Ragnarok: The Fate of Gods (17 page)

Jae-Hoon runs for his spike. 

Joel frantically kicks away the monsters he is fighting and joins Zeke in slashing at the behemoth
’s legs.  The Slayer, stylus in hand, leaps on a small draugr, preventing it from following the pirate. 

Charlie stands.  He aims his rifle high.  Gunfire rattles through the room.  The sound is deafened by Grendel
’s roar.  The monster rears up to its full height and swats at the bullets.

But instead hits draugr cages. 

Demons flood out, distracting the fighters.

Grendel is unhindered.  It advances to Charlie, seeking vengeance for the swarm of bullets.  The big fighter raises his gun again. 

Click
. 

Grendel swings down and snatches him.  With one hand, it holds him tight. 

A bear hug of fingers made from arms. 

Zeke fights his way closer.  He leaps up and swings at the hand that holds Charlie captive.  Stitches give way.  Arm-fingers dangle wildly from their joints. 

              Charlie falls. He lands on a stack of cardboard boxes stacked in a corner. The boxes, filled with clothes, soften his fall. 

             
Grendel thrusts its wounded hand at Zeke.  The sword slashes again.  Severed fingers fall. 

             
Near Charlie, something falls that is not a body part. 

             
Tinkle, tinkle, ting, tink, ting.

             
The sounds of the battle stop dead in his ears.  There is only that one sound.  He picks up the bloody object.  In the deathly silence of his mind, he flicks it to hear something.  Anything. 

             
Tink.

             
Confirmation. 

             
He screams, his voice exploding through his silent world.  His cries also cut through the roar of the battle.  The other three men hear it above the screaming of the monsters and the bellowing of the Grendel. 

             
They look over.  Draugr close in on Charlie, who is fixated on the bell.  Oblivious to the dangers.

             
No longer concerned with the monsters. 

             
“Charlie!  Watch out!”  Zeke calls.  He turns to help, but Grendel bars his path.  Joel and Jae-Hoon are tied up with the hoard of smaller draugr. 

The big man babbles mindlessly.  A draugr gently claws at his shoulder.  The demon bites.  He ignores the pain and begins to cry.  Other draugr smell the blood and flood closer.  Zeke loses sight of him in the frenzy. 

Boom! 

A gunshot reverberates in the room.  For a moment, Zeke believes Charlie is fighting his way out.  But it
’s not a rifle burst.  It’s a single shot.  Daniel stands at the doorway, blasting draugr.  They fall. 

He calls to them. 
“I’ve learned everything!  About the draugr and  . . .”

“
Tell us later!”  Zeke shouts over the screaming demons.  “Right now, just get the big one!” 

“
Right.”  He aims for Grendel’s head and fires.  Just as before, the monster reared up to its full height and swatted. 

An idea comes to Jae-Hoon. 
“Aim low!”

A well-placed shot to the gut and Grendel doubles over in pain.  The priest rushes over and plants his stylus deep in the behemoth
’s hip.  Using it as a handhold, he pulls himself up the monster’s back.  “Zeke!” he calls

Zeke understands.  He jumps high.  Jae-Hoon catches his hand.  From beneath, Joel grabs his feet and pushes up. 

He finds his footing on the monster’s back, but it’s starting to recover from the blast.  Before it throws them off, he runs to the head and plunges his sword through Grendel’s neck.  It gurgles, desperately trying to fill its lungs with air.  The behemoth takes a few awkward steps, then falls.  The two men tumble off its corpse. 

Daniel reloads, then finishes off the remaining draugr with a few blasts from his shotgun. 

Then they saw him.  In a bloody heap at one end of the room, Charlie’s eviscerated body rested among the corpses of his killers.  He was clawed to pieces.  Drained of blood. 

The boy looked down. 
“I don’t understand.  He was so strong.  He could have killed them with his bare hands.” 

Zeke found the bell, buried tightly in the dead man
’s fist.  He picked it up and looked sadly at it.  “Even the least powerful things can be capable of destroying a man.”  He pocketed the bell. 

