Pantheology

Page 3

“Giants!” Ares growled the word (as he tended to growl pretty much every word). The Olympian pantheon had waged a brutal war against the giants of their own dimension, and the two patrons of war knew just how fierce they could be in combat. The giants and gods cagily circled each other, like tigers, every muscle tensed, knuckles white around their weapons.

Ares laid a hand on each sword hilt at his belt, about to unleash a torrent of steel. Suddenly the giant facing him moved with speed that defied his great size, and wrapped his pillar like arms around the blood god in a crushing vice, pinning his arms at his side and lifting him off the ground. Ares growled once more, but this time like a wounded animal rather than one about to strike, as the air was forced out of his lungs and his ribs began to crack. A noble samurai or chivalrous knight would have been doomed, but Ares was not. The lord of violence clamped his jaws around the side of the giant’s neck, digging his teeth into the leathery skin and allowing the giant’s dark blood to splay across his cheeks. Ares’ paused for a moment. It tasted like chicken. As his ivory daggers bit into the tendons, snapping them one by one, his victim screamed and released his hold, hence ensuring his doom. Ares had his swords drawn before he even hit the ground. The first slashed from right to left across his enemy’s torso, a cut so fine that it left only a faint trace of crimson. It was swiftly followed by a slash from its twin blade, cutting left to right, leaving an X across the giant’s body. Ares stepped back as the confused beast looked at his chest, which appeared virtually unscathed. A split second later his guts began to pour from the opening flaps of flesh, leaving a dark pool of blood and organs moistening the dry earth, into which his lifeless corpse fell.

Meanwhile, Athene was dealing death to his counterpart. The giant’s initial charge was met with a spear butt to the throat, not quite able to crush the voicebox or Adam’s apple, but certainly enough to stop him in his tracks. The shaft swung round in Athene’s expert hands, sending the deadly blade into the back of his knee. The effects of the blow to the giant’s throat prevented him from even crying out in pain as the cut cable caused him to topple over backwards, crashing to the ground like so much lead. As soon as he hit the ground, Athene was there, foot on his chest, and spear blade buried deep next to it.

The bright-eyed warrior maiden turned to see how her companion had faired. Ares stood by his victim’s corpse, biting into an apple. A second glance confirmed that the ‘apple’ was in fact an organ of some sort. Ares wiped the gore from around his mouth with his sleeve and smiled, displaying a set of scarlet streaked teeth. Athene wasn’t even going to waste breath in argument, she just put on what she hoped was her most disapproving look and beckoned to him to follow her towards Bifrost. Ares took one final juicy bite of the unidentified organ before casting it over his shoulder and following his sister.

The two gods stood before the rainbow bridge that led up to Asguard, home of the Aesir. Athene set a tentative foot upon the bridge; it seemed to hold. The warrior goddess took a deep breath, and began to ascend. Ares followed, magnanimously letting Athene test the safety of the bridge by walking in front of him. Athene marveled at the beauty of the bridge. She would have to talk to Zeus about having one installed on Olympus. As the death-dealing duo reached the summit, they were presented with a land much like their own. A fertile forest, laden with greenery, lay on either side of the path. A full moon shone above, casting an ethereal light over the surroundings. This place was a world away from the desolation below. Ahead was a large wooden building of simple construction; the Aesir didn’t seem to care much for trappings. Light shone through the entrance, and sounds akin to those emanating from a mortal tavern reached the Olympians’ ears as they proceeded towards it.

As they neared the entrance, a figure stepped into their path with a growl that put Ares to shame. He was almost as tall as the giants they had fought below, and easily as muscular. Clad in furs and simple metal helm, with red braids down his back, he could have passed for a human Norseman were it not for the cold magical gleam in his eyes. At the ends of arms the same thickness from shoulder to wrist, a warhammer was clutched in his hands. The glow that it gave off bespoke enchantment.