Saying a final goodbye is the hardest thing a parent can do.
It was one hour before the first round, and Raguel stood with Michael as they watched over the crowded arena. Despite his expressionless face, Raguel was nervous. He knew that if his human fighter were to perish, he would too.
But he didn't want to die yet. He had a family waiting for him.
Raguel's hand shook as he sipped his bottle of water. He inhaled deeply, holding it for a moment before releasing it. He repeated this a couple of times to reassure himself that he would be fine. It's not like Attila will be defeated without putting up a grand battle.
But the possibility of them losing is still existent. It's clouding Raguel's thoughts. What if he died? He would never see his family again. He'll leave them fatherless; his remaining children will have to grow up without a loving dad. The archangel of harmony's hands trembled violently, threatening to drop the bottle in his hand.
"I understand." Michael's words shook him out of the train of darkness.
"I know. This is a very hard decision to make: putting our lives on the line and risking death. Not everyone has the courage to show such bravery. Just as a reminder." He smiled and faced Raguel. "This is not an order. If you have second thoughts and want to back out,
"I won't." Raguel replied. Clenching his other hand, he took another deep breath, calming himself down. "I will put my life in danger for the sake of mankind. Yes, I am horrified at the idea of dying. But my decision is final."
Michael lowered his head, then reached out his hand. Raguel understood this and shook the archangel leader's hand, knowing that this could be the final time they ever did this.
"May the light of heaven be by your side." Michael wished.
"May the light of heaven be by my side." Raguel prayed. Michael was tempted to give Raguel a final hug and didn't let go. But time won't wait for the extinction of humanity; they must fight. Sighing, Michael asked him a crucial question:
"Anyone you want to see before you bond with Attila?"
Raguel nodded. "Of course. You know me."
Naturally, Ariel was not pleased about her father being the first to head out.
"Father!" She wailed, clenching his hand. "Are you sure about this? Are you really going first?"
"My sweetheart." Raguel cooed, gently stroking his daughter's hair. "It's inevitable that I'm going to risk my life in Genesis. Either today or tomorrow. And one round, you will have to put your life on the line too."
Michael silently cleared his throat, remembering that Ariel also volunteered to be a fighter for mankind. Did he do the right thing? Is it really worth destroying a family just for the survival of humanity? How would he feel if either one of them died in battle? Clenching his fist, he told his thoughts to shut up, soothing himself before listening to Raguel's family.
"Excuse me." A voice spoke behind them. Michael and the family were shocked to see Attila the Hun present right before their eyes. He gestured to Raguel, sighing. "Archangel Raguel. The fight is about to begin."
Holding back tears, Ariel and her two younger siblings gave Raguel a bearhug.
"Daddy!" A young angel cried. "Please, don't go!"
"Come on, daddy!" Another, slightly older, young angel begged. "Stay with us!"
Raguel was on the verge of tears, but his facade of strength hid it from his children. "Elysariel." He said this to the older young angel and turned to his youngest child. "Kaelith." Kissing the young angels on the forehead, he patted their heads. "Fear not; Daddy will make sure to kick the sorry butt of whichever god comes out first, and I'll make them cry!"
"R-really?" Kaelith asked.
"I promise." Raguel responded. "Count on Uncle Attila for that." He turned to face the first human fighter, who shrugged and gave the young angel a thumbs-up, smiling with confidence. Kaelith and Elysariel's expressions calmed, turning into a faint smile. Raguel hugged them all tighter, knowing this could be the last time he would ever hug his children.
He let go, stood up, and whispered into Ariel's ear. "If we lose."
"Please don't say that." Ariel whimpered.
"If... that happens. Please take good care of your siblings." He kissed Ariel on the forehead and walked towards Attila, nodding at his user. Turning back to face his children, he smiled at them, resting his fist above his heart.
"I love you all. Always remember that."
The three couldn't hold back their sorrow anymore; they burst into tears but resisted the urge to collapse onto the floor. Raguel was beginning to consider the second option: he could back out, refuse the bond, and return to his children. He wanted that. However, he loved humanity equally as his children, and he couldn't afford to see them get endangered.
Waving at them for the last time, he turned to face Attila. "I'm ready." He confirmed and extended his hand to Attila. The Scrouge of God instantly shook it back, and the archangel felt his body transform into two separate weapons: his longsword and his arrows. Satisfied, Attila sheathed the longsword into the scabbard, placed the arrows in his quiver, and left to head towards the stadium.
"Don't worry, archangel." He spoke. "We'll win. You will see your family again. I swear on it."
