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Of course any quest, mission or trip could never be easy, as well as that it could never be normal. (though he wasn't sure what normal was for undead demigods but still)
This time around all of their lives and the fate of Vanaheim and by extension Ragnarok depended on a half-empty glass of lucozade. Yes, Lucozade. Don't ask him why.
And it was the blue one too.
Currently he was dodging attacks from the enraged drake, while Samirah and Alex took care of the dragon, along with Halfborn who yelled profanities while attacking with the full strength of a pissed off viking.
Mallory was protecting the stag of Spring that they came here to find in order to get one of his antlers. While TJ was trying to help everyone at once.
Magnus relied on Jack and the instinct to duck as he faced the young dragon (Thank Odin it wasn't an adult). There wasn't much he could do other than that. Unfortunately or fortunately depending how you look at it, The Peace of Frey wouldn't work because the animals did not carry weapons while on the other hand, they did not carry weapons so he was useless and they were surprisingly dangerous as they came from a world of lazy, forever vacationing Hippies and surfer guys.
He was so happy he didn't end up here.
Anyways after a week or so of chasing after the surprisingly difficult to find Stag they managed to find it, and now they had to wait for it to shed its antlers. And yes they did have to hold Alex back from cutting them off with her golden garrotte wire.
So now after an encounter with a malevolent and grouchy troll who wanted revenge on the Vanir gods because Freya ignored him for some reason tied to his reinvented blue lucozade, which now stood on an enchanted small gold table, in a half-empty glass with a vine pattern.
Whatever Freya rejected him for, Magnus thought his aunt was right. There is nothing good with blue lucozade or trolls.
He felt stronger in the Vanir realm than in others as it was the realm his dad was from. He felt warm and summery and like he could heal 2 battalions with a snap of his fingers.
So he wasn't complaining, but seriously why did there have to be a dragon involved in SO much of norse mythology? Or at least the recent quests. Really practice did not make this any easier.
He dodged the dragon's claws again and rolled to the side. Jack was poking the dragon near its snout and eyes and therefore distracting it enough to give TJ the opening he needed to shoot.
“No, you filthy demigods! Deranged argr !” The troll hollered in a terrible German accent at Alex, then he turned on his ugly short, fat legs and grimy yellow teeth in a wrinkled face with a comical frown and yelled at Magnus. “And you, you Vanir spawn.”
“Me?”
“Yes,you.” the Troll scowled at him. “Absolutely terrible Frey spawn, could be worse, could be Freya’s brat.”
“Nice to know”
“Yes, yes and now I shall kill you all.”
At that Alex interjected with a “That's not really working out for ya bud.”
Magnus crept up closer to the golden table, breaking the glass would probably be enough to enrage the troll completely and make a quick escape with the deer, as the troll believed his control over the Dragon and Drake came from the disgusting drink.
The troll, distracted by the chaos and his own blustering, took two steps toward the dragon and one towards a total mental breakdown. In that breathless, beautifully stupid moment when Magnus’s afterlife flashed before his eyes and apparently decided it wasn't worth the admission fee, his boot slid on a patch of damp moss.
He fell. Forward, arms out, like a complete idiot.
His hand smacked the table. The glass teetered. Time, a thing that trolls and dragons both despised slowed. His brain said “Magnus. Really.” It wasn't very helpful.
The Lucozade tipped.
It did not shatter. It did not explode into prophecy. It spilled, graceful and blue, like a tropical sunset of humiliation, onto the table, and absolutely magnificently, down the troll’s boot.
For a moment, no one moved. The stag blinked. The dragon sneezed again, now apparently personally offended. The troll gasped as blue liquid soaked his toes, his face twisting into a new color of fury.
Then Alex laughed. A short, disbelieving bark that sounded like a crack in the sky. Samirah snorted. Jack cheered like he did when he finally unearthed the right button on his controller (Long story, don't ask) . Halfborn swore, now rendering the language into a form of ecstatic praise.
Magnus lay on the ground, soaked in glory and something else that might have been sweat and water from the damn moss. He did not plan for what came next.
The dragon he had been fighting shook its long neck, blinked and flew away, just like that. The purple-green drake Sam and Alex fought slid away into the shadows.
Did- did the troll’s powers come from the Lucozade. Has he been just controlling the beasts with the disgusting blue monstrosity, this entire damn time.
Because if the troll’s power came from the Lucozade, and if Lucozade could be neutered by being poured on grubby boots, well then they had options. And if they had options, Ragnarok could maybe be postponed. If they survived and if he could stand up without spraining something.
He pushed himself up, uncomfortable and sweaty, clothes sticking to him and still very much embarrassed. “Next time,” he muttered, to no one in particular, “we bring decaf.”