by Adam Ingle
“Got any better ideas?” Marcus asked Leviticus.
“Oh Hell, why not?” said Leviticus as he and the other two dropped off as well. Mestoph had already sagged into the bubble when Leviticus landed on top. Marcus’s aim was a little off, and he landed on the bubble with Persephone and the shepherd. Stephanie landed on the larger bubble, but it had already started to sag from Leviticus’s weight. She hit at an odd angle and bounced off like it was a trampoline. Marcus reached out for her, even though he wasn’t anywhere near enough to grab her, and watched as she plummeted down.
“Hades!” said Persephone, as much a command as an accusation.
The bald god took a deep breath and sighed. He tapped his index finger in the air like he was pressing an invisible button. A bubble formed around the falling Stephanie, and she bounced around inside it several times like a rubber ball. It shot up and joined with Persephone’s bubble, and then they continued their slow descent.
“You best remember this, woman,” said Hades to Persephone.
“You’re abducting me again and almost letting an innocent girl die? You bet I’ll remember this,” said Persephone.
Hades pinched the bridge of his nose and he closed his eyes for a moment. He bowed his head and then looked over to Mestoph and Leviticus.
“Married?” asked Hades.
The two shook their heads.
“Good, don’t,” said Hades.
The ride down was slow and filled with bickering between Persephone and Hades. The shepherd had yet to say a word, while the others stood there in that awkward silence that was inevitable when confined in the midst of someone else’s argument. They did have a remarkable view of the battle below. Bifrost had just reached the other side of the chasm when a blur of black and white wings soared across. They swooped down into the fray. The white Seraphim began attacking the Jötnar. The giants shot sprays of fire at them, sending singed creatures crashing to the ground. Their vast numbers made the casualties nearly inconsequential, and soon Jötnar began falling. Meanwhile the black Nephilim went straight for the Valkyries. Both the Seraphim and Nephilim kept a noticeable distance from the gods and humans. The Vallhallan warriors quickly grouped together and began mowing down Hel’s ragged fighters with ease.
Freyr was again darting between Surtr’s legs when his luck finally ran out. Surtr swept the leg Freyr was trying to tackle out of the way, which left Freyr exposed. Surtr grabbed Freyr in his massive hand, lifted him up to eye level, and began laughing a slow, menacing laugh. Surtr then slammed Freyr down on the ground with so much force the concussion could be felt all the way up in their bubbles. Then Surtr drew the sword that Loki had given him, which grew to match his giant proportions, and drove the point through Freyr and into the ground below him.
Heimdall and Loki were both beginning to tire visibly. Heimdall’s blows weren’t as strong or as frequent, and he had either lost or shed his chainmail shirt, while Loki’s blocks and counterattacks were becoming clumsier and slower. Heimdall made another overhead slice and Loki’s shield finally split in half, straight through the iron cap in the center. Loki’s playful demeanor suddenly turned serious, and he looked around him for something to take cover behind. Heimdall seemed to find renewed strength. Loki blocked the swings, but each one jarred him and drove him backwards. Concern and then fear spread across the trickster god’s face. Heimdall reared back with all his might, and Loki raised his sword with both hands, the blade slicing into his left hand as he gripped it, but then his sword, too, broke in half.
Loki dropped to his knees. He looked at the half-sword in his right hand and then up at Heimdall, standing tall over him with an impassive expression on his face. This wasn’t a victory to gloat over; it was the end of a great adversary and one of the final dominoes in the toppling succession that was Ragnarok. Heimdall thrust his sword into Loki’s chest, directly into his heart and through his back, in an emotionless maneuver that he performed out of duty. Heimdall then put his foot on Loki’s chest and pushed him off the sword. The god’s body flopped back, a spray of blood from the wound shooting up several feet in the air. Heimdall dropped his sword and panted.
Loki raised a hand and motioned to Heimdall. He stepped forward and knelt beside the fallen god. Loki’s lips were moving, but from their bubbles they couldn’t hear the words. Loki beckoned Heimdall closer, and the white god leaned in. The trickster grabbed the broken sword and jammed it several times into Heimdall’s side. Heimdall fell flat onto Loki’s chest. With the last of his strength, Loki rolled them both over and thrust the broken blade into Heimdall’s heart. He fell to one side, and neither of the gods moved again.