“
It’s been happening since the beginning,” explained Daniel.  “The Karellan has been promoting citizens as an excuse for finding test subjects.  He’s been
manufacturing
the draugr.  Making them stronger.  The attack today was a test of his elite.  Zeke, they’re all
human
.”

“
Or used to be,” muttered Joel.  They stood there grimly for a long time.  Silent.

Except for Jae-Hoon.

“Promotions?”  Was
this
what he was meant to see?  Until this morning, his purpose in life had been to give people hope.  To promote them to a better life, and protect them from the monsters of their current lives. 

Suddenly his world was different.  The Karellan was his Hierophant.  He was affronting both the government and his Church.  And his life
’s work had been a lie.  The promotions were a fraud.  An excuse to turn men into horrible monsters.  And the draugr hunts meant death to those people he had sworn to help.

He was not a savior or protector.  He was a condemner and executioner. 

Of the innocent. 

He laughed.  It was piercing.  Disturbing. 
“Ha!” it started.  “Hah!  Hah!  Humans!  This
is
what he wanted me to see!”  He started pacing nervously.  “I’ve been sending them to die.  All of them.  Monsters.  Ha!  Hah!” 

His ranting faded into babble.  He began tugging at his hair like a madman.  The others watched him, but were too disturbed to approach. 

The Karellan didn’t simply kill men, he destroyed them. 

Made them into monsters.

Zeke kept a cautious eye on Jae-Hoon, who now sat in an empty draugr cage.  “Daniel, did you transfer all the information?” 

“
Everything.  Dumah can do anything he wants with it now.”

Then the alarms sounded. 
“What’s going on?”  Zeke asked.

“
Hugin must have woken up,” reasoned Joel.

“
It wasn’t Hugin,” came a soft voice.

Uniformed men marched in from doors around the room.  They covered the exits, each man leveling a rifle at the small group.  A man in a dark suit stepped forward. 
“Lay down your weapons!  By the authority of the Karellan, I place you under arrest!”

Zeke ran to Jae-Hoon.

“Let’s get out of here,” Joel shouted.  The door to the hallway—the way to their escape tunnel—was still unguarded. 

Daniel ran back to the door.

But not to escape.

Instead, he hit a sequence of numbers on the keypad.  The door slammed shut. 

“What are you doing?”  Joel shouted.  “The door was open!”

“
I’m sorry,” he said. 

“
He was a spy . . .” murmured the pirate.

Zeke, supporting the blubbering Slayer, stared furiously at their betrayer. 
“After everything you’ve done? 
This?” 
He didn’t bother asking why.  It didn’t matter. 

“
I’m sorry.  I can’t explain.  But there are things that must be done,” he said, joining the dark-suited man.  The conversation ended there.  The police bound the three men took their weapons, and led them away, out of sight of Daniel.

For that, Zeke didn
’t complain.

Dawn came burning red.  Hugin saw it through the massive window in the Karellan’s office.  The sun cast its glow on the entire room. 

He stood for a long time.  The overlord was staring out the window, his back to his Raven.  His long hair, tied back neatly, shone red in the light.  Despite years of loyalty and the Karellan
’s friendly demeanor towards his servants, Hugin still found the man intimidating. 

He had probably been in the office long before dawn.  He worked ceaselessly on his personal projects and experiments.  Despite that, he still preferred to govern much of his nation himself, trusting advisors only when absolutely necessary. 

When his near-godlike omniscience failed him. 

It was that quality in him that earned him a strong loyalty among the first-class citizens.  Hugin was amazed that he still found time to gaze out the window.  Amazed and impatient. 
“My lord?” 

             
“I’m aware of your presence.”  His voice was clear and strong.  Many second-class citizens would be surprised to hear it.  It was not as cold or cruel as they would like to believe.  “Go ahead with your report.”

             
“The Raven of Memory led Branderlief into the research laboratory.  We’ve apprehended him, an Armageddonist priest, and the pirate.”

             
“Is that the same pirate you failed to exterminate earlier this week?”  His tone could have accused Hugin.  Stripped him of his dignity.  Put him on the defense. 

             
But it didn’t. 

             
Instead, he spoke simply as if he were making conversation.  Asking a perfunctory question.  Nothing more. 

