"Möld," Romulus said, stopping before the double doors. "I need a favor. Can we undo the Völund?"
Uh…sure? She answered. A flash of light filled the hall, and she appeared in front of him. "Is something on your mind?"
"Some things, and they're throwing me off a bit."
"Like what?"
Romulus raised a finger to his mouth. "Sorry. Got to keep them a secret, but I'll explain after this is over." He gently wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. Her face turned a bright red, making her lavender hair stick out. Then he pulled her into a deep hug, bending down to rest his head beside hers and giving her stomach space. "Möld…
"W…What, Rommie? Y-You're not usually like this!" She stuttered.
She felt his body trembling.
"…Rommie?"
"I'm…scared."
Slowly, she wrapped her arms beneath his.
"You? Scared? But you're…Rommie."
The trembling worsened.
"I know…I know." He let go and stepped back. "Sometimes…I feel more like Romulus or Quirinus, rather than Rommie." He looked away. "I thought enough time had passed since then, but I might be wrong; This feels like one of those times."
"Really?" Skalmöld gently pulled him back into her embrace and rested her forehead on his chest. "I'm sorry…you were putting on a brave face for everyone, weren't you?"
"Athena and Artemis almost saw through it, but you held them off." His chin rested on her crown. "I don't want to be him again, but I don't think I can beat Lugh without being 'him ' again."
Skalmöld fought back her tears, holding tight to her inner will. She recalled that day he returned all those years ago, his toga pristine, his armor polished.
How tired he looked, and how fragile his once-mighty form had become. How he felt so small in her arms.
I don't know what to say, Rommie. She thought. Am I asking too much of you? Even now? "Rommie…I'm here."
He kissed her forehead.
"You're not alone. You know I'm here, right?"
He nodded.
"If you ever feel him coming back…if you don't feel you can do it alone, remember: I'm here, too. We're all here."
She stepped back and took his hands in hers.
"And we're coming home."
Romulus nodded and smiled a little. "I was stupid for ever leaving you."
"No one's perfect, Rommie!" She smiled as light enveloped her. It vanished in a flash, and the sheathed Gladius rested in Romulus' palm. But you and me together might be close.
Being with you is perfection. He thought.
…Save talk like that for later…
You…heard that?
…I did.
He shook his head, fighting back a laugh. Got to focus! Don't put such thoughts in my head!
Me?!
The crowd roared above them, shaking the hall.
Aaaah…guess it's time.
"LADIES….AND…GENTLEMEEEEEEEEEEN!" Heimdall's voice roared from the other side.
Romulus straightened up and wiped his face. His gaze hardened as the world around him shook and roared.
Jörð Arena
Food Court and Pavilion
"It…is…TIIIIIIIIIIIME!" Heimdall's voice echoed through the Arena's encircling pavilion. "Please return to your seats! We here at Valhalla Entertainment appreciate your patronage at our stands, but you won't want to miss this!"
"Ugh…shut up," One of the pig-headed Gods mumbled at a table. He and several other Gods stood at small tables scattered throughout the food stands and snack carts. He grabbed a large stein and chugged its contents. "We're losing, and that dick has the gall to keep his spirits up."
"Yama put up a good fight, though…these Humans are…kind of strong," A chicken-headed God said.
"I know!" He yelled, fighting back tears. "But damn it, if he could lose, what does that mean for us?! What's stopping these Humans from getting confident and invading?"
"They're…Humans."
"Yeah…" The pair watched the crowd flowing back through the corridor. "That's what we said
yesterday…"
Slowly, the pair joined the crowd and sauntered to the bleacher entrances. As they
walked, something bumped into him from behind.
"Oy!" He yelled, turning around. "Watch it—"
He met a pair of mad red eyes under a smattering of brunette hair and above a near-manic
smile.
"My…bad…" Epona said through her teeth, her fists shaking. "I…didn't mean…to bump into you, you obnoxious drunkard."
The color drained from the Pig-God's face. His friend grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him away.
"Epona, move along," Macha said behind her. "We're holding up the crowd."
Epona nodded left, and the pair scrambled aside.