Chapter 19
Deus Ex Machina
The bubbles finally landed and then popped, leaving Mestoph and Leviticus’s ragged group with Hades and his new entourage standing on the narrow strip of once lush, now downtrodden grass that served as the battleground for Ragnarok. The bodies of gods, ghoulish men and women, brawny Valkyries, giants, and winged creatures were strewn all across the field of battle. The fight was still raging on, but the numbers had dwindled significantly on all sides. There were only a handful of the towering Jötnar left, directed by their leader, Surtr now that he was free of the pesky Freyr. The giant’s sword burst into flames, and he began swinging it at Seraphim left and right as he drove his Jötnar toward the Valkyrie front, which was engaged with the Nephilim. The burning of feathers and the sizzling of their thick blood could be heard even from a distance.
Breaking up the fights, and at times encircling the entire battleground, were the serpent Jormungand and Thor. The hammer wielder had loosened himself from the snake’s constricting coils and was now throwing his hammer at it from a distance, trying to keep from getting entangled again. The snake would strike, and Thor would bat his head aside like a baseball. Enraged, the snake would chase Thor through the battlefield, taking out or tangling up anything in its way. This routine seemed to repeat endlessly.
Hades turned and looked at the group that stood before him. He studied at each of them and then addressed Mestoph.
“The free ride stops here. You and your friends are on your own. If we run into each other again, I won’t spare any of you,” said Hades.
Hades shot a finger out toward Persephone and the shepherd, and a leash of blue energy shot out of it and lassoed the two lovers. He walked off in the direction of Bifrost, towing his captives behind him like reluctant children. Persephone turned and waved goodbye with a surprisingly chipper look on her face. The shepherd didn’t look back and didn’t say a word. Then the trio disappeared with the familiar pop of teleportation.
“We came all this way to find Persephone, and there she goes. Now what?” asked Marcus.
“Yeah, now what? What’s your great plan now?” Stephanie asked Mestoph. She had obviously had time—and yet another brush with death—to remind her that she was pissed at him and Leviticus.
“Listen, we’re both really sorry about things, and if we could change it now we would. But right now all we can do is try to get you two out of here. Feel free to hate us to your heart’s content afterwards,” said Leviticus.
“Just get us out of here, guys,” said Marcus with a sort of pleading neutrality in his voice.
“The bridge! Heimdall said it was the only way across. All we have to do is get to it and we’re out of here,” said Sir Regi.
It was a simple task in theory, but between them and the bridge were a war and a giant snake destroying anything that had the misfortune of getting in its way. There was nothing to do but start walking and try to avoid combat. Just in case, Mestoph picked up a sword and a helmet from one of the fallen Valhallans; the others followed suite and began picking up odds and ends from fallen combatants on either side of the battle.
“Let’s stay together. And watch out for that damn snake,” said Mestoph as he took off running toward Bifrost, pointing his sword out in front of him like a rallying saber.
There were l
arge gaps in between clumps of fighting creatures, which initially made it easy to weave through the battlefield. The path became a maze of shifting masses as reinforcements from one side or another would swell the numbers and close off a path, forcing them to backtrack. A few times the swells of warriors almost surrounded them completely, nearly pulling them directly into combat, but they were able to get between or around the groups and out of harm’s way. For the most part both sides seemed to ignore them. However, there were a few overzealous or enterprising barbarians who tried to add a quick notch to their belt by taking swipes at random members of the group. Luck—and the fact that both Mestoph and Leviticus were far more comfortable with swords than they had been with guns kept them alive. Mestoph took a glancing cut to his right shoulder, but otherwise they passed unharmed.
Their luck ran out when they found themselves sandwiched between the converging Valkyrie and Jötnar. Then some of the previously preoccupied Nephilim and Seraphim caught the scent of their initial game: Stephanie. One after another of the winged beasts broke away from their respective fights to dive at her. Mestoph, Leviticus, and the others formed a small circle with their backs toward each other as they tried to fend off the flying creatures. A few of them dove low enough that Sir Regi, who was protectively standing in front of Marcus and Stephanie, was able to bound up into the air and try to catch them like Frisbees, even managing to connect with a few of them, to their surprise. The little dog pulled them down to the ground and tore at them as viciously as he had Father Mike.
