Ragnarok (6): The Armies of the Undying March Forth
The army of the undying advances.
The army of the already dead advances.
The army without flesh advances.
The giant of the black statue leads the front.
Giants that do not breathe lead the front.
Toppling ramparts that block their path, vast hordes of soldiers—they press onward.
The world burns.
The world burns in the breath of those with scales and wings.
The world burns, the bodies of the wicked as kindling.
Destruction draws near.
The twilight of the gods draws near.
Ragnarok draws near.
The gods called Valhalla paradise.
And he, who had set foot in Valhalla as an Einherjar, saw it as paradise too.
Not a frozen wasteland of snow and ice, but a world always filled with warm comfort.
No storms with eyes of snow raged, no hailstones larger than fists rained down—a place of eternally clear, sunny weather.
Not land frozen solid by cold and snow, but soft, fluffy soil where seeds sprouted in moments, yielding full harvests before a single day passed. A land of miracles.
If this was not paradise, then what was?
He, an Einherjar chosen by the gods, felt it an honor beyond measure to tread this paradise.
There, day after day, he reveled in ale and meat, honed his skills through endless battles, and even in death, revived to bask once more in paradise's bliss.
But.
That bliss did not last long.
A colossal trumpet blast echoed through the realm.
The sound shaking paradise set the countless Einherjar murmuring.
And all sensed one truth.
The reason the gods gathered the Einherjar.
The reason they assembled an army to avert the gods' downfall.
The gods' downfall was at hand.
The Einherjar of paradise swiftly assembled, grabbing weapons and armor.
He too seized a round wooden shield and hefty axe, just like the others.
Yet in Valhalla's great hall, strangely, many seats stood empty.
Half.
The gathered Einherjar numbered only half of the whole.
And the Valkyries who always soared above them were nowhere to be seen.
This situation stirred an ill omen.
Then, a god of immense stature appeared in the hall.
The blond god wielding a massive hammer.
The thunder god.
Thor.
Thor bellowed in a voice that shook the entire hall.
Not Thor alone.
The mighty gods of the Aesir revealed themselves, weapons in hand, steeling their powers.
Gods ready to resist the encroaching doom.
All but two.
Save for Odin and Freyja.
Thor spoke of despair.
Yet also of hope.
Thor raised his hammer, Mjolnir, and roared.
As his cry ended, the one-armed god beside Thor—Tyr—seized the horn at his belt and blew with all his might.
The trumpet that gathered the Einherjar resounded once more, and Valhalla's gates swung wide.
With that, the Einherjar charged toward the battlefield.
To swing their weapons against inevitable doom.
Terror rained from the skies.
The Einherjar steadied hearts that seemed about to shatter and swung their weapons fiercely.
Splat!
A single blow sent an enemy's head flying.
Yet even headless, the foe did not stop.
Having long lost flesh in death, ordinary axe strikes held no power over it.
The Einherjar clicked his tongue briefly, bashed the torso with his shield to topple it, then hacked off limbs to neutralize it.
Though they too were souls without bodies, chosen warriors of the gods.
It was frustrating to brawl with mere dead souls.
Even severed limbs would soon regenerate, charging anew.
Pathetic things with no weapons, lunging on teeth and claws alone...
Yet their endless regeneration and overwhelming numbers crushed the Einherjar.
And they were not alone.
KABOOM!!!
Once more, Valhalla's ramparts crumbled.
As the black colossus that shattered them swung its massive greatsword again, countless Einherjar scattered like dust.
Even mighty gods charging it could not block that blade.
And it was not the only such being.
The fire colossus incinerated all, the ice colossus froze everything.
The storm colossus rent them asunder, the stone colossus...
Crushed them utterly.
The Einherjar looked despairingly to the skies.
The ever-clear heavens had become a battlefield too.
Lizards with wings of varied hues.
Dragons straight from legend soared, turning the ground to ruin.
A single breath erased hundreds of Einherjar.
Dozens such dragons filled the air.
Flying gods rose to fell them, but even they could not stop the dragons.
A giant-formed god swept the field, a wolf god devoured others.
Countless gods had already vanished.
The Einherjar dwindled swiftly.
Yet they did not cease resistance.
Even as death's aura melted axe blades, corroded armor away—warriors did not yield.
When weapons dissolved, bare hands; arms lost, then legs; even those severed, teeth.
Thus, until his own head flew— the Einherjar fought on.
Never halting resistance to doom.
“Odin.”
“Goddess of Life...”
I gazed at the old man staring blankly from Valhalla's pinnacle.
A god with a face of utter surrender.
The one-eyed god.
God of wisdom, swallowed by madness.
“Why... why bring about such...”
“Why, you ask.”
Why indeed. What answer should I give?
That I despised you fools endlessly resisting the king of gods I appointed?
That your strutting with Baal's shattered fragments irked me?
That I hated you intruders in my crafted paradise?
I could list many reasons.
But ultimately.
“I just hate parasites.”
“Parasites?”
Simply that. I hated them.
No matter the explanations, it all led to one conclusion.
I just hated the gods.
Beings existing only by leeching off other lives.
Strutting as superior while doing so.
I simply hated them.
A few who didn't strut at me were tolerable.
But they were a tiny minority.
Thus.
“Return Baal's eye.”
I reached toward Odin.
The one-eyed Odin.
Odin with the eye holding Baal's wisdom.
To see is to perceive.
To perceive is to know.
Thus, natural that such wisdom dwelled in Baal's eye.
I sought to reclaim it.
“Urk!”
The two ravens perched on Odin's shoulders lunged at me, but a mere flick of my hand burst them into feathers alone.
Seizing the moment, Odin swung the spear in his grip—Gungnir—toward me. Imbued with Baal's fragment, lightning crackled along its blade, hurtling at me in an instant.
But.
“Hm. Planning to resist, are you?”
The spearhead of Gungnir, shot like lightning, was caught in my left hand.
Trapped between index and middle finger, immobile. Lightning coursed along the blade, scattering harmlessly—unable to singe my fingers in the slightest.
And not just Gungnir—even Odin gripping it stood frozen.
As if time itself had stopped.
Not a twitch.
In the end.
This was all they amounted to.
These strutting gods.
Pathetic, infinitesimally small compared to me.
I sighed softly and extended my right hand.
Just as Gungnir lay still in my grasp, my right hand slowly pierced Odin's unmoving eye.
Odin screamed.
His immobilized one eye pierced by my finger, a cry of agony echoed.
Thus, I reclaimed Baal's eye.