***
Ariel couldn't hold back her excitement at the blood of Tyr. It looks like her father did keep his promise! Thanks to him, a human had managed to severely wound a deity.
"UNBELIEVABLE!" Anansi's magnified voice boomed. "I hope you all have your eyes peeled! Attila has delivered a massive wound to Tyr! They did it! Mankind has done the nigh-impossible! This is a moment that will go down in the history of both God and man."
Metatron's top hat fell onto the floor, but he didn't care. "Did you see that?!" He exclaimed before bursting into laughter. "That's amazing!"
Raphael laughed much louder than Metatron. "It looks like the gods aren't so haughty now!"
They were interrupted by Gabriel's slurping on his blended chocolate; his eyes were about to burst out from his eye sockets in joy. "Incredible. Absolutely remarkable!" He leaped into the air in excitement and whooped. Uriel was smiling for the first time since he entered the VIP room, just as impressed as the other archangels.
The door opened once more for two new visitors.
"Big sis Ariel!" Elysariel greeted and playfully floored his older sister. "Did you see Daddy? He was super cool!"
"We were worried for a sec," Kaelith admitted. "But we knew Papa and Uncle Attila would come out on top!"
"I was worried too." Ariel patted their heads and stood up, twirling gracefully. "Now, the pantheons finally saw the true might of our father. And now, we all know that he's the best!"
The young angels giggled and rushed closer to the glass so they could get a closer view. Michael was proud of his friends' happiness. He couldn't help but smile along with them; he hoped that every round would be exactly like this, where every archangel survives and gets to laugh and celebrate their victory.
Attila grinned as he pointed his longsword at the wounded Tyr. "Did you like that?" He asked. The Nordic god was focused on his new wound, touching it delicately and coating his hand in his own blood. Raising his head to look at his opponent in the eye, he grinned back.
"I must say. That was quite a tactic." He lowered his sword and bowed to Attila. This act sparked more shock from the gods' audience. One of their own has respected a human. "You caught me off guard." Tyr admitted. "Well played."
Regaining his posture, Tyr pointed his sword at Attila. "Now, it's time for me to get serious from now on. Prepare yourself, Attila the Hun."
Attila smirked and raised his longsword. "If you're going all out, I guess I won't hold back either!" He readied his position, preparing for another technique. "Shall we entertain each other, Tyr?"
The audience held their breath once more as the two opponents circled each other, their weapons pointed in their foe's direction.
"There it is! The Scrouge of God and the Norse god of justice are about to clash yet again." Anansi said. "Will Attila manage to strike another heavy blow to Tyr? Or will Tyr redo the favour and strike Attila? Buckle up, everyone!"
And the first fighter to make a move was Attila the Hun.
"There it is!" The African storyteller boomed. "Attila is charging towards Tyr! With his weapon at the ready, what is he planning to do?"
Raguel collided with Tyr's golden sword as the god deflected Attila's attack. But this is it; Attila is going to perform another one of his techniques. He spun the longsword at high velocity, flames sparking from the clashing weapons.
"Blood Red Snow."
The longsword spun so fast that it drilled into Tyr's beloved sword. The god knew that if this were to keep up, he would be defenseless. Wisely, he kicked Attila in the shin and attacked. The Scrouge of God kept his word to not hold back from now on. He saw an opening in Tyr's upcoming attack, with a mighty roar, he jabbed his weapon into Tyr's thigh, he repeated the same move.
More blood spilled out from the freshly made wound on his shoulder, prompting more cheers from Mundzuk and the Hun army. Tyr smiled at it; he was delighted at how strong his enemy was. Now, it's his turn to draw blood.
He dropped his sword, hearing the sound of metal clanging as it hit the solid sand. Both God and man shared the same amount of confusion over this act. A fighter dropping their weapon? That's the same thing as begging your opponent to attack you.
"He's unarmed!" Anansi roared. "Tyr has just dropped his weapon! Is this a part of a new strategy? Was this a good decision?"
He was preparing to perform another one of his techniques.
"Fist of the Upright Vow."
Clenching his fist so hard that the audience could feel his strength channelling through it, he punched Attila right in the left shoulder at a rapid speed. Attila felt a burning pain as the sound of something cracking echoed through the stadium. That blow shattered one of his bones, that's for sure. But this aching pain further thrilled the ruler of the Huns.
Neglecting the pain, Attila swung his weapon at Tyr's weaponless hand. He's vulnerable; despite that recent attack that can do some damage, surely, he can't defend himself that well against his longsword. But Tyr proved to be a force not to be reckoned even without his sword.