             
Hugin still found himself intimidated. His mind ran through all the possibilities of this question.  The reasons for the asking.  The consequences of his answers.  “Uh, yes sir,” he stammered.  “It turns out he employed a clever decoy to . . .”

             
“Relax,” spoke the overlord, not breaking his conversational tone.  “I am not the tyrant they say I am.  Good Ravens are hard to come by.  I have no intention of disposing of you or our rookie.”

             
“Sir, I must inform you that Raven Uzuki also participated in a battle that destroyed your research specimens, and we believe he assisted in the transfer of secure information to an unknown point in the lower city.” 

             
The overlord sat down in his high-backed leather chair.  Turning it to face Hugin, his hair no longer glowed red.  Still, backlighting made the Karellan look powerful and unearthly.

             
Almost demonic. 

             
But he spoke cheerfully, nonetheless.  “Not my concern.  The Raven of Memory still serves me well.”

             
Hugin paused.  He rarely found anyone he liked, and despite being colleagues of equal rank, Daniel was no exception.  The thought that he was escaping from the affair unpunished irritated him.  “You’re not upset about the loss of your laboratory?” 

             
“Of course not.  The draugr are plentiful.  Metatron will have no trouble finding enough useful specimens.  Even if the public does find out, they can’t stop the resurrection.”

             
This was a term the ninja hadn’t heard before.  Annoyed that he had not been let in on the details of this plan, he quietly asked, “Resurrection?” 

             
The Karellan kept talking, unaware of the question.  “Besides, most of my work is in Rome.”

             
Hugin spoke louder.  “Pardon my rudeness, my lord, but what exactly is this work of yours?” 

             
He looked up, staring directly at his Raven.  The ninja could feel his gaze burning through him. 

“
Tell me, Mr.  Hugin.  Do you believe in God?” 

Act Two: The Tree of Knowledge

Chapter Eleven: Genesis

             
Micah held out the sword.  It was new.  Polished.  Shiny.  He swung it slowly around himself, practicing forms. 

             
Then he spoke. 

             
“The legend says that Masamune’s student, Muramasa, challenged his mentor to see who could create the better sword.  They each forged a blade, and to test the quality, each man placed his sword in the river, the edge facing the current.” 

             
He spun the sword around and plunged it into the soft soil in front of him, miming the story. 

Zeke watched intently.  This tale was new to him.  Micah had picked up some new legends since he began studying sword arts.  The change was welcome, although he cringed slightly at the thought of the new blade being stuck into the dirt. 

But soon it would be stained with more than soil.

He left the sword sticking in the earth and continued his narration. 
“Muramasa’s sword cut everything that came its way: leaves, sticks, fish, even the very air that touched the blade.  Then Masamune stepped into the river.”

“
And his blade was stronger.”  It was not a question.  That’s how stories always went.  Zeke knew that. 

“
If you mean it cut more than Muramasa’s sword, then no.  Masamune put his blade in the water and it cut nothing.  The fish swam casually around it, the twigs and leaves floated by unharmed, and the air swept by without damage.”  Micah pulled the sword out of the ground and wiped the blade clean with a small cloth.  “Muramasa believed he had surpassed his teacher; however, a woodcutter who had been watching from the forest came forward and praised Masamune.” 

“
I don’t get it.  Why?” 

Micah, as usual, expected the question, and continued seamlessly. 
“Muramasa had forged a bloodthirsty weapon that killed indiscriminately, whereas Masamune had created a blade so fine that it could distinguish between good and evil, and it would not harm the innocent.” 

“
So
is
your sword a Masamune?” 

“
Of course not.  The last surviving Masamunes were kept safely in a vault in Japan.” 

Japan was lost.  It happened long before the war, long before the Theocracy, long before the malak attacks.  A severe earthquake hit the island and it sunk into the sea.  Only a handful of islands in the south had been spared.  And everything that had sunk had lain there for hundreds of years.  Untouched by anything but the tides.

It was a simple death.  Japan had been spared from a far greater destruction.

“
My guess is the weapons dealer was just desperate for a sale.”  Times were rough.  The merchant had lied about the sword’s origin, but the lie was excusable.  To Micah, at least.  “It’s a good sword, though, so I was happy to help him out.” 

