Attila crept towards his foe.
Lowering his longsword, a.k.a. Raguel, the Scrouge of God seemed to be preparing another technique. His expression was stern, revealing no emotion other than his impatience at wanting to rip Tyr to smithereens and see more blood drawn on his flawless skin.
"Here it comes!" Anansi screamed. "Attila the Hun is calmly strolling his way towards Tyr! Is he going to perform another savage attack? Oh, boy! Just moving like that is keeping me on my toes!"
Attila shifted his weapon into a vertical position, taking more steps towards the Nordic god of justice. The archangels embrace themselves, knowing that he is about to unleash another different move, possibly just as devastating as his Legion Piercer. Tyr narrowed his eyes, figuring out that his opponent was about to deliver another one of his attacks.
Attila raised his weapon to the back of his waist, crouching and positioning himself closer to the ground. The Huns roared in excitement; nostalgia flowed back into their minds. It was one of Attila's techniques that annihilated dozens of Roman soldiers during their wars of conquest. They remembered how their leader used his mastered techniques to save their lives; they missed the times Attila used this to easily dispatch their foes; they cheered for their leader, wanting him to use that technique again and wanting him to show the true might of the Scrouge of God.
The mortal fighter eyed the justice god, clenching the weapon's handle. He muttered his next technique:
"Decapitator of Romans."
He swung the longsword vertically, resulting in a sonic blast the shape of a slice, heading towards Tyr and directing at his neck. The blast simultaneously generated colossal winds that blew over the audience behind Tyr, threatening to blow them away.
"Attila the Hun has liberated another one of his skills!" The African teller of stories' voice shrilled with excitement. "And by the name of it, I can tell that it's aiming for Tyr's head! What would our champion do next?!"
Surprisingly, Tyr was unaffected by another attack and stood guard. With his golden sword, he managed to shield himself from the slice, deflecting it and causing it to collide with the wall behind, leaving a massive tear on the platinum wall. Everyone was awestruck at the damage to the formerly beautiful wall, intimidated by the cut and the imagined spot in Tyr's current state if he had failed to parry the attack.
Clicking his tongue, Attila repositioned himself, preparing to use the same technique again. Tyr has had enough of being on the defensive side; it's his turn to go on the offensive.
Attila performed the same move, targeting the god's neck and swinging in more rapid bursts to catch him off-guard. Meanwhile, Tyr parried slice after slice, deflecting them to collide with the wall or the soil. With a calm demeanour, Tyr slowly moved forward towards Attila. The latter narrowed his eyes and briefly caught off-guard that his foe could parry his powerful technique.
But he soon made a mental smile. Tyr was powerful, enough to be one of the strongest opponents he faced. He recognised the god's strength and wanted to make the most of it.
Many gods felt an immense feeling build up within them. They trembled, gulped, and sweated. They never felt this towards humans before, only towards other gods and the enemies of the divine. What is this? They felt threatened by the presence of Attila the Hun and how he managed to damage Tyr's perfect armour and drive him into a corner. They all hated this feeling that he gave them. They tried to deny this feeling, trying to think it was just an irritating, intrusive thought, but it's true.
The gods were intimidated by a human.
Dionysus and Lugh were experiencing a sense of relief at their exclusion from the God's Fighters roster. The Greek god of wine was sure that if he were in the ring right now, he would either have been missing a head and humanity would have their first win, or he would have managed to deflect the attack but would be critically injured. He now knew that he would barely stand a chance against Attila, let alone other human candidates. Lugh was more confident that he could go toe to toe with a human fighter, but even he knew that he would struggle against Attila. If he can't defeat Attila, he is sure that he can barely stand a chance against other fighters for mankind.
Tyr advanced towards Attila, the latter backing away while simultaneously launching slices towards his foe. The god deflected every slice hurled at him, and while this technique can deal serious damage if hit directly, it barely scratched him. The Scrouge of God was getting frustrated that he couldn't hit his opponent, he couldn't see any fresh wounds from his assaults, he hated every single miss on Tyr, and he hated himself for failing to draw blood with one of his perfect techniques.
Attila's mind went through one thought: This is unacceptable. It is wrong for someone to remain unscathed from the technique that many Romans fell upon. How can someone be unharmed by such a ferocious assault? He let out a growl of aggravation; he just wanted Tyr to bleed again.
His foe was getting closer to him. Attila knew that his current technique was ineffective against opponents who were too close to him. Although he actually wanted to keep using this move forever, he must back away before Tyr can perform an attack on him. Which is what happened.
