58 War on the Horizon

Fenrir stared at the talking cat that was being held up by Ime, and started wondering if things had changed since his initial conception and consequent imprisonment,—'Are these things normal?' he wondered while it gave him the run down—only to realize that his brother's pack was simply shell-shocked too much to care about talking cats.

Perhaps he would have laughed if the situation and news were not so grave.

"So, let me get this straight," Fenrir sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache, "The Gods are going to war with us Monsters, and these Gods who have already been murdering us preemptively have decided to 'make it official' at a conference that's gonna be hosted in two weeks time on the fifth server, Olympus?"

Privately, he thought to himself, 'I know Hela told me about this, but I didn't realize there was so little time... nor the location.' He sighed to himself, pessimistically thinking, 'Gee, thanks sis,' while maintaining his "thoughtful, concerned, and annoyed" expression, though the annoyance did not have to be faked.

"That is correct," the cat replied, unnatural obsidian eyes peering at the monster before him, curious at how someone so composed could be the infamous mad dog from the legends back on Earth.

'Is he really Fenrir?' Aaryn wondered to himself as he took in the man's appearance; he was tall, broad shouldered and muscular in a way that allowed for agility and brute strength from what he noted—not that it was hard not to notice, after all, the monster actively went about without a shirt on—and Aaryn would bet his tail that he would kill it in melee combat.

'His brother as well—there is no way an androgynous pretty boy like him, lanky or otherwise, could be a serpent like that man; I don't believe it.'

The brother in question, Jörmungandr, was staring over his shoulder towards where Anubis was, silently observing the much older beings tender care over the mortal, who was slowly inching towards life again under the god's ministrations and diligence.

'What is he thinking about? Perhaps he's curious about Lord Anubis's Priestess, or is he thinking about the war?' he conjectured before hazarding a query towards the silent serpent.

"Ehem. Um, Lord Jörmungandr," he started, shocking Jörmungandr's entire patronage as they themselves still could not pronounce it flawlessly, "what are your thoughts in concerning the conference?"

He was silent for a moment, the wind pulling his white hair out of his face to reveal a furrowed brow and rather agitated expression—surprising the others, as it was the most emotion he had shown since discovering Asta's corpse and making a deal with the System.

When he replied, his answer was directed towards Fenrir, his voice tense.

"...They will be there as well, Fenrir. They will cause trouble... and we are too weak right now... for a successful confrontation."

Hesitation entered Fenrir's icy gaze, his expression similarly darkening at their mention.

Jörmungandr's head turned to face his younger brother fully before he himself asked a question, "What do you think we should do, brother?"

Silence hung over the little gathering of people, from the Priestess—alive or spectral—to the Patronage, to even Anubis whose head lifted from its bowed position to incline towards their conversation, equally curious in concerns to Fenrir's answer.

Sighing with a deep sense of world weariness, he finally answered, "I believe it is time we visit our dear elder sister, brother. No doubt she has heard of this, and considering our whole 'Ragnarok Faction'," he quoted while cringing at the name, "she would no doubt wish to regroup while war is on the horizon like this."

Jörmungandr nodded his head in assent to his younger brother's assessment; besides, he had business with Hella to begin with, so he would not mind contacting her again.

In the midst of their agreement, Ime uttered a question that she had developed in her mind over their miniature discussion.

"Since that is settled, I'd like to ask who the 'they' you referred to is?"

The brother were silent for a moment until Jörmungandr replied with his usual blank face, save for his incomparably grave eyes:

"...The 'they' we speak of are the one's fated to kill us—and the only one's capable of doing such a thing against disasters like ourselves. However," he looked towards Ime, and there she saw a feral ferocity and fire that was both awe inspiring and terrifying, "we are also the only one's who can kill 'them'."

Reaching out his long, pale limb, he gently pat her tight curls before developing an eerie smile that promised blood would be spilt and lives would be reaped.

"Rest assured... I will be the one to slay 'that man'. Dying to that man... is something I cannot condone... no matter what. Not him... never to him..."

Their Patron's wrath and hatred was so pronounced, that all of his Patronage, from specter to human to animal, wondered who this person was to cause such hatred within their usually blank and calm resident monster.

Asta stared at him with wide eyes, and not for the first time, as she had thought about it before when she caught a glimpse of scar tissue on his legs when he rolled them up while fighting Fenrir, she asked herself, 'What happened to you, Jörmungandr? And why do you seem so... hurt, by this person?'

Perhaps she would never know, cowardly, quiet and meek as she was.