Ragnarok: The Fate of Gods

by Jake La Jeunesse

  Jae-Hoon was silent. It seemed obvious in retrospect.

  “My boy, there’s no bigger hypocrite than the cardinals who know what they’re doing, but feel no guilt. They’re different from you.”

  “Are you saying they’re the weak ones?”

  “Not exactly. But I refuse to believe that Largo’s idea of hypocrisy is worth much either. No, I think you’ve already made up your mind. You just haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He pulled a coin from his pocket and showed him the Karellan’s head on one side. It wasn’t really the Karellan. Reclusive by nature, the overlord had passed a law forbidding the reproduction of his image by any method. The artwork on the currency was merely a random face that was chosen to represent him.

  “I need your word that you will accept the decision by this coin. If you do that, everything will work out.”

  Jae-Hoon was startled. Did he really intend to settle his inner turmoil with a coin flip? “Sir?”

  “Please. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

  He hesitated. It didn’t seem much stranger than discussing his crisis with a holy man who tried to kill him. “Okay.”

  “Good. Heads, you leave the Church and live your own life with no regrets. Tails, you accept the Cardinal’s lesson and never question your orders again.” The governor tossed the coin into the air. It spun. His hand reached up and grabbed it, then slapped it down hard on his wrist. But he didn’t uncover the coin. “Which is it?” he asked. “Right now you know what you want this coin to say. Is it heads or tails?”

  Staring at the coin, Jae-Hoon understood.

  “Do you feel any better?” his mentor asked.

  Yes! A weight had been lifted! His crisis was over! His path was clear!

  “No,” he said, fighting back tears. “What does it change? There were still all those people I killed.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dumah answered. “I know it hurts. That’s guilt. Understanding that we’ve sinned is what makes us human. Hold on to that. The fact that you feel so crappy is what will help you recover. You’re not a bad man.”

  “Thank you,” Jae-Hoon answered weakly.

  Dumah stood, helping the priest to his feet. “Do something relaxing tonight. Go somewhere pleasant. Get away from the Church and work and the draugr.”

  “But what if something happens?”

  “You’ll be the first to know. But please, take care of yourself.”

  “Thank you.”

  Dumah showed him out of the building. Jae-Hoon set out through the decaying streets, thinking of his words. Between the Supervisor, who had earned his respect, and the Church, which had abused it, he knew who to trust.

  Get away from the Church, he thought. I’ll do exactly that. I’m going to move out of the priests’ dormitory!

  Jae-Hoon’s new-found enthusiasm was squelched only by the realization that he had no clue how to find a place to live in the slums of Nifelheim. But he decided that he was in no hurry, and the best way to start was a long walk through the city.

  He didn’t get far.

  The ASH was still within sight when he heard a voice from a dark alley. “Pssst! Hey! Preacher man!”

  Jae-Hoon stopped, puzzled. He scanned his surroundings for the source of the voice.

  “Pssst! Over here! In the alley!” In between the run-down buildings was a weasely-looking man hiding behind a modest heap of trash. He waved for Jae-Hoon to come closer.

  “Uh, yes?” the priest asked as he stepped carefully around the trash.

  “I got somethin’ for ya.” The man was energetic, bobbing quickly up and down in place. His neck craned, searching the streets for signs of people.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, but not here. Back this way.” He took a step farther into the alley.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t have a lot of money. I’m not worth your time.”

  The weasely man stopped. “What? Oh, not. I’m not robbing you. I really do got somethin’.”

  “Well, then what is it?” Jae-Hoon stood adamant, refusing to follow him into the alley. He wasn’t afraid of the strange, greasy-haired little man, but he had harmed enough humans in his life. He refused to add another to that list.

  “Uh,” he hesitated, still twisting his head to search the streets. “Actually, I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Look, look. I know how this sounds. But it’s the truth. Swear on my mother’s grave. Some guy ‘bout five minutes ago dropped in on me and said that some Armageddonist preacher was headin’ this way and that he wanted me to get him something. Didn’t stick around long enough for questions.”

  “I don’t get it. If you don’t know what it is, why are you so nervous?”

  “Look, this was a mean-lookin’ guy we’re talking ‘bout. I figure anything what scares a guy like that, I oughtta stay out of its way. I don’t want no part in this.”

  Jae-Hoon was bombarded with a lot of information. Someone had been following him. A mean-looking guy. One of the Karellan’s men? It couldn’t be. Why would a spy would be scared? What could they want to give him?

  He was curious. “All right. Give it to me.” He held out his hand, waiting for the mysterious parcel.

  “Uh-uh. No way. Not here. You think this trash is a good hiding place?”

  “Look, it’s all right. I’m a Slayer. I can protect you.”

  The man examined Jae-Hoon closely. He saw the robes. At once he seemed more relaxed, although he still bobbed up and down energetically. “Whoa, didn’t see that there. Guess you are.” He reached down to his pant leg and pulled a tube out of his sock. “Slayers are good people. Never met one I couldn’t trust.”

  Jae-Hoon was shocked that the man changed his mind so quickly. And he cringed at the thought of the tube, hiding out by this man’s greasy ankle, but he took it politely. It was a container of some sort. He pulled the end off and found a small stack of rolled up documents inside. Schedules, plans, military requisitions, a blue print of Nifelheim’s central power reactor.

  All of them taken from the Karellan’s office.

  He suddenly understood the need for secrecy. There was enough information to plan the entire assassination. Anyone found with this would be executed on the spot. He gaped at it in awe, flipping through the pages.