Tyr wasn't even five metres away from Attila, but he leaped towards him at an equally swift speed, catching even Attila himself off-guard. He attempted to raise his longsword to parry Tyr's assault, but unfortunately, that was of no use. The god raised his sword, and in a heartbeat, Tyr was standing just a few steps behind Attila, whose chest was gushing out a fresh wound of blood.
The formerly loud Huns fell back in silence; their leader had just been dealt a more serious wound. Bleda's eyes widened at the speed of Tyr; is his brother's opponent that fast? To the point where he couldn't block it? Mundzuk's smugness decayed at the sight of his older son bleeding. Yes, he knew that Attila bled during his life from fighting many enemies. But none of them were that fast, and none of them could catch the Attila off-guard.
"That's amazing!" Anansi boomed. "Tyr struck back with an even faster attack on his foe! This newly made wound is more devastating than those previous small fries! Attila the Hun must have been shocked to witness the true might of the gods!"
Tyr's attack brought back the pride of the gods. They cheered for their first champion; even if Attila's wound isn't too serious, they were proud that they managed to make a comeback. They began to roar much louder than before, begging Tyr to perform that attack again and finish off Attila.
"You see that?" Bragi gloated, puffing out a steam of pride. "Tyr is the best! You mortals aren't so smug now, huh?"
Huginn and Muninn cackled at the sight of Attila's injury; they gave taunting glares to Bleda on the right, who would have torn the ravens apart if not for Anansi sitting between them. "Well, what do you think?" Huginn asked. "Feel intimidated by us gods? This is not the only technique Tyr can use to shred Attila apart.
Attila swiftly raised his guard and skipped backward away from Tyr. That's not an attack with his full potential; if it were, he would have an even larger wound and would be on the ground, bleeding and dying. He smirked as he wiped the blood from his hand. Yes, this is what he wanted! An opponent who can give him a fight of his life, an opponent who can make him fear for his life.
But he wasn't distracted enough to let Tyr perform another attack.
This time, as Tyr leaped towards him to attack, Attila swung his longsword, parrying what would be an unpleasant attack. The god sidestepped and repeated the attack, with Attila deflecting each one. The sound of metal clashing rang the stadium, though not as vigorous as the previous attacks. The audience remained respectfully silent, waiting for one side to be delivered another blow.
Calculating his opponent's moves, Tyr waited for even the smallest of openings to strike. He never wanted to defend again; he wanted to be on the offensive like right now, and he wanted it to last for the rest of the round. He swung his sword, targeting Attila's sword arm, and as predicted, the warlord made an attempt to counter it.
As Attila swung his longsword to parry Tyr's false attack, the god unleashed his first technique in this match. He prepared himself for the speed of his next attack, and before their blades could clash again, he performed it.
"Claws of Gamr."
Attila wasn't able to predict nor prepare himself for Tyr's first technique; the god swung his sword at high velocity, evading Attila's blade and directly slicing him on his left shoulder. The new wound gushed out a stream of blood, and Attila made a pained expression for the first time in the battle.
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The Scrouge of God sidestepped away from his opponent to avoid another blow. Backing away from a safer distance, he observed his new wound. Three aligned cuts were embedded on his shoulder, streaming down drops of blood. The wounds were similar to the claw marks of a beast, despite Tyr only having one weapon.
"There we have it!" Anansi commented. "Tyr has delivered a brutal attack on Attila's shoulder! Humanity's first fighter has been dealt two wounds in a row!"
The gods roared in satisfaction, chants of Tyr boomed across the stadium, and millions of deities cheered on for their champion, demanding more blood and the match to be finished swiftly. Bragi whooped and showered confetti onto the stadium for his idol, bragging on how mighty Tyr is.
Humanity, on the other hand, was stunned at Tyr's power. Bleda, Mundzuk, and the Huns trembled with horror at their leader being overpowered twice in a row. How could this be? Attila was doing so well before; how can Tyr suddenly gain the upper hand? Was he holding back? Or was he bidding his time to prepare his techniques?
In the commentator's box, Huginn and Muninn crossed their wings with pride. Odin's son has proved to those arrogant humans the true strength of the gods. Zeus was right to have chosen Tyr as one of their thirteen fighters. Since that fateful incident, Tyr has become one of Odin's most loved and respected sons. And for good reason.
***
Thousands of years ago, the Aesir gods were under the threat of the savage white wolf Fenrir. They knew the wolf posed a threat to both the gods and Asgard. To protect themselves, Odin hatched a plan to bind Fenrir and prevent him from causing more devastation.
