The music roared, heavy guitars and rapid vocals pairing in chaotic harmony. It was well past midnight by now, and the majority of the human guests had taken their leave some hours before, with the notable exception of almost all of the Broadway actors and playwrights, whatever the distinction between them was. The scene had changed entirely. The champagne tower was replaced with barrels of wine, mead, and beer respectively, scattered about with tables of mugs nearby. Despite the reduced number of guests, the dance floor was more packed than ever, an ocean of movement in a vast variety of styles. The air felt thicker, full of life, and the lighting had been turned down dramatically.

The only thing that hadn't changed, to Derrek’s great surprise, was the shrimp table. He knew they should have run out a long time ago, yet the decapods were stacked higher than ever. It was likely, he thought, that some god or another had something to do with it. He didn't mind too much though, he’d had several more drinks since the change from champagne, and the room had a glow to it even through the lowered lights.

The crowd had broken into several activities. Half of the parlor was dedicated to a high-stakes chess match between Jupiter of the Romans and a man in a Kimono, the crowd jumping and yelling bets as if it were a cockfight. The other half was occupied by a hodgepodge of gods and other miscellaneous entities, engaged in some kind of slam-poetry tournament. ‘Flyting,’ he heard someone call it.

It was the ruckus in the backyard, however, that drew the largest crowd, Derrek included. The band had cleared off the stage, setting up in a secondary spot on the porch, and the edges were crammed with people, or gods rather, shouting bets, waving a rainbow of cash in every color and denomination Derrek had ever heard of and several he hadn’t. Barely audible above the cheering and jeering, the rattle of coins on a hard surface clinged sharply in his ears, likely some hard money, ancient and valuable without a doubt. Despite the solid wall of flesh, or whatever gods were made of, Derrek knew exactly what they were celebrating.

Violence.

They were sparring, two at a time, hand to hand, a winner only declared once the referee decided it so, sat high on his raised chair like a lifeguard, except the only pools that would form would be of blood. And of course, who else would be filling the role but Discord, lording over the gods like… well, a god. Derrek got the feeling the drink had taken a toll on his wits.

As far as he could tell, the current matchup was Freya of the Norse, or Vanir if one would rather be specific, and Thor of the Aesir, or Norse if one would rather generalize. From his research, he knew them both to be formidable fighters, famous for their feats of cunning and strength, respectively of course. Thor had the weight advantage, the man was sturdy as a mountain, but he had hardly landed a blow on Freya. She was slippery as an eel, anticipating his moves and acting one step ahead, save for an unfortunate knee caught in her ribs earlier in the match. She was moving slower, but twice as cautious, wearing him down, bit by bit, a river grinding a valley into a canyon.

Thor had made a fatal mistake, he had gotten greedy with his strikes and left his side open. She gave him a knee in kind square in his liver and dropped him to a kneel. He took three rapid punches in the same spot before he fell any further, and Discord blew his outrageously loud whistle just before Freya landed her fourth. Thor curled into the fetal position while she lifted one arm in triumph, clutching her doubtless broken ribs with the other, the crowd shouting their delight and disgust all at once.

“Haha!” Discord called to the spectators, so loud it was as if he had a bullhorn, “Just goes to show, size ain’t everything! Freya wins!” He waved over two people adorned in medical tools and stereotypical doctors’ outfits. One he recognized as Apollo of the Greeks, the other was a woman, possibly from the Egyptian pantheon. He took a mental note to familiarize himself with that branch of mythology.

Was mythology even the right word anymore? Derrek pondered the thought. After all, can something undeniably exist and still be counted as myth? He wasn’t sure how he ended up mixed in the crowd watching these fights, he barely remembered leaving the house, but he didn’t mind it too much. Thor had been removed by then, the gods of medicine struggling under his considerable weight as they carried him off, while Freya hobbled offstage to seek her own medical attention.

“All right all right!” Discord called to the roaring crowd, which Derrek barely heard over his internal musings, “We’ve seen some of the matchups middle school nerds have debated over for decades: Thor vs. Freya, Athena vs. Bastet, even Zeus vs. Odin, though we can all agree that ruling was anything but final.” He gestured to Zeus and the allfather, Zeus with his arm in a sling and Odin with his one eye blackened, laughing and sipping from their mugs. “But I think we all can agree, this isn’t what we came to see.”

The crowd went suddenly silent, and Derrek was ripped from his existential thoughts to find all eyes on him, Discord’s finger pointing at him like a general giving the order to charge.

“I, for one, would love to see our gracious host show his grit. Surely I can’t be alone, can I?”

