Post by Mr. C on Oct 8, 2009 10:42:05 GMT -5
XXIII.
“And ye better save the worlds, ‘Ammer.”
And as the bright, golden chariot Cross was transported inside of rematerialized, it reappeared upon a splendidly luminous path made of every hue imaginable, set afore a backdrop of the deepest black of a night’s sky. Beneath Cross, every color known to man ran amongst each other, cascading elegantly from one in to the other, morphing, forming and blending in to the beautifully shining rainbow bridge. And as it rose up from Midgaard, shooting out of the clouds and deep in to the dark expanses of the universe around it, it shone bright, a beacon of light against the abysmal black of space’s eternity. Countless stars sparkled bright; flickering their magnificent white light inside the heavens, but not a one of them was as powerfully bright as this walkway, the rainbow bridge from Midgaard to Asgaard: Bifrost.
The scops had told of this passage in countless stories, this was the only way for one to transfer between the realms of Midgaard and Asgaard, it was the only way for intruders to attempt to overtake the Aesir’s golden home world. But none of the stories, none of the infinite tales of all the scops combined could express the wondrous beauty of Bifrost. It’s astounding range of color, the incredibility of the light it shone, and the sheer length of it – Cross had his work cut out for him. For no matter how beautiful this path was (and it’s beauty could not be stressed enough), it was a warpath. This was where the Jotuns and the demons of Niflehelm headed by the mischievous god Loki would attempt their siege of Asgaard, and for now it looked like Cross had made it on time.
So Brett, The Norse Hammer, began his magnificent trek, all the while attempting beyond human reasoning to take in all that had surrounded him this past year. To think, one moment, he was pillaging England – an act that was no different than any other day in his life, for pillaging was the life of a Viking. But then, he was called upon by the gods to take on a task no one in a million sleeps could dream of. He ventured to Jotunheimr and bested the beast of legend to become the rightful wielder of the illustrious and fabled blade Brandrwulf. He wielded it well, and he fought many more beasts with its power, he felled the mighty Jormungandr, and managed to battle out of the clutches of Hel herself. He became much more than a simple Viking, he became more than just the sea-faring pillager known only as Hammer – he became a God, the God of Midgaard, and now he walked the war-path of the gods, preparing to soon take on the tides of evil at the onset of Ragnarok. The thoughts whirled fast in Cross’ mind, and before he even had time to rifle through all of the changes, to try and comprehend all of what had transpired, a booming voice shot out through the deep silence surrounding the bridge.
“Halt! I’ve seen ye coming along my glorious bridge for the past thousand miles, who are ye and what is your business in Odin’s great hall?”
Before Cross, in all of his mighty glory was one of the Aesir himself, the guardian of Bifrost, The White God – Heimdall. Heimdall adorned in fantastic horned helm and glorious silvered armor to match stood tall, a true watch-guard. With one hand upon the hilt of his weapon, the other wrenching tight upon the mouthpiece of the horn Gjallhorn he carried to warn the gods of incoming attack. Shining as brightly as the road he watched after, Heimdall was no less the thing of god-like astonishment then what would be expected. Tall and strong, his eyes bore deep in to Cross’ soul – daring him to be one of the first lines sent to overtake Asgaard. And luckily for Hammer, he was not. When he came up to mighty Heimdall, Cross raised both hands high to show he meant no harm and boomed back his retort.
“I come not to lay siege to Asgaard, but it pleases me that such a mighty God as ye would have such high expectations of me. I know that ye spend the entirety of your life watching over this wondrous bridge, and so surely ye would know not who I am. I’ve been called upon by you Aesir, though. I am Hammer – and I come to aid ye in the fight against the war-tides of Ragnarok.”
And with Brett’s speech told, Bifrost’s guardian raised his brow in astonishment and for a moment, one could see his jaw slack. Despite how short a span it stayed, there was unmistakable shock on the White-God’s face. Instead of it being the other way around, the God was in awe of Cross. With a courteous nod, Heimdall stepped to the side to allow The God of Midgaard to pass through.
“Even with my mighty abilities of sight, I would not have imagined I’d see ye here, Hammer. If ye truly are who ye say, then perhaps all is not lost. I pray that the newest tales of the Norns are correct – I pray you lead us to victory in this coming war, God of Midgaard. Go forward, finish your trek ‘cross this bridge and enter the largest hall in Asgaard – the one of Odin the All-Father. And go with haste, Hammer. For the gods have already assembled to discuss the war-plans, and you are indeed a pivotal part of the coming war.”
Cross stretched out his hand as he passed, and shook the god’s about the wrist. The feeling of astonishment in meeting one another was mutual. An Aesir meeting an Aesir was of no certain importance, but Cross meeting these men of whom had been simply legends was something he could not even dream of. For these men did not just sit inside their stories and stay quiet, nay. They were his gods, the men he prayed to, the men who made the worlds the way they are. And in turn, things could be turned about for Heimdall’s meeting of Brett Cross. Even the magnificent god Heimdall had only heard tales of Hammer’s might, only tales of how he’d shape the ensuing events. The trick though, was that while all that the gods had done was set in stone – they were genuine accomplishments and there was nothing more for them to prove. Brett was young, and he had all to prove – especially when the fate of everything rested upon his broad Norse shoulders.
