The Seeds of Escape

[Mr. C]

XIV.

“Cross! Wake up you pitiful soul.”

Cross and Glaeg sat in a cage littered with death, the two of them blacked out at some point during their drag to the nether realm and now they woke, seated upon piles of rotting corpses. The environment was hot and sticky, the air smelled of sulfur and decomposition and there was a low hum of agony beneath the condescending voice that spoke to them.

A front of the two Viking cousins stood a duo of Norse evil, the Master of Trickery Loki with his daughter Hel at his side. The two of them smirked evilly at the trapped Norsemen and chuckled over the groans of death around them. Cross growled and immediately reached for Brandrwulf at his side; luckily it rested still in its holster. The cousins of good stood up in their cage, crunching cadavers beneath their furred boots and glared back at the captors. Loki laughed harder as his adversaries stood in defiance and paced in front of them, motioning half-intently as he spoke.

“Fear not ye ‘oh so brave Viking.’” The condescension in Loki’s voice nearly dripped off of every word. “We tried to take thy blade, but apparently the item is unable to be wielded by anyone but ye. It appears ye’ve taken after that arrogant bastard Thor and bound your weapon to you just as he with Mjollnir. No matter, for Brandrwulf or not ye’ve been removed from Midgaard in its’ most dire time of need. Ragnarok is coming, Cross, and here you sit, trapped in Niflehelm!”

Loki laughed heartily as he waved his hand at the cage the Viking brothers sat in. Cross growled and gripped the hilt of his legendary blade tightly. Loki’s words burned Cross up, angered him far worse than any other. And as his mind whirled with the thoughts of how he’d like to kill Loki, he soon realized his folly. The green of Loki’s robes were much the same as the ones his father wore when he visited Brett many weeks ago. And, if Brandrwulf was truly bound to his soul and only his, how is it possible Oleg, who knew so much about the blade to know its worth, would ever attempt to take it from his son. Loki did it; he finally tricked Cross, and tricked him when it mattered most.

“Loki, ye vile fiend! Ye baited me all the way out ‘ere ta keep me from Midgaard when Ragnarok strikes! My father never wanted anything to do with Brandrwulf after all, this was all your trickery! Tell’st me! Where is Oleg?! Where are my parents?!”

“It matters not where they are ye pathetic soul, ye’ll never see anyone again!” Loki laughed heartily at Cross and Glaeg, as the two glowered at the triumphant God of Mischief. He lavished in his boasting, priding himself in his capture. “Whilst the worlds above are being destroyed, whilst the Gods are waging wars against evil, and whilst the humans you pledged to save are being slaughtered, ye are trapped down here, and here ye will stay forever!”

Loki laughed harder at the finish of his taunt and turned to leave, flourishing the robes he wore with the turn, and at his side his beautifully pale daughter winked towards them and followed quietly. With a life full of death, Hel was not one to boast like her mischievous father, but just as evil was she, through and through. As they left, Cross frowned, but didn’t loosen his stance one bit. He stood tall, ready to attack, he was far too angry to relax right now. He had finally fallen to the tricks of Loki and at the worst of times. He had failed himself, he had failed his family and he had failed the gods: the gods who summoned him to find Brandrwulf and save the nine limbs of Yggdrasil. But now, he’s stuck in this cage in Niflehelm, unable to do his part. Unable to do the gods’ bidding, unable to fight valiantly. A fate worse than death for a Viking warrior.

He and Oblivion are actually much alike. The two of them facing off this week is certainly a match-up to pay attention to. Prestigious fighters each in their own right, mammoths of men and valiant fighters. But, the likeness they shared at this moment was both of them had been to the underworlds. Oblivion, a former world champion entered Niflehelm not long ago, but was able to find a way out, and now he was in the process of reinventing himself in pursuit of the World Heavyweight Championship, the very same title he held before being cast to the netherworld. And now Cross was trapped down here, tricked in to the underworld by The God of Mischief himself. Much like Oblivion was cast down, “The Norse Hammer” now rests in a cage in the underworld waiting for death among hundreds of other wayward souls.

And that’s when Cross frowned in dismay, and turned to his cousin with slumped shoulders. His Viking brother, he had to apologize for trapping them down in this realm. For he didn’t need to bring Glaeg with him on his quest to vanquish Oleg, and he shouldn’t have even ventured to defeat his father in the first place, as it was all an elaborate ploy from Loki to begin with. He was completely ashamed over the entire ordeal.