To assist them, the dwarves crafted the magical chain Gleipinir, a thin but incredibly resistant chain suitable for binding the savage beast. Odin assembled a small group of gods to finish the deed. Finding a cave, they found it a suitable place to bind the wolf.
Odin tasked Thor with luring Fenrir into the cave, lying to the wolf that there was a grand feast, and he was invited. Curious and interested in a magnificent dinner, the wolf arrived at the cave in just a few minutes, spotting the gods surrounding a circular seat.
Odin greeted the wolf, politely asking him to take a seat while they prepared his dinner. Fenrir was delighted at being able to partake in a grand feast, but the beast was no dimwit. He knew something was suspicious, but nevertheless, he obeyed and sat on the table, more cautious about the gods' next move.
Bragi pretended to cook a grand meal, attempting to lower Fenrir's guard. But the wolf is highly observant, eyeing the god's hand movements and catching on to the fact that something is off. Before the wolf could react, Thor leaped from above. The Norse god of thunder slammed the beast with the colossal Mjolnir, causing the wolf to collapse.
Tyr instantly chained the wolf's paws with Gleipinir, effectively pinning the wolf down. Fenrir howled in rage that he had been deceived, his eyes filled with vengeance and rage towards the gods. He tried to move to get a bite of their heads, but the chains were too powerful for him to move even for a few centimetres.
"It's useless!" Bragi taunted. "Even the most powerful weapons can barely scratch those enchanted chains! You are no exception! So, you'd better be a good boy and kneel, dog!"
This was his biggest mistake.
Fenrir howled and struggled. Despite being bound, he managed to move himself closer to Bragi, causing the god to stagger and collapse. There was no escape for him. Fenrir moved in closer, opening his jaws and preparing to bite off Bragi's head. The Nordic god of poetry whimpered and cried.
"Okay! I take it back! I'm sorry!" He begged.
The wolf refused to listen. It seemed to be the end of Bragi. Thor, despite his incredible strength, was unable to react to this sudden and swift event. Fenrir clamped down, but his bite found a different target. The hardness of the bones was not comparable to that of a skull's; he looked down and witnessed himself biting onto someone's left arm, shielding Bragi from death.
And that god was Tyr.
The god of war gritted his teeth in agonising pain as the frustrated wolf reared his head, severing his left arm. But this gave Odin time to enhance the chains' enchantments, completely binding Fenrir. With a rageful howl, the wolf demanded that the gods release him, threatening to kill them all. This fell empty in the gods' ears. Thor assisted Tyr on his feet as they left the cave, leaving the wolf behind, bound and cold.
Returning to the safety of Asgard, Bragi tendered to Tyr's bloody wound, shedding tears of regret that he had forced Tyr to lose an arm due to his recklessness. "I-I'm sorry." He managed. "It's my fault that you lost an arm. If I never taunted Fenrir, you'd still have your left arm. I'm sorry!"
Tyr shrugged, patting Bragi's shoulder with his remaining hand. "It's no serious business. It's just to stand up for others who need help. You needed help back there, and I protected you. It was the right thing to do."
That day, Tyr gained the honourable title of the other Aesir gods as not only the god of war but also the god of justice. He earns the admiration and respect of his seniors and junior gods, knowing he stands for the justice of the gods. Bragi worshipped his saviour as an older brother and an idol, knowing that he was the most extortionary god that he'd ever seen.
Even in the present, he has never dropped his beliefs.
***
Tyr unleashed the same technique again, dashing towards Attila at lightning-swift speed. The Hun just managed to evade his attack; despite loving and appreciating another fresh wound, he knows this could be the end of him if he were to be hit a few more times. Now, he's playing on the defending side, which is not his cup of tea. He couldn't land an attack on his enemy, having to parry and deflect Tyr's techniques. The god refused to let his opponent find an opening to counter him; even then, he couldn't land a hit on his foe despite backing him into a corner.
Attila saw an opening during Tyr's attacks. Narrowing his eyes, he swung his longsword, attempting to jab him in the stomach, not wanting to waste this opportunity. This moment led to a mistake. Tyr, also seeing this as a moment of vulnerability, unleashed another technique on Attila before the latter could succeed.
The newest attack from the god proved to be futile. Attila barely managed to shield his chest from Tyr's offence, but something was wrong. Attila heard a difference between the clash between Tyr's sword and his weapon. He slowly stepped back to avoid Tyr, eyeing his weapon. He knew it; while that attack didn't do any damage to him, it did something to his longsword.
It was chipped during his defence.
