well done, Samson," Abdon said, full of pride and joy. Shamgar laughed and patted his peer on the back as they celebrated.
"How does it feel?" Hlökk asked.
"Surreal, to be honest," Samson said.
"Well, you teamed up with me! Of course, we'd win."
"I never doubted you, Hlökk. You're pretty reliable, you know that?"
"More than some old dagger, right?" Hlökk said, smiling and blushing.
"Hundred times more. Shall we get some tea?"
Hlökk jumped up and began floating. "Not a bad idea…but I'll make the first pot. You still have to improve." Samson laughed and followed her back to the arena entrance. He knew Hlökk was trying to give him a break, but would never admit it.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, Round 3 has come to an end! Blow for blow, cut for cut, neither fighter relented until the very end! Humanity is now on the board!
The Winner of Round 3: SAMSON!"
Samson vs Baldr
Victor: Samson
Match Length: 14 Minutes 13 Seconds
Deciding Move: Peerless Blow of Certain Death
Humans 1 – 2 Gods