"Lucky pricks…" She whispered. She started walking, and the pair watched on as the crowd around them, as if by instinct, split apart to make an opening. Behind the Harbinger, Nuada and Macha walked side by side. Behind them marched the Dagda, his daughter Brigid, Ogma, four young Goddesses, a God in sharp, dark-green armor, an aged God with skin like tree bark and horns like tree branches, and a swath of Gods and Goddesses from dreams and nightmares.
"Who…who are they?" The Pig God asked.
"That's…that's the Celtic Pantheon," The Chicken God answered. "What are they doing down here?!"
"Wait…" The Pig blinked. "That's right! He's going next!" He smiled wide. "Lugh's next!"
"Damn right, he is!" Epona shouted back, and they both flinched. "You better sober up! Otherwise, you'll miss everything!"
The pair scrambled away as Epona huffed, smugly satisfied.
"Having fun?" Nuada asked, shooting her a listless glare as they neared their section.
"Buckets. Haven't had a chance to put the fear in a God in a while! Makes me a wee bit sad, to be honest…"
"You poor thing…"
Epona chuckled.
They reached their section and turned into the short hall.
Epona's eyes widened as a wooden wall filled her view of the entrance.
"Wait, what in the…"
It slowly moved upwards.
She stepped out into the bleachers.
"Holy…by…"
In front of her- no, across the entire bleachers- stood a rising, titanic wall of wood, stretching left and right and curving out of sight.
She looked up, eyeing branches jutting in every direction, thick green leaves covering them. She scanned them, following them back to their source.
A chill hit her as she looked from the base of the branches up to the canopy.
Or where she thought it would be.
"By All, I barely see the canopy," She whispered. How…how far away is the tree from here?! I thought it was right in front of us!
Nuada and Macha stopped next to her, eyeing the monstrosity. The rest of their party wrapped around them, frozen in awe.
"They brought in a Yggdrasil sapling?" Macha whispered.
"It must be a newborn," Dagda whispered, his deep voice still carrying. "How did they get it in here? How is it not destroying everything?!"
A wave of hisses and roars erupted from the depths below them. They all looked over the edge.
Deep below the new, growing branches.
Deep.
Deeper.
Deeper still, until light barely reached the bottom, they saw things moving in the dim depths. Occasionally, a pair of rainbow-colored eyes would flash in the darkness.
Suddenly, a series of images popped up in front of each God and Goddess, showing a familiar face.
"Ah…is this thing on?" Heimdall said under his breath. "I'm not good with this stuff. Oh, it is? They can hear me- OKAY! Ladies and Gentlemen! Welcome back to Jörð Arena!" Heimdall yelled, his face filling every screen as he floated overhead on his now-iconic podium. "We thank you for your time as we prepared the arena! And in honor of your patience, we intend to pull out all the stops!"
He sailed over the Gods' audience.
"In honor of this Round, we had a brand-new Yggdrasil sapling brought in, and Nidhogg's newest brood of children! However, this arena is not for show!" Heimdall turned back to the Arena's epicenter. "Nay, this arena…is necessary! Why?! Because the strength of our next two Fighters DEMANDS IIIIIIIIT!"
He turned around, eyeing the titanic tree in the distance.
"For those watching at home! This sapling is but five hundred thousand years old, and yet we had to build an arena five kilometers in diameter to contain it! Don't ask me how we did it without you knowing: that's the magic of show business!"
He sailed around, feeling slightly humbled by the occasion.
"What you see before you…" He took a deep breath. "Is a living, breathing, BATTLEFIEEEEEEEEELD!"
"My word," A man in Mongolian armor whispered, sitting down. "I can't even see the audience to the left or right. Who could need this absurd tree to fight in?!"
The Celts took a collective breath and walked to their section. Among them, a single thought wormed its way.
That mighty tree, one so big that staring at it with human eyes could drive a soul mad, was where their King would fight his first great fight.
And it was still too small.
"We have reached the last round of Day Two!" Heimdall yelled. "Despite falling behind, Humanity has nipped at the Gods' heels and pulled near-victory from the jaws of defeat! With a 6-5 lead, Humanity needs one last win to keep the Gods from enacting Divine Punishment! Can they pull it off?! Will the Gods snuff out their hopes with their last known Champion?! Keep your eyes on the screens, because this Round is one for the History Books of History Books!!!!!"