The Jötnar now had them completely blocked from the bridge and their only chance of escape. The only thing that kept the Valkyries and Jötnar from engulfing them were the Seraphim and Nephilim, which were now leaving the other mythical combatants alone. They circled above Stephanie and dove down in waves. Having had enough of their numbers decimated by the winged things, the Norse combatants chose to keep their distance.
The Nephilim and Seraphim weren’t able to land very many blows individually, but their overwhelming numbers all but made that point moot. Suddenly, a huge hole in the Jötunn front opened up as several giants tried to dodge Thor and Jormungand. It was even effective at clearing out a majority of the flying beasts for a moment. It was just long enough.
“Get out of here!” shouted Mestoph at Marcus and Stephanie.
“Hurry up! We’ll hold them off and meet back up at the bridge,” said Leviticus.
They hesitated, only for a moment and then took off running toward the gap in between two Jötnar, Sir Regi bouncing quickly between their legs. No one noticed them slip through and out of the fray, not even the Seraphim and Nephilim. On the other side of the Jötunn front, the fighting ended abruptly and Stephanie and Marcus finally found themselves in the clear. It was a clear path to the bridge, not even half a mile from where they stood. They laughed excitedly and smiled at each other, grabbing hands and running for the bridge, while Sir Regi ran behind them barking. In their excitement they hadn’t noticed the figure sitting at the edge of the bridge’s railing. Arms crossed and idly bouncing one leg, St. Peter was waiting for them with a giant, shit-eating grin.
“You didn’t think I’d forgotten about you?” asked St. Peter.
The gorilla stood up and swaggered toward them.
“Now!” he shouted.
Reaching up from the mists of the chasm was a smaller Jötunn, though still at least three times the height of a human. The Jötunn waved at them childishly and then dove back off the cliff to belly-flop onto Bifrost. The bridge bounced and groaned and then cracked and buckled. It collapsed, taking the Jötunn with it. Their only escape from Asgard fell silently away into the mist.
“And now this whole ridiculous business ends,” said St. Peter as he pointed the gun at Stephanie’s head.
“Any last words?” asked St. Peter.
“I love you, Marcus,” said Stephanie, squeezing his hand tightly in her own.
Off in the distance, a terrible wailing heralded the agonizing death throes of something large, and then there was a hard thump as whatever it was slammed to the ground. The sound caught everyone’s attention, and they turned to see a clean swath across the masses of both Jötnar and Valkyrie, cleared of everything by the body of the giant snake Jormungand—minus its head, which rested upside down next to its roughly hacked upon neck. It looked as if Thor has finally hit it hard enough to literally spin the snake’s head off.
All fighting had stopped, even the attacks of Seraphim and Nephilim. They took in the sight of Thor standing near the ripped-off head, glistening with sweat, his hair matted to his face with blood. He was panting, and Mjolnir hung heavy in his hand. He had been victorious over the Midgard Serpent, but the price was that his chest had been pierced with one of the snake’s fangs. It had broken off inside him and still dripped with venom. Thor’s head hung low and his legs began to shake. He fell to one knee, sighed deeply, and then crumpled under his own weight, falling chest first and pushing the broken fang out through his back near his shoulder blade. A cheer broke out from Hel’s army and the dozen remaining Jötnar. The Valkyries and Valhallans immediately retreated. Surtr’s sword flamed up wildly, and he began swinging it at everything, including his own people, and catching things on fire. Even the rocks and dirt began to burn.
“Well, looks like it’s time for me to go,” said St. Peter, and he again trained the gun on Stephanie.