Zeke absorbed his words. 
A good sword.
He knew Micah’s interest in katanas was more than just a hobby.  Melee weapons were part of their training as rebel soldiers, but he actually
preferred
the use of a sword in battle.  He was strong, but Zeke worried that he might be overconfident.  “I still don’t see why you use a sword at all.”

Micah was prepared for this as well.  He didn
’t pause for a moment.  “Why do you use a gun?” 

“
Everyone uses a gun.  It’s standard.”  The answer seemed obvious.

“
Because guns are stronger?”

Zeke thought this answer should be obvious as well. 
“Aren’t they?”

Micah once again adopted the persona of the philosopher-teacher he was so fond of. 
“Guns have their place.  They’re powerful, that’s true.  But they also have their limitations.  How many bullets does your clip hold?”

“
Thirty.  I can get thirty-one if I put a bullet directly in the chamber.” 

“
And when they run out, how many spare clips do you carry?” 

“
Two,” he answered.  “If I carry any more . . .”

“
You get bogged down.  Use your ammo wisely and you’ll be safe.  With luck, you won’t ever need to get close to your enemy, and with skill, you’ll never need to reload.”  Micah held up his sword.  “I prefer a blade.  I choose speed over power.  My weapon is also my defense, and I never need to reload.” 

He gazed mysteriously at the sword. 

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this, for a soldier who recently decided to retire.”  It was a point of confusion for Zeke.  Micah had an increased intensity in his work.  A furious desire to see the Theocracy’s surrender.  He bought a new sword and spent twice as much time practicing.  He met with the generals privately and discussed strategies with them. 

But since he met Ariel, he talked about leaving more and more.  Giving up the army.  Finding a quiet place to live with her. 

Leaving Zeke. 

It was petty.  He knew that.  He was sixteen now, and didn
’t need his brother to take care of him. 

But could he do without his friend?

Micah looked at him fondly.  “Don’t worry.  I can’t retire until the war is over.  Not with a clear conscience.” 

He wondered why Micah would feel guilty: for abandoning his ideals or for abandoning Zeke. 
“Ariel has changed you that much?” was all he managed to say. 

“
Tell me something.  Did you name your gun?” 

He felt himself turning red. 
“Yeah.  Maybe.” 

“
What is it?” 

He hesitated. 
“Julia.” 

“
I knew it.  It’s always a woman’s name.  Who is she?” 

This caught the boy by surprise. 
“Who?” 

“
Who do you think?  Julia!”  His tone was less like a teacher and more like an older brother.  “You didn’t just draw the name out of the hat, right?  Who is she?”

“
A girl I met.  Last year.  We were stationed near the Berlin plate.” 

Micah looked shocked, but pleased. 
“And here I thought I knew everything about you.  She broke your heart, didn’t she?”

Zeke jumped back in surprise.  Embarassed. 
“Hey, how did you . . .”

“
Like I said, it’s always a woman’s name.”  He became very serene.  “I’ve seen countless men name their weapons after girls.  Wives, girlfriends, former lovers, childhood friends.  I think it’s because we equate them with pain.  Women are weapons.  They inflict damage.  We want weapons to be strong, so we give them the names of the people who hurt us.”

Zeke
’s curiosity was piqued.  “So what did you name your sword?”  He wanted to know more about whatever vixen had broken his indestructible captain.

“
I didn’t.”

“
What?”  It seemed a lot of buildup for nothing. 

“
I didn’t name the sword,” he repeated.  “Ever since I met Ariel, I’ve been at peace.  The world is still at war, but I’m no longer a victim.  I feel strong with her.  Invincible.  Almost god-like.”

Zeke laughed to himself.  The idea that Micah had ever been weak was absurd. 

“She’s been good to me.  Both of you have.  But she’s calmed me.  I no longer feel brooding and angry all the time.  I just don’t feel like fighting anymore.”

“
So you didn’t name your sword?”

“
Right.” 

Now Zeke adopted the brotherly tone. 
“Come on, you
have
to call it something.  Everyone else does.”

“
Everyone?” 

“
Everyone.   It’s the rule.”