Jörð Arena
Greek Box Seats
"Due to the tree's sheer size, we at V.E. created a special type of personal hard-light monitor for each audience member to watch the fight in all its glory!" Heimdall said. "This way, you can be up close to the fight—"
Zeus swatted the screen away, shattering it. "I am not too old to need such a thing," He said, looking up at the tree's highest point.
Hermes gently pushed his own aside, letting it vanish into thin air as his eyes followed the same path as Zeus'.
"Hermes, any word from Set?"
"No, Sir," He answered. "I haven't heard from Ares either."
"Knowing him, he's holed up somewhere." He propped his chin on his fist. "I hope he talked to Rommie."
"I assure you, he did."
Zeus huffed, going quiet.
Jörð Arena
Human Bleachers
"Göll, you sure we should be here?" Uriel asked, running his hands through his black curly hair His eyes darted around, catching the war drums lining the top row, each manned by two Roman soldiers. "I know no one's hunting me right now, but it feels a bit odd being up here."
"I…think we should," She answered, holding onto a familiar railing. "Hilde's resting, and everyone else is cramped up in Samson's Room. It feels a little…"
"Cramped?"
She nodded. "I got some stuff to think about, too, and being in there makes me feel uncomfortable…"
"Skeggöld?"
She nodded.
"Why bring me?"
"You're the youngest brother. I'm the youngest sister…so…maybe…you'd understand?" She looked away.
"Not every day I get to be a big brother again, but I'll try." Someone tapped on his shoulder. He turned around, seeing a towering figure in a brown cloak, its strong chin jutting out from the hood.
Uriel sighed. "Ares, take the cloak off."
The cloaked figure flinched. "How…how did you know?!" He pulled back the hood, revealing his blonde buzzcut and striking blue eyes.
"You're too tall to be a Human, and…the chin."
Ares shook his head and pulled off the cloak.
"Well…I thought it was good. You only figured it out because you're Uri the Genius!"
"That's Raph. I'm the Optimist."
"…Oh." Ares shuffled over to Göll. "Listen, I don't want anyone knowing I'm here. Can I stay here with you guys until the match is over?"
"Uh…sure?" Göll said. "Why?"
Ares pressed his index fingers together.
Uriel patted his back.
"Can't stop a Dad from rooting for his kid," Uriel said. "I don't mind, but what about them?" He pointed behind them.
"Who?" Ares asked, looking. His eyes grew wide in shock. Men of all ages wearing togas and Roman armor filled the hall behind them to the brim. At the front stood an aged man, his face lined with wrinkles and shadowed by dark circles under his eyes. His polished golden armor shone over his white tunic. His curly light brown hair was kept short, complementing his immaculate beard and mustache. His brown eyes held a soft but alert look.
Marcus Aurelius Antoninus
Imperator Caesar Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus
Last Emperor of Pax Romana
Stoic Philosopher
"Pardon, are we in the right spot?" He asked, his voice gravelly yet smooth. "We have come to pay our respects to Pater Romae."
"…Who?" Ares asked.
Uriel shot him a bewildered look. "…Your son."
"Oh….Oh!" Ares straightened up. "Um…yes! These are the Human Bleachers!"
"Excellent," Marcus said. He walked over to Ares. "If I am to take what that young man said, that means you are Pater Romae's father, Mars?"
"I am!" He cleared his throat. "I mean…I am."
Marcus smiled. He raised his right hand. "All behind me…KNEEL!"
Everyone behind him kneeled in perfect unison. Göll watched in silent awe. Uriel smirked.
Marcus slowly dropped to his knee.
"We owe our gratitude to Pater Romae and his teachings! To you, his father, we show our ceaseless gratitude!"
Ares blinked, dumbstruck. He looked from Marcus to the end of the hall and saw dozens of kneeling souls.
Marcus rose. "Octavian!"
"On my way!" A voice shouted from the back. A muscular man in an immaculate toga raced from the back to the front, his buzzed black hair and striking brown eyes giving his imposing frame a hint of wit.
