Chapter Text
This is how it happened.
This is how one of the Nine Realms fell.
On the day which fate arrived, the skies roared with thunder, dark clouds converging over a realm which had already withstood so much. Golden spires seemed drained of their value. The Bifrost stood as it always did, but without Heimdallr to guard it.
In the grand hall of Asgard, many a god and demigod convened, their ethereal presence filling the vast space with an air of both majesty and apprehension. Baldr, his countenance luminous, addressed the assembly:
"It is agreed then esteemed kin, what must be done. The winds of change blow ominously across the realms. We must confront the threat which the ego of Zeus poses to our sacred domain and the way to do that is by coming together under one front. Call it rebellion, call it treason. It must be done."
Bragi, the poet among them, interjected with a suggestion of his own, "I agree, but in these times of uncertainty, let our words be our first line of defense. Diplomacy may quell the storm that gathers on the horizon. Our alliances with other pantheons are delicate threads that require careful handling."
Dellingr, the herald of dawn, spoke with a sense of urgency, "The light of a new day reveals the signs of mounting tension. Zeus' thunder reverberates, not just in the heavens, but across the mortal realms. We cannot turn a blind eye to the brewing tempest."
Forseti, the god of justice, added in his measured voice: "As we deliberate, let us not forget the principles that govern our existence. Upholding the laws that bind us is paramount. A united front, rooted in justice, will fortify us against any adversity."
Freyr, the god of prosperity, expressed his concern, "The balance of Yggdrasil is delicate, and any disruption could unravel the prosperity we have cultivated for centuries. We must tread carefully and consider the consequences of every action. Including any which may come from Odin himself, passive as he has been in all matters regarding the brewing conflict."
Heimdallr, the watchman of the Bifrost, issued a solemn warning, "From my post, I've yet to glimpse the gathering of any storms in the rainbow bridge. Still, knowing what we now know, we must strengthen our defenses and stand vigilant against any encroachment from Zeus or his allies."
Höðr, the blind god, contributed his insight, "The destinies of gods and mortals are entwined. As we chart our course, let us not forget the impact on those who dwell in Midgard. Their fate mirrors our own."
Modi and Magni, the formidable sons of Thor, stood side by side, their determination evident. "Father's legacy may be tainted, but it is not altogether lost. Let us not allow it to cause anymore chaotic conflict. We stand ready to face whatever challenges may come our way," Modi declared.
Manir, the usually silent observer, spoke with a gravity that resonated in the hall, "The Norns weave a complex tapestry, and our actions shape the threads of destiny. Let our decisions be guided by wisdom and foresight."
Tyr, the god of war, asserted with a resolute gaze, "Should conflict be inevitable, let it be faced with honor and courage. Our strength, tempered by valor, shall not waver in the face of Zeus or any adversary."
Ve and Villi, the wise brothers of Odin, shared their sagacious counsel, "In times of uncertainty, let cunning and wisdom be our allies. Outsmarting Zeus may prove more fruitful than engaging in open warfare."
As the gods deliberated, the gravity of the situation hung heavily in the hall, and the fate of their dear realm teetered on the edge of uncertainty. It begged for it's father and it's father did it recieve.
The doors cracked open slowly, almost as if they were resisting, their magic commanded only to step aside to certain auras. Through them Odin walked calm and listless. Not even the soft clearing of his throat gave way to any of what he felt.
He walked past each of them carefully in his regal armor, it's presence a mystery to them. His one good eye blazed with wisdom and authority.
At the head of the table, left open even in the face of emergency, he reached for his chalice, one of several set across the table and forged of the metal of the cosmos.
"My cherished children of Asgard," Odin began, his voice resonating with a commanding yet paternal authority that held the attention of every deity present. "In the tapestry of existence, woven by the Norns themselves, we find ourselves at a crucial juncture, where the threads of fate intertwine with the unfolding events in the realms."
He raised the chalice, it's surface reflecting the cosmic radiance of the realms, "This vessel, forged from the essence of the stars, symbolizes the sacred bonds that bind us as a pantheon. As we stand on the precipice of uncertainty, let this chalice be a testament to our shared destiny and the unbreakable unity that defines Asgard."
Odin's eye, filled with the weight of countless ages, seemed to pierce the very fabric of reality, "The tempest that approaches is not just a challenge to our divine sovereignty; it is a trial for the very essence of what we hold dear. Zeus, in his Olympian realm, poses a threat that demands our collective strength, wisdom, and resolve. Too long have I stood aside and accepted the brutality reigned down by those who deign for control. I swore a solemn vow to protect the sovereignty of Asgard and that vow shall not end so long as my watch stands."
Now those present in the room grew hopeful. They had intended on going to war with Zeus without their All-Father and without the approval of any other god. To them, Odin had grown too weak and uncertain to either lead a war or caution against it and so matters were to be put in their own hands. This Odin however, sharp and to the point in all that he had to say, was the Odin they jad been looking for.