“I apologize ol’ friend, for t’is all my fault that we’re stuck down ‘ere. Ambushed by Helspawn an’ cast down in t’Niflehelm. T’is all my fault that we’re stuck here, waiting t’rot. I’ve let ye down, I’ve let myself down, and I’ve let the gods down.”

But as Cross hung his head, turning away from his cousin, ready to wait out his end of days, Glaeg smirked and made his way over to him, not bothering to pick his steps between the death on the floor. The one-eyed Viking socked Cross on the arm and boomed out an enthusiastic reply, for seeing The God of Midgaard in such dismay was an entirely disheartening scene.

“Ye honestly think that some rickety old cage in Niflehelm can hold the two of us, ‘Ammer?! Ye’re the God of Midgaard, and that surely makes me Midgaard’s greatest second-in-command! The two of us can find a way out from this realm, ‘ammer, I know’t. We fought bravely in t’the world of Jotunheimr and back, with treasure in tow! What makes this realm any different? The cold is now heat and the giants are now skeletons an’ wayward souls. Ye, with the blade Brandrwulf at ‘and can surely get us out of ‘ere and then together we’ll fight our way free and enter the fray in the worlds above just in time t’save Midgaard from the ferocity of Ragnarok!”

Cross mulled over the words, thinking through what Glaeg had said, needing only a brief moment to realize how true they were. Giving up was not the Viking way, not in the face of anything, for Vikings fought no matter the odds, and this was no different. With a smirk of his own, Cross nodded and punched his Viking brother back. That’s what Glaeg was there for. Being at his side, and helping him through all of these adventures. He had brought his cousin for a reason, one-eyed or not, he was always able to reason and see the big picture. Where Brett Cross was bold, less level-headed and based more on action, Glaeg was calm and thoughtful. Together they certainly could make it through the events to come, to make it out of Niflehelm, to battle back to the realm of Midgaard and fight during Ragnarok. If Oblivion could fight from Hel, so could Cross. And where Oblivion continued to fight towards the World Title, Cross would continue his fight in the end of days, defending his Pure Title and the world.

Cross stood and unsheathed Brandrwulf from his side and raised it in defiance of the steel bars that held them in this damned cage. Cross, with the power of Brandrwulf, would bust out of the restraints of Niflehelm and fight to the worlds above. If Oblivion could return from death and force his way in to the title picture, it was not too late for Cross, either. This week, Cross planned to prove that Oblivion was not the only man in EUW strong enough to break out of Hel. Not the only man deserving of being in the world title picture. Not the only man to fight through adversity and continue on strong. Cross would prove this week by beating Oblivion that in actuality, he was the greatest fighter in the EUW. He’d show that he was the most accomplished inside the ring and out. Oblivion, surely he’s impressive. But there’s nothing he, or anyone in the EUW can do that Brett Cross cannot. For Oblivion is zombie, a man at best. But Brett Cross? He’s The Norse Hammer. The God of Midgaard. With blade raised, he gripped the handle tight and swung -

*

“Wait, wait, wait.” Jack Rogers sat across from the Viking of EUW with a pen and pad of paper in hand. He raised his eyebrow as he motioned towards Cross with the tip of his writing utensil. “…Are you expecting me to believe that you… broke out of Hell?”

Cross frowned and leaned in towards the interviewer, stroking his thick blonde beard as he bellowed out a reply.

“Niflehelm, yes. The realm of Hel, the Goddess of Death and daughter of Loki. What’s the problem?”

“Well, see Brett… I’ve been writing down your story and posting it to EUW.com for months, now. “Twilight of the Thunder God” gets a ton of hits for the site. I even spiff it up, as you know, to make each story a little promotional metaphor for your upcoming match. But if you expect me to somehow work with this… you’re crazy! I just can’t do it! No one will take this seriously, I mean… breaking out from the underworld?”

“Listen, lass. I’ve been tellin’ these stories far longer’n ye’ve been writin’ ‘em for me and I’ll ‘ave ye know that I care not if’n ye think they’re real or not. For the man I face this week claims t’have done the same thing I claimest, and if ye think I couldn’t ‘ave done’t but ye believe Oblivion could’ve then his defeat this week will surely prove ye wrong. Now! Where were we? Ah, yes. So I swung Brandrwulf down upon’st the steel bars of the cage that held us deep in Niflehelm....”