A Dark Feeling Looms

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are at last going into the second round of Ragnarok! The gods have won the first round, and mankind is fighting once again to prevent its destruction!"

The grass crunches beneath Heimdall's feet as he walks into the arena. Between rounds, the dusty ground has been changed with a small, grassy plain. Such a serene field has replaced the desolate landscape. The watchman's words, however, make that peaceful scenery all the more ominous!

"We have a beautiful stage for a magnificent show!" Heimdall's voice thunders. "Is everyone ready for the second bout!?"

The mortals and deities roar as one, their screams piercing the air and seemingly pleasing the supreme gods' ears. Both Shiva and Zeus grin happily, as if knowing something the others don't. Herfjötur's red eyes have a worried glint in them as Heimdall lifts the Gjallarhorn in the crowd's cheers.

"Throughout the ages, many have claimed the title of strongest. Prehistory! The New Kingdom! The Warring States! The Middle Ages, and beyond! Each era and each region has harboured the strong!" he proclaims loudly. "Some took pride in it. Others considered their strength a divine gift! Amongst them, however, was one mortal who always rejected the title of 'Strongest'!"

Heimdall extravagantly gestures towards mankind's side of the arena. The crowd grows restless, and the heavy gate opens in a slow, constant motion.

"Rejected the title…?"

"What does he mean?"

Countless people squint, hoping to be the first to see the fighter's face. The light makes its way towards the entrance, and the darkness, as if peeling itself away, reveals a tall silhouette.

"Acknowledged by everyone! Feared because of her monstrous strength! She, who could make entire armies kneel! Mankind's representative is none other than this woman!" Heimdall announces. "Her name alone is enough to make the weak tremble! The Mongol Warrior Princess, Khutulun!!!"

Half-hearted cheers rupture the silence. The fighter steps into the ring, her cat-like eyes scrutinizing the crowd. Her hair, braided with an elaborate design, gives the woman a certain grace, but her outfit… makes her seem more like a warrior than a princess. Legwear made out of brown layered leather and short seemingly light chest armour that leaves both her stomach and her arms completely exposed… Her feet are bare, and no protective gear covers her head. Nonetheless, perhaps the most concerning thing is the aura she gives off. "Annoying. Boring. Useless." One can tell what the princess is thinking without her even opening her mouth!

"Where's the other?" Khutulun asks Heimdall, her eyes glued to the gods' gate.

"Excuse me? Oh, right. Ahem..." The watchman clears his throat, averting his gaze for a moment. "After the gods' first victory, who better to claim the second than him!? Either wreaking havoc or restoring order on a whim, he settles everything with his fists! The god's representative is this man!"

The gods' gate opens just as unhurriedly, and a towering deity enters the battlefield, tall enough that he has to duck so his head doesn't hit the frame!

"No pleasure greater than fighting! No wish other than to be entertained! Untiring! Unwavering! Waging war is only a pastime to him! The lightning warrior, the Supreme leader of the Slavic pantheon, Perun!!!"

The giant god crosses his arms, puffing his chest out. Perun stares his opponent down, his grin growing larger and reaching his yellow eyes.

"Oh, you're nice!" he remarks in a husky tone. "Yes, yes. I'm glad they picked someone nice." His huge muscles ripple, causing the purple tiger-like stripes covering his body to dance. "Bet Shiva's really annoyed now! Hahaha!" the god erupts.

Khutulun's eyes narrow as she glares at the god. He's big. Too big. His body is almost entirely exposed, aside from a small leather harness and a long loincloth. His muscles, however, look like functional natural armour. Compared to the previous round's fighter, he seems unarmed.

"Settles everything with his fists," Khutulun recalls Heimdall's words, and a confident smile plays on her lips. "Great."

***

"It's gotta be her," Kára said before the beginning of the round.

Right as her older sister was about to select the next fighter, however, an eccentric person entered the room. His long beard didn't match his somewhat youthful appearance, and the way he carried himself was too stiff for comfort.

"Do not hurry," the man told them. "That boy, what was his name… Nostradamus, I think? He also said he's got a bad feeling about this round."

"Nostradamus? Shouldn't he be in…? No, never mind," Herfjötur replied. "Who are you?"

The man looked around the room, as if to make sure no one else could hear them before replying casually, "You should be able to figure that out, I think. Anyway," he added, running his finger along a small cabinet to check for dust. "The gods won the first round. For the second, send in your strongest if you have to. Wise would be to keep one's trump card for the last of battles… but uncertainty could rob us of that chance. That's why you should pick a fighter who could equal if not best their mightiest, I think."

Kára nodded then, agreeing with the man's proposal. Unclear whether pleased with the outcome or not, he left, telling the Valkyries that he would be "most interested in meeting those who came before him".

"Who the hell was that nutcase?" Hrund asked, annoyed by the obvious lack of manners. "Talking all high and mighty like that…"

"Liu Bowen, one of our chosen thirteen. I can't believe I didn't recognize him right away. Only he could have such an annoying speech pattern." Herfjötur let out a sigh. "And he might very well end up being one of those trump cards he mentioned. He's that strong. But to think he even asked Nostradamus for help… Didn't expect him to want to win that badly."

"It changes nothing," Kára remarked. "I've made my mind up already. Besides, he just told us to pick someone who could go toe to toe with even the most powerful gods. And that's precisely what I did."

***

"Now, what did they say about Valkyrie-something?" Khutulun mumbles. "Am I supposed to do something or will she come to me?"

"My sisters explained everything to you, princess. Perhaps you weren't paying attention."

The voice's owner gently glides into the arena, as if carried by invisible wings. The second of the thirteen Valkyries, the Valkyrie of devastation, Herja is here! Her white attire turns green before she even reaches the ground, brimming with light. The rays envelop Khutulun's hands, spiralling and turning into a pair of metal gauntlets!

"Armour plating. Not bad," she says. "I'm not sure how this thing's supposed to help me, though."

Not wasting another moment to study the newly-acquired piece of armour, Khutulun raises her fists.

"Can mankind triumph, or will they be devoured again!?" Heimdall shouts. "The gods' invincible brawler faces off against the mortals' warrior princess! Let the second round begin!!!"