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The god delivered heavy blows to Attila's hand as a counter; the pain dealt was becoming agonizing with each blow. All those punches were meant to break the bones in Attila's dominant hand, to render him unable to wield his weapon. It doesn't matter anyways, Tyr was still defenseless, there were many openings for Attila to strike.
Attila swung his blade, intercepting the fists of Tyr. The Scrouge of God roared in delight as his weapon wounded the god's hand. Surprisingly, instead of reacting in pain, Tyr grinned at the pain delivered. Pulling away his fist, he unleashed a punch to Attila's wrist. The resounding crack of the bones sickened most spectators, who cringed as if they felt the pain in Attila's wounds.
Unfazed, Attila continued his advance of attacks, refusing to let the pain of his broken bones keep him from fighting. With another swipe, he hacked Tyr's left upper shoulder as retribution for breaking the bones in his shoulder. He delivered another slash, this time aiming for the god's wounded thigh. The god knew this and, in return, performed an uppercut on Attila's stomach. The human gritted his teeth; he understood that the attack was aiming for his solar plexus.
And it did have consequences on him.
Attila found it more difficult to breathe due to the damage, a wave of dizziness built up within him, he felt the paralysis in his legs thanks to the impact. Even if this is just temporary, it's hard for him to move. And this is a major disadvantage he is thrown into.
He saw Tyr preparing to deliver another punch. He can't predict where he was aiming for, but he can't risk a vital part getting damaged. He swung his longsword, and Tyr figured out his wrongdoing. The Scrouge of God was aiming to cut off his hand when he was about to punch him, and if that happens, he will be rendered fully unable to deliver an attack. Wisely and reluctantly, he cancelled his attack.
Still struggling for air, Attila tried to move towards his foe. The damage in his solar plexus is too much; a sudden jolt of pain caused him to collapse, using the longsword to try to maintain balance. He tried to step forward, but he couldn't, his muscles are too paralyzed for him to move an inch. Abnormal amounts of sweat dripped down from his face, he felt his heart pound at an irregular speed, his body temperature to a concerning level.
"I-it looks like Attila the Hun is struggling to move! That punch by Tyr has messed up his solar plexus! That single attack alone has heavily affected him!"
Laughter erupted from the gods, mocking the fragility of the human body and gloating that they were unbeatable. In the VIP spectator's room of the head gods, they sighed. Knowing that Tyr's attack has greatly wounded Attila, he's now vulnerable to any form of attack. The first round might be theirs easily.
"Well. It's been fun." Horus said. "However, I do have to respect that human. He did put up a good fight and dealt pretty decent wounds."
"Agreed here." Huitzilopochtli added, sipping his honey-nectar drink. "That human is an outstanding fighter. But when it comes to beating us, he stands little to no chance."
Outside, Bragi whooped from the god's audience, leaping in the air like an excited rabbit, and sprayed more confetti onto the stage. "Hmph! That's the way to do it, Tyr!" He cheered. "Finish that mortal off!"
The other gods roared in agreement, raising their fists, and commanded Tyr to finish Attila. Their roars of glory intimidated the human audience, and they all felt helpless against them. They knew if Attila was unable to defend himself, they'd lose the first round.
"Slice his head off, Tyr!" A god demanded.
"Make the mortal beg for mercy!" Another added.
The echo of Attila slamming his quiver onto the ground silenced all of them.
Using the longsword as a walking stick, he managed to stand back onto his feet, his movements wobbling and unbalanced. Standing upright, he returned his quiver to his back and readied his weapon.
The longsword pulsed in his hand, as if Raguel were worryingly asking him about his condition.
"Yes, I'm alright." Attila whispered to the weapon, which vibrated in relief. Using his free hand, he gestured for Tyr to move forward towards him. "The battle won't stop until one drops dead, correct? Well, I'm not dead yet." He spoke. "Come at me."
The god nodded, clenching his fist yet again.
"Ah! He's still able to fight!" Anansi roared. "What sheer determination humans possess! He's not letting that brutal damage prevent him from fighting to the very end!"
Readying his weapon, Attila kept his eyes on Tyr as the god strolled towards him. He does have the courage to keep on the fight, but could he keep his word? His paralysis renders him immobile to move anymore, but what about his arm? Can he still move it? At least to swing his sword at any incoming attack?
Tyr launched himself at him, and he is about to answer his question.
Fortunately, Attila's arms are still functional. He managed to swipe his weapon towards the god's fist before he could land a hit, sparing him from another organ-shattering blow. He still can't move his legs; he'll be stuck in a spot for a while. Tyr delivered more blows, which the Scrouge of God parried. However, his movements were slower, he struggled for more gasps of air with each movement.