Their beloved All-Father raised his chalice ever higher, and the gods, sensing the gravity of the moment, joined in unison. The hall echoed with the clinking of divine vessels, sealing a pact unspoken but understood.
"As we face this coming conflict," Odin declared, "may the unity of Asgard be our strength, and may our collective might stand unyielding against the storms that threaten our sacred realm and the rest."
There was contentment among the gathered as they drank, fruitfully beginning to talk with banter and worss of strength to one another. Odin's presence at the head of the table seemed to have put each of them at ease.
Then it happened.
Vítt es orpit
fyr valfalli
rifs reiðiský.
Rignir blóði;
nú es fyr geirum
grár upp kominn
vefr, verþjóðar
es vinur fylla
rauðum vepti
Randvés bana
Baldr had been listening to a melody sang by Bragi to lift a tired spirit, tapping his fingers to the careful sway of a soft voice when his eyes drifted to where Odin sat. He was at first not sure what to make of the flickering behind the All-Fathers' eyes, but a dread began to churn within his weary soul and he turned to violently throw up, blood and spit converging as one in an ugly mix on otherwise beautiful ground.
His shock was matched only by the rest of the room. That was when anger replaced the sick weariness he felt as he realization dawned and he turned back to Odin, "Wretched thing!" he declared, throwing a fist which came short of it's target only because he found himself keeling over to throw up once more.
More then began to retch up the contents of their stomachs, the room beginning to fill with the sound of sickness and death. Heimdallr looked to a still standing Forseti from the ground and with his last breath, pointed to the chalice in the god of justices' hands, "Don't... drink..."
Horrified, he quickly let the chalice fall to the ground as the guardian of the bifrost groaned when death overcame him.
"Forseti?" Odin asked, as unbothered as ever.
"All-Father?"
A sharp blade was plunged into his back and uselessly, Forseti tried to grab at his murderer. His hands found arms which were covered in familiar runics and a tunic not covered in the deaths of more than his own.
"A–All-Father?" he gasped again when his eyes came to the singular eye of Odin. Quickly fading, he tilted his head in the direction of who had been fooled into believing was the All-Father before crumbling under the weight of the blade stabbed into his side.
"Is it done?"
"It is," answered the imposter, shifting back into his original form. "It is done."
"There are still many who defy the will of Zeus and the interests of the Nine, call it now Eight Realms," Odin said, walking past fallen deities. "Deal with them. I have faith in you Loki, my son."
He found a half full chalice and brought it to his lips, tasting the liquor in his mouth, poison and all.
Puss tapped his digits against the table somewhat impatiently. With a sigh, he reached over to his glass, bringing his leche upwards for yet another sip. His waiter hovered around him, getting ready to ask for the fifth time whether or not he was ready to order, despite full well knowing that Puss would send him away, asking for more time.
In some ways, he feared that it looked as though he had been stood up. Or at least, that it would begin to look that way if Death did not soon make himself known. That was not something that could be tolerated. Puss in Boots was never stood up by anybody! Let alone a deity that was the physical embodiment of death. If anything, he should have been the one to stand the wolf up.
Growing uncomfortable, Puss shifted in his seat and began to contemplate leaving, supposing that as much as he had been looking forward to the day off, he could always go off and see whatever excess task the King had lying around.
Just as he was to call the waiter back, a haunting whistle filled the air and in the blink of an eye, the large, cloaked figure he had been waiting for stood before him, grabbing the attention of every other patron in the restraunt as well. He sat down with a lazy flourish and sighed in relief as soon as his feet left the ground.
"Sorry I'm late," Death said, still soaking in the comfort. "There's something about this time of year that just makes people so reckless. Must be the heat getting to everyone's heads."
"It's fine," Puss said with a shrug, trying not to look too bothered, though he did toss his head in the direction of the entrance. "You could always try using the door next time."
Death shrugged in return, "Being the Grim Reaper comes with benefits. These fine people are used to it by now I'm sure." He took his attention off Puss for a moment, searching for a waiter and whistling in a sharper tone than usual when he spotted one. "Wine for me and whatever my compatriot here is having to eat."
"I didn't order yet," Puss clarified for them both. "I was waiting for you."
"Ah how sweet of you," Death practically sung over the cat. "Your favorite then? Halibat with extra lemon over the top." He quickly handed both menus over to the waiter and leaned back.
"That's not my fav–" Puss started, stopping in the face of a heavy sigh from the wolf in front of him and the waiter quickly scurrying off to see their order complete.
"Soooo..." Death began when he grew bored by the silence. "How are things going over here?"
Puss nodded easily enough, "Well. But I must say that Kitty and Perrito miss not having you around."
"Miss Softpaws?" he scoffed, but could not hide his grin. "I'm sure she's more than happy to not have to see my ugly muzzle everyday."
"I think your muzzle is handsome," Puss felt the need to say in response to Death's self-deprecating jibe. "And however you think she feels, you'll get the chance to see them both tonight."