His question was met with rapturous applause, and before he could even tell, Derrek was shoved through the crowd into the heart of the circle. He stumbled and only just managed to keep his footing.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Discord intoned in his pompous announcer’s voice, “Before you stands one straight out of myth, even among present company! The Devourer himself, or its most recent host leastways. The one who crushed Boyd, the rogue reaper, who stood shoulder to shoulder with yours truly at the siege of the Schadenfreude, who bested the infamous Reginald Bernmore in single combat, the young wonder of Frostbyte incorporated, Derrek ‘Havok’ Snowe!”

The crowd cheered and rushed to place their bets, even before he knew his opponent. He should have seen it coming. Of course he wouldn’t be getting out of the party without some blood drawn, not with Discord involved. He should have known by now, that man and peaceful nights did not mix.

“Who among you will try?” Discord called, taking a slow look across the audience. “Which of you gods among other gods has the cojones to step forth?” He reached out with his arms as if for a hug and waited for a reply, but all that was offered was a series of deities avoiding his gaze and a few barely heard coughs. “Nobody? None willing to face this ancient evil residing in the body of a gen-z playboy?”

As Derrek looked around him, he noticed none meeting his eye. He expected word to have gotten out about his exploits, but he didn't realize until now what they meant. From what he understood, the Devourer had existed for longer than any of the gods present, and the thought occurred that there was a good reason they avoided that conflict. It scared him to think of the potential he held within, enough to strike fear even into deities. He felt a twinge of pride at that thought.

“I’ll take a crack at it.”

All eyes drew to one side of the circle, the crowd parting to reveal Jeffrey. He had abandoned his suit jacket and had his sleeves rolled past the elbow, the muscles in his forearms knotted like tree roots. His stride was uneven as he sauntered to his place in the circle. Derrek guessed he was drunk.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Haha!” Discord cackled out. “A whole host of gods, goddesses, and miscellanea, and the only one up to the task is a human! Couldn’t be more of a cliché if I’d set it up myself!” He set his eyes on Jeffrey. “You wanna pump up the crowd, or shall I?”

Jeffrey turned his squinting, unfocused eyes to the onlookers. Each god and goddess looked back at him, each with their own degree of excitement, but all of them eager. “They look pumped up enough to me,” he called up to Discord, slurring his words, “don’t see the need.”

Discord’s plastered smirk grew a touch wider. “Fair enough. Say your words, take your marks, then each of you beat the shit out of the other.”

The crowd backed away, and Derrek, who hadn't moved an inch since he was forced into position, found himself square at his mark, Jeffrey facing him down from the other side of the circle.

“What the fuck, Jeffrey.”

Jeffrey kneeled to roll up his pant leg, revealing his Frostbyte designed prosthetic. “Seemed like a good opportunity.”

“To do what? Kick my head off?”

The divine crowd gave a collective chuckle, and Jeffrey smiled under his bushy beard. “To make sure you haven't gone soft, but we can have it your way if you want.”

Without another word, Jeffrey sprung forward, winding up for a roundhouse to, as Derrek was coming to regret suggesting, take his head off. He only just managed to jerk back and avoid the strike, and it felt like a semi had just passed him by for how strong the wind was. Derrek fell back, barely managing to land on all fours like a reverse crab, and did not doubt his shoulders would hurt like hell in the morning. He clumsily rolled and stumbled to his feet, expecting another kick at any time, but luckily Jeffrey was faring little better, tottering around with his back to Derrek, thrown off balance after missing that full-forced kick.

Derrek squared up, not planning to be caught off guard again, watching as Jeffrey wobbled back and forth, quickly steadying, like a tree bent in the wind taking back its natural shape. He worked his neck and turned around to face Derrek, his drunken smile still clear under his beard. He lowered his stance, his shoes hissing against the wooden stage as they slid into place.

Derrek snatched the initiative and shot forward, feinting left, avoiding Jeffrey’s arms as he switched right. He hooked his leg behind Jeffrey’s, moving to push him off balance with a punch to the gut, but he was not to be moved, and Derrek was pretty sure more damage was done to his hand than anything else. He tried to follow his momentum and move past behind him, but Jeffrey managed to catch him by the jacket, and threw him across the circle like a rag doll, gently rubbing his abdomen where Derrek hit him. Derrek felt a sharp crack on the back of his head, his vision filling with blinding light as he tumbled across the floor.

Derrek tried to get up, but the world was spinning, the cheering of the crowd muffled to a senseless drone. He managed to rise to his hands and knees, staring at the wood floorboards, a thick strand of drool spilling from his mouth. He felt strong hands grab him by the collar and was violently pulled upwards, but he was given enough time to get a solid footing, so that was nice. Before he could even thank the kind soul who helped him up, he was slapped in the face, his head snapping with it while he was still held up by one hand. Rude.