Another incoming attack. But he couldn't make it this time. The only thing he can do is use his left arm to at least shield his chest from Tyr's blow. The impact from the newest punch broke another bone in his arm, the broken bone piercing out from his flesh. Most of the audience resisted the urge to retch at the sight of this brutal wound. Mundzuk and Bleda cried their son's/brother's name, and along with the Huns, they were holding back tears.
Bragi, on the other hand, was clapping at the violence. Chanting more encouraging words about Tyr and how grand he is.
Instead of reacting in pain, Attila laughed. Using his still functional arm, he slammed the handle of the longsword into Tyr's face. The god stumbled for a bit; his cheeks swollen from the attack. The tides turned in the audience. Bragi was now furious at how Attila ruined Tyr's magnificent face. Mundzuk and the Huns roared and cheered for Attila to slam the god in the face again to further upset Tyr's number one fan.
The numbness in Attila's legs is beginning to fade.
While he is still struggling to breathe, he now knew he can move his legs again. And he didn't put this to waste. With a powerful leap, he launched himself towards Tyr, performing another Legion Piercer. Without his sword, Tyr cannot deflect this technique, he would be shredded by the attack. The wiser choice would be to evade the attack rather than confront it. Landing on the ground, Attila continued to attack, but the dizziness caused a slight struggle in the offense.
Before Tyr struck him in the solar plexus, his strength had diminished. He realised how easily Tyr managed to avoid his attacks; he realised he was getting weaker. He despised that; the idea of him being feeble makes him revulsed. He swung his weapon in a larger curve, barely scratching Tyr's armor. Tyr responded to this attempt with a sudden charge at Attila, delivering a crushing blow to the human's forehead.
"Brother!" Bleda cried.
Attila faltered backwards from the attack, a stream of blood flowing down from his forehead, staining his face. The blow inevitably caused him to fall over, but the man refused to bow, using his longsword to force himself to stand up before his respected enemy. The gods roared in contentment, knowing that their odds of winning the first round were in their favour.
Panting in pain, he remembered this crucial feeling, he remembered how he lost to a sworn nemesis during one of his most infamous battles, and how it led to a sorrowing defeat for the Huns. He refused to be defeated like this once more. He must be a perfect role figure for the Huns. Their leader cannot be bested. He clenched his fist, channeling the pain through his injured arm, now focused on one, single, thought.
He hated humiliation.
***
It was the year 434 AD; two new rulers had arisen for the Hunnic Empire.
The former ruler of the Huns, Mundzuk, has sadly ascended to the heavens. But before his death, he entrusted his two beloved sons, Bleda and Attila, to succeed him and expand the influence of the Huns, dying with huge faith in his children.
And the two did their job well.
Attila and Bleda expanded the Huns' territory through mass military campaigns as well as truces and alliances with other armies. The brothers had one thing they had in common (excluding their love for booze): a thirst for battle. One of their main targets was the Roman Empire. They heard countless stories of the brave and courageous soldiers serving the Empire, many potential worthy opponents for the two to face.
In the year 441 AD, Attila unleashed a calculated series of attacks on the Eastern Roman Empire. The other loyal warriors of the Huns sacked several cities and slew many strong Roman legions. Attila saw this as a perfect way to test his developed techniques, he pierced through many soldiers and sliced off their heads in just one swipe of his sword.
The emperor of that time, Theodosius II, feared the Huns' massive army and power. He rode his stallion and met them personally, he pleaded for Attila and Bleda to cease their attacks. With no other options, he had no choice but to pay them tributes in the Huns' names. He promised them great wealth and swore to do anything for them as long as they leave the Roman Empire unharmed.
But the Huns weren't interested in gold. The only thing that can take their hearts away, is the love for battle. They rejected Theodosius's proposal, and they continued their conquests.
And on one fateful night during a celebration on another successful campaign, Attila heard the news from a shepherd about a sacred weapon.
The shepherd took him into the forest to the site where he found the weapon. The shepherd mumbled on seeing a meteor fall from the sky and landed in the forest. Attila found himself staring down at a recently made crater embedded in the soil. A solid obsidian rock laid at the center of the crater, glowing in a dazzling display of white light. Attila was bewildered at the rock cracking like a chick about to hatch from its egg, and inside, displayed a shiny sword.
The thoughts that were on Attila's mind, is that this sword is a gift from the heavens themselves. He knew at the moment he found this sword; it was made specifically for him. A powerful sword dedicated to a powerful leader.