Making his way down the path, he smiled inwardly at the notion of such a thing. While it was indeed a daunting task to be called upon by the gods to do what they could not, he was certainly up for the challenge. For, what else did Cross have to live for? He lived for the kill, and that was that, and just like the trip upon Bifrost up to Heimdall, the second half passed just as quickly through his tumultuous thoughts and soon he stood before the gilded city of Asgaard, the home of the Aesir, the land that housed the mead-hall of the fallen, Valhalla. Cross looked up and up, attempting to find the tops of the buildings and couldn’t through the clouds. The buildings, all of which shining their heavenly, golden light stretched for miles upwards. They were all magnificent feats of architecture, all of them fitted for a God’s town. None of the buildings cast shadows, and the entire realm was a ball of golden light. It was indeed a heaven in the purest sense of the word. Cross, who thought prior he’d seen everything, was blown away at every corner by how majestic all of these heavenly landmarks were. As it was said before, it needs to be repeated. The stories do the actual beauty of these places no justice – Cross had truly made it to Asgaard.
Hammer wandered down the gold-paved roads of Asgaard, walking down the streets in between majestic statues and halls, his eyes not blinking once as he took in the magnificent greenery of the land, too. Brett found that just as astonishing was the artwork and architecture as was the magnificent trees that Idunn watched after, picking from them the golden apples of the Gods or the luscious green grass between the halls. This was an ethereal utopia; no matter where Cross looked he was astonished by beauty and purity. Yet through all of it, Cross’ mind was still a mass of chaotic thoughts, and one continued to tug at the back of his mind as he wandered forth to Odin’s hall.
Surely, this battle is far greater than any he’d been in before – that fact was undeniable. This was a battle against an opponent stronger than any he’d faced prior – for Loki surely wouldn’t fill his army with simple peons and insolent fools the likes of which Cross had felled for his entire life. And above all, the odds of this battle are unlike any he’s ever faced. In the past, when Cross fought the beasts he always had, he would either win, or he’d go down in a blaze of glory. And if he died, what of it? The Valkyries would come down and raise him up to Valhalla were he would soon live to fight again. But now, assume Cross died in this battle, assume Cross died when he was already with the Gods. He would not then be transported to the final battle, for this is it – this is Cross’ final battle whether he wins or loses. Before, win or lose, Cross would always have at least one more battle coming. But if he loses this one? That’s the end, and he would succumb to the dark void surrounding Bifrost, surrounding all the worlds. He would be cast out in to nothingness for all eternity – for what else will be left if the warriors of Heaven fall at the end of days?
How do you prepare for this? The Gods surely have their own plans, and their plans that they wish to plug him in to. Their “secret weapon”, their “big guns.” Sure, to the Aesir this was what they had spent their life working towards. They were all well aware of what was coming, but this will be a battle Cross is completely new to. Before, he fought to survive. And if he were to fail, then and only then would he prepare for Ragnarok. But Cross knew that he would not fail, he never imagined he’d ever have to prepare for Ragnarok. And now that he does have to prepare, it’s a brand new situation. But is there fear? Not in the slightest. Because when it comes down to it, no matter who he faces, no matter who he fights alongside of, no matter the scale or the odds, this is simply another fight – and fighting is what Cross has done his entire life.
He will fight hard, he will fight strong and he will never give in. This battle, while it all seems so new, so surreal as it stands right now will be nothing new to him once it begins. Once the fighting begins, it becomes second-nature it becomes reflexes and instinct – it becomes the only thing Cross remembers in life. Hammer has known only fighting, and when it comes time for war, Hammer becomes the world’s greatest fighter. And with the Gods behind him, with the Gods fighting at his sides, Cross knows that he cannot fall. And when the realization came through that while the enemy may be strong, and the stage may be great, the odds are certainly in his favor no matter what the consequences of the battle may be, he looked up and found that he was standing before the tallest hall in all of Asgaard, Valaskjalf. This hall, with a tower above it known as Hlidskjalf was where Odin was able to watch over all of the nine worlds on the limbs of Yggdrasil. Built entirely of silver, this mighty hall was where the Gods would be meeting, and as Cross strained to look upward, attempting to spot the throne room at the highest point of the hall, he noticed something peculiar and smirked. Seated over the archway of the main entrance was a massive pair of bull’s horns, war-ravaged and mighty, the sight of them brought a beaming smile to Brett’s face.
Jack Bull may be the strongest competitor he’s faced in quite some time – the first real challenge since the fluke of losing The Pure Title. And not just out of sheer ability, the likes of which Jack Bull has plenty of, but out of decoration, too. Bull’s held a fair number of titles in this federation and assumedly others, where as the people Cross has faced as of late where all new guys and jobbers, men that the management threw to him for nothing more than the sheer enjoyment of watching them be destroyed. Certainly The God of Midgaard had no trouble destroying the unworthy, but it became less of a challenge, less of a sport, and more of something to do to get a chuckle. There was also the point that if Jack Bull was to defeat him under Hardkore rules, then he would soon become a contender for that Hardkore Title, and the strongest contender he’s hand to date perhaps. And as he thought about it, perhaps battling Bull was what tugged at his mind and not the oncoming battle of Ragnarok. For the situations and circumstances between the two were uncannily similar. Strong opponents, large scale, steep odds. But just as he discovered that worrying over Ragnarok was trivial, so would be fretting about the ensuing battle with Jack Bull. Because when it comes down to it, when the bell rings to start the match or when Gjallhorn blares to commence the wars of Ragnarok then the goal becomes simple – fight for your life. And when it comes to fighting, there’s no one better than The God of Midgaard, Brett Cross.