Gaius Octavius
'Octavian'
The 'First' Roman Emperor
"Take charge."
Octavian nodded and turned to the kneeling crowd.
"Sons of Rome! Proceed to your positions!" Octavian yelled.
They all rose and formed into two neat rows. They marched out of the hall in perfect step, past Marcus and Octavian, and descended to the bleachers below.
Marcus and Octavian followed the last two down.
Göll, Uriel, and Ares watched as the two rows lined up on each bleacher, standing still as statues.
Octavian reached the section's lowest row and stood in the center. The floor under him rose into a podium, lifting him high.
Marcus stood beside it, arms crossed, as dozens of angels with cameras and mics flew around Octavian.
"Hold fast," Marcus said.
"Why?" Octavian asked.
Marcus' ears twitched as an uncomfortable nostalgia arose. "They're preparing. Like our old foes did. We can offer a courtesy."
Jörð Arena
Gods' Bleachers
On the Arena's opposite end, Ogma stood atop a matching pillar, his hip-wrapping billowing as the letters across his bare body lit up. Four smaller podiums rose behind him, a young Goddess perched on each in matching Green, fur-trimmed dresses that showed their shoulders and clavicles.
Below the five, Eire's people armed themselves with instruments. Strings, percussion, woodwinds, and brass of different shapes, sizes, and eras. Nuada sat next to a large, ornate harp while Macha held a small flute. Dagda flipped his monstrous cauldron over and summoned two emerald clubs.
Ogma scanned the area below, then waved to the oncoming angels.
The signal that they were ready.
As they stopped and floated around Ogma, one stood apart and spoke into an earpiece.
"It's time," She said. "Give Heimdall the signal."
______________________________
"Got it," Heimdall said, touching his ear. He cleared his throat, his gaze dropping to the audience below. "Ladies and Gentlemen…" He started. "…In honor of this Round, a battle between Kings, a simple introduction could not capture what is to come. For the two who will enter and come to blows, for the fate of the future, it will not be me…" He lowered his head. "No…the Fighters of Round Twelve will be hailed…" He threw his head back, leaning so far back he could fall.
"BY
THEIR
PEEEEEEEEEEOPLEEEEEEEEEE!"
Heimdall waved his hand to the West Gate.
Octavian lowered his head and closed his eyes.
Marcus pulled metallic tubes from his armor and assembled a beautiful Tuba. He blew into it, releasing a loud, powerful note that echoed across the silent arena.
Slowly, Octavian raised his arms, palms up.
The emperors behind him let out a low growl as his hands rose. The humans around them joined in as the rulers from history beckoned them. From that single section, a wave of sound rose with Octavian's arms. War drums beat into life from amongst the audience. Their beat and rhythm pulled Humanity's hearts into perfect sync as roars and cheers melded together under the beat.
Octavian snapped his hands shut, twisting his arms.
Silence.
"Fighting…for Humanity and Rome!" Octavian roared.
"PAX ROMANAAAAA!"
"PAX ROMANAAAAA!" The people echoed.
"These two words, this one phrase, that holds one dream are only possible because of him!
As if out of a dream and prayer, he appeared to lead a people from terror and chaos to peace and order!
Through his strength, he built walls and homes!
Through his wisdom, he forged law and education!
Through his will, he fought to protect his people and build a kingdom that shall never set on!"
Deep below the bleachers, a pair of double doors opened. A circular platform slid out from the bottom edge, and Romulus stepped on it. It floated high above the pit towards the trunk.
"Through his faith, he handed us the torch to carry forward, trusting that the light of Humanity shall never be snuffed out!"
Octavian felt something catch in his throat as he watched the platform stop at the trunk and rise.
"MY FELLOW CITIZENS! WHO IS HE?!"
"HE IS PATER ROMAE!" The emperors roared.
"WHO IS HE?!"
"THE FIRST CITIZEN!"
"WHO IS HE?!"
THE TRUE FIRST EMPEROR!
"WHO…IS…HE?!"
"THE SON OF MARS AND THE LOOMING STORM CLOUD OVER OUR FOES!"
The platform reached the canopy and slowly rose as the tree's canopy flowered, letting the trunk grow through it.
Octavian inhaled, sweat forming on his brow.