With the new sword in hand, the brothers led more campaigns against the Roman Empire, bonding over their conquests and their power. The Huns were amazed at their leaders' strength and were convinced that no one can ever surpass them. Attila was proud to have a powerful brother like Bleda at his side. He had someone who understood him, someone who he can fight side by side. Nothing can separate the brothers, they were invincible.
Until that dreadful day in 445 AD.
Bleda had caught an unknown and fatal disease, and not even the finest of doctors could find a cure for him. The Huns were devastated at the news, especially Attila. He couldn't bear to see another family member pass, but he was also losing the person who could be his equal in strength, someone with whom he could share his power. It's not fair; if his brother was supposed to die, it must be in a climatic battle, or at least a ripe age of satisfaction.
As the older brother passed, so did Attila's equal.
When he became the sole ruler of the Hunnic Empire, Attila was determined to honour his father and brother's memory. And to complete that, he must conquer the Western Roman Empire.
He repeated the same conquests for years: sacking cities, destroying armies of Roman soldiers, making emperors soil themselves, and begging for mercy. But without Bleda, he felt empty about his conquests. There was no one who could match his strength, no one he could share a brotherly laugh with, and no one who could be his equal.
His climax began in 451 AD.
The Huns were preparing for another military campaign, and Attila had his eyes on Gaul, which would become France in modern times. Attila wasn't pleased; he expected this to go exactly his way and how easily they would decimate whichever enemy came their way. As they arrived at the Catalonian Plains, the Romans and the Visigothic allies were waiting for them, and they were led by General Flavius Aetius.
Handsome, brown eyes, with silver armour and a blue cape, and wielding a gladius. Attila thought that he would be another generic opponent who would be slaughtered at his hands. But he was wrong the moment their foes charged.
Their new foe was tougher to slay, and a greater number of Huns fell compared to the previous campaigns throughout the years. Attila was engaging in a battle against Aetius, and he was shocked to find out he was nearly at his level. Aetius had managed to exchange blows to the Scrouge of God himself and manage to hold the might of his sword from the heavens. The general even managed to counter and deflect Attila's techniques.
Attila was satisfied; ever since Bleda, he had found another equal. He wanted to spare Aetius and join forces; he was anticipating another powerful ally fighting by his side. The Roman general sliced Attila's tunic, exciting the Hun leader further. He was enjoying every single moment of this fight; he wished that this would never end, and he and Aetius would fight for eternity until one dropped dead.
He then spots the river of bodies of his own men.
He knew many of them, whom he personally trained, and shared glasses of wine together. The faces on their corpses shook him and compared it to the number of deaths on Aetius's side. The Romans, for the first time against the Huns, were winning. He felt disgraceful at neglecting his army, things are not going his way, he was supposed to decimate them all, why are the odds turning against him?
He hated this. He disliked the feeling of being on the losing side. While Aetius was powerful, he was an enemy, enemies are not meant to be befriended. He can't afford to lose more of his men, to lose more faces he knew. With options running out, he made a bold choice:
"Huns! Retreat!"
For the first time, the Huns were left to lick their wounds. For the first time in their history of conquests, they were defeated. Attila had found himself a worthy rival, but at the heavy cost of his men.
In the year 453 AD, Attila had joined both his father and brother after an injury resulted from heavy drinking. He felt disgraced at himself for the Hunnic Empire's downfall, as no one was able to keep up with his strength and influence.
***
Attila balanced his body and regained his stance. He won't let the Huns down again; he will make up for his mistakes in life; he will show them the true might of the Scrouge of God. Clenching the longsword's handle with such powerful force that it dented the handle, Attila nodded at his godly foe.
"Heard that a cornered animal will give everything they have in order to survive?" Attila asked. "Now, I'm sure that this next move will finish you. Are you ready?"
Tyr smiled, walking towards his fallen sword to retrieve it, returning to a sword-on-sword clash. "You've got me intrigued." He replied. "I'm curious to know about this next technique of yours, Attila." He raised his sword as it gleamed in a glowing light. "In that case, I'll be unleashing another technique as well. I'll guarantee that you won't be making out of this."
The Scrouge of God laughed off the god's remark, ignoring the seizing pain on his chest and shoulder. "I like the sound of that!" He repositioned himself into a new stance, and the audience knew one thing: this is a technique he hasn't performed yet. "Let's make the bet on the last one standing!"
Like Attila, Tyr shifted into a new position for another technique. The two gave out a powerful aura that trembled both man and god alike. The two fighters grinned, delivering the same threat to each other:
"I guarantee, this move will mean the end of you!"
And when that happens, both will have their happiest day fighting a worthy equal.