"Tonight?" Death asked, his ears tilting toward Puss in confusion. He quickly regretted his show of obvious confusion when a frown came to the orange tabby's features.
"Don't tell me you forgot."
"I did not forget!" Death quickly retorted. "I would never forget the... thing."
With a deep sigh, Puss offered him a reminder, "The ceremony? I'm supposed to be sworn in as the new advisor to King Arthur."
"Of course!" Death said as though it wete obvious and then found himself wincing when something else crept up in the back of his mind. "Don't be mad but–"
"Family business?" Puss guessed.
"I'm sorry Puss, really I am. I know I said I would be there and I'll make it up to you."
"It's okay Muerte," the cat insisted. "It's not the end of the world."
Death sighed in relief, "This is why I love you. Always so understanding." He leaned across the table, closer to Puss and though the other might have rolled his eyes at the remark, he moved to do the same. Before their lips could meet however, Death haphazardly pulled back, "Oh," he said to himself. "I have to go."
"But what about–"
"I'll see you later."
He whistled and was gone at the same time that the waiter arrived with two plates.
"With compliments from the chef!"
2332 Years ago
"Conquest!" Death called out into the seemingly empty hall, waiting a moment for a response but receiving only an echo of himself in return.
Walls stretching for what seemed like eternity flanked him on both sides, gold running through them in careful patterns which told a story he was unfamiliar with. Ahead of him, the monotony seemed to continue, there being little for him to tell where he currently was or where he would be going should he continue to walk forward. Save for one detail, one he had to notice with less of his otherworldy powers and more of his instincts.
"Hello?" he took a tentative step forward, claws scratching lightly across the pristine marble floor.
"...I turned to love him and he said... no, no. That's not right."
"Hello?" Death called out again, trying to make contact with the voice which he heard.
"His love was great, but in her moment if fragility, she knew that she could not... ugh! When did poetry become so tedious?"
It seemed to echo all around him and he had just about been ready to begin questioning his own sanity when the ground beneath him seemed to open up and swallow him whole. He let out just one choked yelp before slipping too deep within to writhe his way free. When he emerged into it's version of the surface and was immediately hit by it's sweet and earthy smell, he blinked several times in confusion.
"Love, approached with wisdom, is the cornerstone of mutual respect, communication, and partnership, fostering personal growth and enlightenment... yes," the goddess before him nodded her head in satisfaction. "I do believe that this is the one. It's so perfectly... too perfect. Too much like Zeus. I hate it." She released a bitter sigh before turning to Death, "Alright then, let's deal with you."
"Who are you?" he asked, slowly standing up under the shelves twisting higher and higher above his head.
"I am revered for my wisdom, strategy, and guidance sought. My symbol, the owl, sees through the night's veil, while in battle and debate, I never fail. Who am I, known for intellect and strength across the land?" When the loss had yet to leave him, she quirked an eyebrow. "Really? Nothing? Okay well how about... I am born from... or you know what? It's Athena. I'm Athena kid."
"Athena," Death repeated, the name unfamiliar to his tongue.
"Yeah you know, goddess of love and wisdom and all that," Athena said, starting to grow rather concerned at seemingly going unrecognized. "There's no way your dad didn't tell you about me, or let me guess, you never paid attention during your Greek literature lessons?"
"Uh–"
"Well it's all water under the bridge now!" she said cheerfully enough and then swooned over him. "So tell me, who is it that you have your eye on?"
"My eye on?"
"Precisely. Who makes you go positively gaga whenever you see them?"
He cleared his throat and did his best not to consider the red creeping it's way up his neck, "No one... I don't think."
"Well that can't be right," Athena said with a frown. "You've wooed many a maiden have you not?"
"Yes but–"
"Aah, I see. None of them have ever meant anything to you. You just needed your ego stroked. Hmm... you're only standing here now because I sensed that a lovestruck heart was abound. And not to brag or anything, but I'm never wrong."
"Father says that love is worthless in the grander scheme of existence," Death said with a frown of his own. "He said it's not worth pursuing unless it must be done for political reasons."
"Your dad has a... complicated history with love, but that doesn't mean you have to be the same way. Now picture this," she said, fixing his head forward, "you and the beauty of your dreams sitting together on a lovely raft moving down a slow river..."
"... which leads to a waterfall and our imminent deaths?"
Athena pressed a hand to her forehead, "You really are hopeless aren't you... a hopeless romantic! I'll make a lover out of you yet."
Death shook his head at her antics, "I need to find my brother and leave before Father discovers that we're here."
She rolled her eyes, but clicked her fingers in any case, a young lion coming tumbling up from the floor below, "Fine, but this isn't the last time the two of us will be speaking. Farewell Death and you as well Conquest."
"What even is this place?" Conquest blinked in confusion of his own before pointing at Athena. "Who are you?"
"I'd only be insulted if Greek literature wasn't so boring," she deadpanned.