The archangels were horrified. Damage to the fighter's weapon is also damage to the archangel bonded with them. Raguel was in pain, and they knew it. Metatron clenched his top hat; Uriel nearly dropped his encyclopedia; and the usually loud Raphael was silent at the sight of the chipped longsword.
"R-Raguel." Gabriel muttered.
The door to their VIP room opened, and a new figure stepped in. This female archangel had peach skin, yellow eyes, and the same flowing white hair as her father. Unlike her father, though, she looked less businessman-like, wearing a pair of jeans and an emerald polo T-shirt. Her overall appearance is similar to that of a teenager who went shopping with her friends.
"Oh... Ariel." Metatron whimpered. The daughter of Raguel grasped a grey suit she was holding—her father's most precious and favourite one. She nervously stepped forward towards the window, getting a perfect view of the arena below.
"F-father." Ariel muttered. "I saw what happened. H-he's..."
"It's not over yet." Michael reassured. "The fight isn't over; Raguel and our first champion is still alive and fighting."
The other archangels' expressions softened, especially Ariel's. Their leader was right, the battle is still ongoing. Raguel will be fine, as long as they win, he'll be alive.
They all heard an unexpected noise from the arena.
Attila was laughing.
Everyone fell silent at his cackles of joy. He was laughing so happily for a guy whose weapon was chipped. Every confused human, god, angel and demon were wondering on the same question: What was so funny to him?
"That's awesome! That's awesome!" The Scrouge of God eyed his chipped longsword again and sported a huge smile. "It's been a long time since someone has ever damaged my weapons. That's a good one, I'll give you that, god." He adjusted his stance, his smile growing larger by the second. "Now, I guess it's time for me to get more serious."
He clenched the handle with more force, to the point that the archangels are slightly worried he might hurt Raguel by doing so. "Hey, archangel." Attila whispered. "Let's show this god who's the real god in this battle, shall we?"
He felt his weapon pulse, like Raguel was agreeing with him.
Everyone couldn't catch his newly swift movement as he leaped in the direction of his enemy. Attila didn't care whether another wound would be dealt to him; he didn't mind how deep it was. It was time to show the audience the might of the Scrouge of God.
Unfazed, Tyr raised his weapon. Attila figured out that he was preparing for another technique by the way he moves. Attila roared, performing his Legion Piercer in midair. Tyr naturally blocked them; none of Attila's attacks were harming him; not this attack was harming him anyway.
Landing onto the ground, just a metre away from Tyr. Not wasting time, Attila swung his longsword upwards, performing another Decapitator of Romans. In return, Tyr swung his sword to deflect Attila's attack. As the metal clashed and a resulting shockwave resonating around them, Attila smiled. Tyr fell for his false attack, there's another opportunity waiting for him.
Using his other free hand, Attila swiftly grabbed two arrows from his back. Just as Tyr found out what he was doing, he caught on with his plan. He left himself open by countering Attila's longsword, a false move to distract him.
"Decapitator of Romans!"
It wasn't the longsword that Attila slashed on Tyr's chest, but with the two arrows, he just fished out. Two massive scars formed on Tyr's armour, and soon, a gust of blood sprayed out from the openings, flowing down Tyr's chest. The Norse god of war widened his eyes in pain, shock, and awe. He stumbled back, his movements slower and wobblier, drops of blood falling onto the sand, staining it in rose red.
The Huns roared in glory, raising their fists and stomping their feet. Mundzuk shed manly tears of proudness and joy at his son's power, raising his voice and cheering for Attila, slamming his shield, and throwing wine all over the stands like a madman, which the other human spectators found to be quite unpleasant.
"See that?!" Bleda huffed with pride. "That's my brother's strength! That's the true glory of humans! No matter what you throw at my brother, no matter how many times he is thrown down, he'll always stand back up and deliver a counterattack."
Attila, hearing his older brother's praises, smiled with gratitude. Slipping backwards before Tyr could counter him, he raised his bloodied arrows, and the Huns roared much louder than before and raised their weapons as well.
On the other hand, the gods were dismayed by what just happened. Bragi's jaw looked like it was going to dislocate and fall off at any moment. Dionysus dropped his glass of purple wine, spilling it onto the marble floor (though the glass thankfully didn't shatter). Lugh's eye twitched in horror at the sight of Tyr's huge wound.
How could this be? The gods were superior to mankind. How could one be heavily wounded by one? Yes, there were many records of a god being bested by man, but not everyone can do that! This is shocking news; this moment is truly shocking and a first in the history of both the gods and humanity.
This moment was the first time a regular mortal had struck a god.