"I…SAID…WHO…IS…HE?!"
Energy erupted from every soul within the bleachers.
"ROOOOOOOOOMUUUUUUULUUUUUUUUS!"
Romulus could not fight it. His back straightened, and he raised his gladius.
Humanity's roar filled the air even that far up, filling his soul with strength. He looked to his left, watching Heimdall wave his hand in the opposite direction.
Ogma flicked his wrists.
The orchestra below awoke. First, the drums began a slow roll as the strings came to life. Nuada's hands glided across the strings, carrying the melody as the orchestra around him fell in line.
Behind Ogma, one Goddess, a young maiden with jet-black hair and perpetually closed eyes, began to sing. Her high alto instantly captured the audience.
The rose-haired Goddess to her left joined in. Then the Goddess to their left, her blonde hair braided, added her voice, followed by the maiden on the far right, her blue hair draping down her back.
That four-part harmony gripped the hearts of all hearing it.
"Fighting for The Gods and Eire…" Ogma said.
"A child born in a brief glimpse of peace amidst war.
A child of the Tuatha and their mortal foes, the Fomor.
Who was feared…hated…reviled…"
Ogma lowered his head.
"Whose heart…said 'no.' No to that fear! To that hatred!
Who balked at it all and sought to become the greatest of Eire's children!
No skill exists outside his mastery! With any weapon, he stands unrivaled!
For he is the only one in our people's history to claim and truly represent the title 'Lamfada!'"
The East Gate's double doors opened, and the platform slid out. Lugh walked out, crown still on his brow. The platform carried him high above the ravenous wyrms below as they tore through the ever-growing tree's roots and trunk.
"The blood that flows in his veins is not just Tuatha! It is not just Fomor! It…is Eire's blood!
The Lia-Fail spoke in his presence!
Assail refuses to call any other 'Master!'
Eire's foes fear the light that shines upon her like an unsetting Sun!
For the Great Silver King of Light and the Queen of Darkness have been succeeded!"
Nuada and Macha felt a tinge of pride as they played. The music swelled as Lugh rose. The four maidens kept singing as they watched him rise, the black-haired maiden's pink eyes betraying longing.
Please come back, Lugh… She thought as she sang.
"He is the Lamfada!" Ogma continued.
The music continued swelling.
"The Ace of Eire!
Her Number One Son!
Eire's newest King!"
The quartet poured their hearts into one last note and held it, as if pleading for him to come back. The black-haired maiden fought back tears as their harmony faded and the music died away.
Lugh's platform reached the same height as Romulus'.
"He…is…Lugh."
The arena below fell silent.
The platforms keeping the pair aloft traversed the canopy, slowly rising with it to avoid being devoured.
Heimdall floated towards them, standing to their sides.
Time to do this right. They demanded this fight now, so I can at least do this for them. "Your majesties," He said, bowing. "It is time for Round Twelve: King of the Mountain. May I proceed with the rules?"
Both nodded.
"Very well! The rules are as follows:
1) This mighty ash tree, on which the fight takes place, is slowly being eaten away by the Wyrms. The fighters must climb the tree, or else they'll be eaten! More wyrms will be released as the match goes on.
2) The sapling will continue growing throughout the match, its canopy flowering into new trunk! Stay alert and keep moving, or its growth will entomb you! Most Divine Weapons cannot break through its wood. If you get trapped, you're at the Wyrms' mercy!"
3) The Last Fighter alive is the Winner!
Heimdall looked at Lugh.
"King of Eire, do you understand and accept these terms?"
Lugh remained still and silent.
…Okay.Maybe he's too focused to answer? Heimdall turned to Romulus. "King of Rome, do you understand and accept these terms?"
"I do."
Lugh narrowed his eyes.
Heimdall bowed and floated back.
He stopped just outside the canopy and raised his free hand.
"Round Twelve! King of the Mountain! Eire vs Rome! King vs King! Ready?!"
Lugh twirled Assail and lowered his stance. Romulus brought his Scutum, Via, out front and aimed his gladius at Lugh.
Heimdall's hand chopped.
"FIIIIIIGHT!"
The platforms opened beneath them, dropping them down.