He began to squeeze the trigger when a furious barking erupted from behind Marcus and Stephanie. Sir Regi darted between them and sprang into the air, hitting St. Peter’s chest and running up to latch his jaws onto the man’s throat. The gun rose as St. Peter swayed backwards, and a shot went off harmlessly into the sky. St. Peter’s eyes widened in a terrified panic and he began shaking, trying to throw the dog off. Sir Regi was locked on tight, however, and flopped around St. Peter as he flailed wildly. St. Peter began beating at Sir Regi with his fist and the pistol; the dog whimpered but still wouldn’t let go. St. Peter made a thick, wet choking noise and began coughing up blood. Panicked, he stumbled into the railing of the bridge, which fell away. Stephanie and Marcus both ran to catch him, but St. Peter slipped in the dirt and fell backwards toward the chasm before either could get to him. He made a last ditch attempt to grab onto the bridge, but he had yet to let go of the gun. His weak, one-handed grip wasn’t enough, and he tumbled into the chasm, taking Sir Regi with him.
Mestoph and Leviticus swung their swords wildly. It didn’t matter, since the swarm of flying creatures had become so thick that it was impossible to miss. They were covered in the blood of both creatures, as well as their own from hundreds of cuts all over their bodies. They had to keep pushing through the swarm to find fresh ground; they would be slipping on the sticky black or white goop that served as blood for the Nephilim and Seraphim, respectively.
Mestoph swung and was surprised when his sword didn’t connect with anything. The lack of impact meant he overextended the swing, and the gore-slick weapon flew out of his hand, spinning in the air until it stabbed an unlucky Seraph and dropped to the ground with the body. The creatures were quick to take advantage of Mestoph’s sudden vulnerability and began concentrating almost exclusively on him. He dropped to the ground and began fumbling around for any sort of weapon in the disgusting muck of sticky blood.
Mestoph caught sight of a fallen Valkyrie less than thirty feet away, her lifeless eyes staring upwards to the sky. Her sword was still gripped tightly in her hand. He scrambled on hands and knees, unable to get to his feet as the creatures began piling on his back and scratching away with their claws. Behind him, Leviticus screamed and charged toward the mob, swatting them away like flies. The brief reprieve was enough to allow Mestoph to get to his feet, and he dashed to the dead Valkyrie, whom he recognized as the red-headed Kara, and grabbed her sword.
“Sorry Red, I need this more than you,” he said as he stole the Valkyrie’s sword.
Mestoph turned and resumed the wild assault. Then he heard the din
osaur-like roar of Jormungand being slain of to his right. Both the Nephilim and Seraphim suddenly went into a confused frenzy. Half their numbers immediately disappeared, popping like kernels of corn, while others began attacking each other. A few flew wildly in circles and spirals, making a high pitched screeching. The screeching was quickly drowned out by the deep, baritone roars of the cheering Jötnar and the screams of fleeing Valkyrie and Valalhallan warriors.
“Time to go!” yelled Leviticus.
He and Mestoph dropped their weapons and bolted. They ran toward where they knew the bridge was, but their path was blocked by the body of the slain serpent. He was long enough that it was pointless to try to go around, so they opted to go straight at it and climb over. They were close enough to make out the bruises and gashes that Thor had made with his mighty hammer. Mestoph, trailing only a few feet behind Leviticus, felt a rush of hot air behind him and the swooshing sound of something large being swung. Looking back as he ran, he saw Surtr looming not too far behind him, swinging his giant flaming sword. When the sword hit the ground, it cleaved a giant crack in the earth and a large spiderweb of flames shot out in all directions. The flames grew into walls, and one of them was traveling straight toward him. He veered to the left and called out to Leviticus, who looked back just in time to swerve to the right. The heat was intense, which was surprising to Mestoph since he had lived his entire life in Hell. Leviticus had managed to get far enough away from the flames to avoid being hurt. Mestoph realized his trench coat was on fire. He shrugged it off without breaking stride.
Another wall of flame shot past the two sprinting friends, and this time it ran directly into the body of the snake. It exploded, sending Jormungand chunks high into the sky. Warm, wet bits of snake rained down on Mestoph and Leviticus as they ran through the fortuitous gap in the corpse that had been blocking their path only moments earlier. Mestoph looked back and saw nothing but Surtr and flames. The ground was ablaze, bodies of both sides of the battle were frying, and even Odin’s great obsidian and silver hall was burning. Then Surtr charged through the remains of Jormungand’s body, heading straight toward the fleeing Mestoph and Leviticus.