He was slapped again, backhanded this time, and the blobs of color started to grow outlines, the sounds separating to their own sources, their own voices. By the third slap, he had a firm grasp on what was happening, and he managed to catch Jeffrey’s wrist before the fourth, broke the grip around his shirt, and scampered back, staring him down. He spat out blood and worked his jaw. Another sore spot for the morning. The horde of gods cheered their support and their disgust, enthralled by the spectacle.

“Send him to Helheim!” said a deep-voiced woman to his left.

“Use his mortality against him!” a gravel-filled voice from behind him.

“Slap him again!” Discord, from up on his perch.

The two circled the arena, drifting closer, step by step, Derrek's hands raised to fight, Jeffrey’s hanging limp at his side, stumbling slightly, but Derrek wasn’t fooled. He could tell Jeffrey had been holding back, even though his face was on fire.

“You awake yet?” Jeffrey asked, now close enough for Derrek to hear over the crowd.

“Hard not to be with all this noise.”

Jeffrey cracked a crooked grin at that. “I’m gonna kick your teeth in.”

Derrek jerked his head back as the metal leg rushed past his nose for the second time that night, and it was just as close to ruining his face as the first. He snapped back forward and closed the distance, planting a quick punch to Jeffrey’s side before he could put his leg back on the ground. He grunted with the pain, and Derrek punched him twice more before Jeffrey’s muscular arms reached for him, moving to lock him in a crushing bear hug.

Derrek dropped before he could get the chance, scrambled around him, and kicked him hard in the back of the leg, bringing him to one knee. He jumped up, and wrapped his arm around Jeffrey’s neck, locking it in place with the other, only just managing to wrap around Jeffrey's thick neck. Jeffrey clutched at him, scratching Derrek’s forearms, elbowing wildly, but his grip was steel tight, and Jeffrey’s strength was fading fast.

He lessened the pressure but didn’t let go. “Had enough?” he hissed, his teeth clenched with effort.

“Get… fucked…” Jeffrey struggled to wheeze out, “Snowy… shit…”

“Have it your way, then.”

Derrek squeezed tighter and held, watching carefully as Jeffrey struggled less and less, his punches becoming slaps, then thumps, then gentle taps, then he was dead weight. He released his grip, and Jeffrey fell like an oak, the boards of the stage shaking under his weight, sprawled out, gently snoring. Derrek thought it was for the best if he slept a while.

A still moment passed, no sound save for Jeffrey’s snoring and Derrek's breath. Discord stood on his podium and sprung down, landing by Derrek's side without so much as a sound.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!” He bellowed, grabbing Derrek's wrist and raising it high, “The winner is Havok!”

The crowd erupted with cheers, even those who lost money on the fight didn’t seem to mind. Among the mindless shouts, he heard a steadily rising chant, feet stomping and arms thrusting into the air in time with their calls. They were calling his name! “Havok! Havok!” they went, and Derrek couldn’t deny he liked the sound of it.

“Nice going,” Discord whispered in his ear, “still sharp as ever, even drunk off your ass.”

Derrek glared at him, “I’m feeling pretty sober now. What’d you do to get Jeffrey in on this?”

“Me?” Discord’s face was the image of injured innocence. “What do you take me for, some kind of schemer?” Derrek raised a white brow, and Discord cracked a smile. “All I did was pour his drinks and point out the circle, a soft hand works best.” He glanced across the crowd, “Speaking of which…”

Derrek followed suit and caught a glimpse of Terra, shoving her way through the throng, not rudely, but by no means nicely. She finally broke through, stumbled slightly, effortlessly righted herself, and trotted over to him, slipping her arms around his, pressing herself against him. He noticed Discord was nowhere to be seen, but his attention was elsewhere.

“Congratulations,” she said, her lips inches from his ear, “That was an excellent performance. I especially liked when he slapped you.”

Derrek blushed and tried to play it off with a laugh. Unsuccessfully, but he thought it was worth a try. “Can’t say that was my favorite part, but I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

A grin curled across her lips and she turned his face toward hers with a hand on his cheek. Soft hands she had, but undeniably firm. “Maybe your favorite part is just yet to come.” Before Derrek could express his confusion at that, she kissed him. Much like her hands, her lips were soft and undeniable. The crowd cheered louder than ever, and Derrek closed his eyes and kissed her back, wrapping her in a warm embrace.

The adoration of the masses, the thrill of victory, Terra’s warmth against him, Derrek could get used to this.