“
Well, far be it from me to disrupt the status quo.  I guess . . .” his voice trailed off as he thought.  Zeke imagined the gears clicking in his head. 

“
Deanna,” he said at long last. 

Aha! 
He thought. 
I’ve got something!
“Who was she?”

“
No one at all.” 

His enthusiasm drained instantly. 
“No one?  Then why . . .”

“
I just like the name.”

“
Micah!” called a high voice.  They turned to see Ariel running towards them from the army camp.  When she was close, her hands effortlessly found Micah’s.  “The general wants to see you.  Something big is going on.”

“
Only me?  What about the platoon?” 

“
He said it was a private briefing.  Top secret details.” 

“
Then I guess I had better go.”  He turned and ran off.  Ariel’s hands reached out to him long after he was out of range.

Two hours later, they began marching to Rome.

It was dusk.  Micah stood with Zeke, Ariel, and the rest of their platoon on a hill just outside of Rome. 

Watching the battle start. 

The sky was red.  It cast a frightening aura on the city.  The gunshots.  The explosions.  The occasional screams.  All highlighted by a bleeding sky. 

It would be dark soon, though. 

“
It’s started,” said Micah, quietly.  His gaze was fixed on the plate. 

“
Then why are we waiting here?” asked Zeke. 

The captain turned to address the platoon. 
“Listen up.  The sixth platoon has been given a special task.  The Roman operation is merely a front.  It is the cover necessary so that we can obtain control of a very important artifact.  Our objective is simple.  We must make our way to a place called The Tower of Atonement.  It is located directly above St. Peter’s Basilica in the former Vatican City.  Once there, we must find a book.” 

“
A book?” shouted a soldier.  “They’re sending
us
to get a book?” 

It seemed like a waste of their skills.  Micah
’s sixth platoon had become a living legend in the recent years of the war.  In the last six months, they had been called out on fifteen missions.  Each one succeeded with minimal casualties.  Entire towns and villages had been liberated just by their efforts alone.  They had successfully freed thousands of rebel prisoners from heavily-guarded Theocratic strongholds.  Their power and near-invincibility had earned them the nickname “The Dragons.” 

And now their mission was to rescue a book. 

“
The Book of Razael.
It is believed to be a holy artifact.  Intelligence reports that it may have the power to eradicate the malak from our world.” 

A few of the men laughed. 
“What is this?  A book of magic?” 

The captain
’s face was stern.  “Exactly.” 

The laughter faded.  They all placed their trust in their leader.  Even if what he said sounded crazy, they knew it must be true. 

As long as Micah believed it. 

A thought occurred to Ariel. 
“You mean the Theocrat . . .”

“
May be controlling the malak.  That’s right.”  The group fell quiet.  After a long pause, he spoke again.  “If that is true, this mission could end the war.  Be strong.  They chose the sixth platoon because we’ve made a name for ourselves.  We are the Dragons!  And we aren’t easily defeated.  But don’t expect this to be a cakewalk.  This is the Theocracy’s capital city, so defenses will be tight, especially in the upper city.  Our forces are trying to secure a route for us, but once we’re up on the plate, it’s entirely on our shoulders.”

A searchlight caught their eye.  It flashed in a distinct pattern. 

“There’s our signal,” said Micah.  He headed toward the city.  The others followed without being ordered. 

A fifty-meter climb up a makeshift rope ladder is no laughing matter, but Micah doesn’t even break a sweat. 

He reaches the top first.  Zeke and Ariel are close behind. 

Hitting the top, he launches himself over the guard wall around the upper city and hits the ground with blood already on his sword.  It looks black in the moonlight. His enemy falls dead before he even knows he’s been hurt. Other Theocratic soldiers raise their guns, but he reaches them too quickly.  Those he can’t reach with his sword are taken out by Zeke and Ariel. 

Micah seems oblivious to all else.  He runs furiously toward his mark.

His friends run after him, struggling to keep up.  Other members of the Sixth Platoon pull themselves over the wall. 

They fight their way through the city.  Micah slashes madly at any Theocratic soldier near him.  The other Dragons fire at distant enemies. 

The whole platoon working for the same goal: clear a path for their leader.