  The weasely man kept talking. “I tell ya, you Slayers are wicked cool.” He threw a few weak punches into the air. “Bam! Bam! A Slayer pulled me outta a tight spot a few years back. Came burstin’ in, stabbin’ up the draugr. I thoughta joinin’ them once or twice, but I ain’t got the moves.”

  “Look, I really don’t like talking about this,” Jae-Hoon interrupted, rolling the documents together and stuffing them into the tube.

  “Oh, but you should. Look, you do the world a favor.”

  Jae-Hoon snorted. “Death is no favor.”

  “You kiddin’? Before comin’ to Nifelheim, my village was attacked by them creeps. Ate my sister. She didn’t have no one around to save her. Look, guy, everyone oughtta be thankin’ you. Those monsters don’t belong here. I’m all for environmentalism and stuff, but those things ain’t natural. They shouldn’t be here.”

  “Yeah,” Jae-Hoon said softly. “I guess you’re right.”

  The Karellan’s chair was turned away from his desk. He stared out the picture window in the back of his office. It was dusk. He sat, watching the last traces of red vanish from the sky. Hugin was amazed. From dawn to dusk, it seemed that the overlord spent every moment in front of this window.

  “My lord, I have just received confirmation that Dumah has sent a messenger to Rome.” He spoke with urgency. Although his master seemed relaxed at the thought, Hugin did not wish to underestimate the threat.

  “Perfect,” he laughed. “Lilith is wonderful. Smart enough to get the job done, but still dumb enough not to understand what she’s doing. Although I mustn’t rule out Dumah’s dependence on our good Raven of Memory.”
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  “My lord,” urged the ninja, “we believe the intent of this message is to request assistance for an assassination. Your assassination.”

  “What did you expect? An invitation to his birthday party?”

  Hugin was frustrated. “No. Of course not. I just wish you’d use more caution.”

  The Karellan spun his chair around. His gaze burned through his cheerful face. It was the only sign Hugin was given. It told him he had crossed a line.

  The overlord ignored the request. “Did you make the delivery I requested?”

  “Yes sir. Through a third party, so as not to be recognized.”

  “Then everything is exactly as I want it to be. Thank you for your loyalty, but I’ve not grown soft sitting behind this desk.” White light flashed in the room. “Ah, Metatron. Are you here to report as well?”

  The malak spoke with intense anger. Quiet, but strong. “You are not speaking to one of your slithering lackeys. You will not question me as such and you will stand when you face me.” Hugin shivered at the sound of the demon’s voice.

  The Karellan did not.

  He dropped his cheerful tone. “Malak or not, you are merely a servant. A slave. Give your report,” he demanded flatly.

  “Your mouse has made contact with Sandalphon. He has spent some time already studying the arts of the book,” Metatron growled. He did not enjoy reporting to this man. This human.

  “Perfect!” The Karellan’s cheerful tone returned, although there was an edge to his voice. “Raven Hugin here has just informed me that Branderlief will soon be returning to us. Now that he is powerful enough to command his own soul, we can begin the revival of Samael. From then, the resurrection will be imminent.”

  “Are you sure that is wise?” questioned the malak.

  The Karellan’s glare would have melted a normal man, forced him to run in fear. It was a powerful, fiery gaze.

  But the malak was immune.

  “You have a grievance with my plan?” the Karellan said with a hushed intensity.

  “You have made too many alterations. The resurrection will not be proper with the soul of your mouse in command.”

  “An artist must leave his mark.” He turned away and stared out the window again. The sky was dark. The dim lamplight from the Karellan’s desk was enough to cast a reflection on the window.

  In it, he saw Metatron draw his sword.

  The Karellan was calm. “Do you challenge me? A mere slave of the divine, with no will of your own? That was stolen from you when you failed to read Razael’s book. Only I can complete the resurrection. You can not destroy me, nor can you absorb me. Your plans will be useless if I am dead or assimilated into God’s body. The will which commands you will not allow my destruction.”

  The Karellan was indeed the malak’s master. His knowledge had forged restraints Metatron could not hope to break. He lowered the sword. “So be it. But know that there are worse fates than death or assimilation.” He spun with inhuman speed. His sword ran through Hugin in an instant. The malak lifted the ninja high into the air, still impaled on the blade. With his free hand, he grabbed the man’s face. The skin he touched turned black. This darkness soon spread to cover the entire face.

  Hugin shook violently, cold and tortured. The darkness spread through his entire body. He felt his soul torn out of him. His last sight was a gentle mist rising from his skin. Injured and without a soul, the body turned to dust and fell into a small pile at the malak’s feet.

  But Metatron hadn’t finished. Before the mist vanished, he shot a bolt of ethereal flame into the air. The mist sparked, flashed, and disappeared.

  “You will not always be protected by your necessity. Defy me again and I will destroy your soul.”

  The Karellan was unimpressed. “If that is all, you may take your leave now.”

  Chapter Nineteen: Knowledge and Power

  Zeke was alone. Sandalphon had cleared a large room in his complex for training. This is where he had spent the better part of the last three weeks.

  He blew out the candles. The pre-dawn light was enough. He had developed the habit of rising with the monks, well before the sun. His usual training routine was now his warm-up. It was completed by dawn.

  The Book of Razael rested on a table by the window. He was careful, almost fearful, not to touch it. He could make no sense of the language it was written in. Digging through Elijah’s notes was the only way to advance his training.

  Turning back to the center of the room, he swung his sword in a familiar pattern. A simple form. One he could do in his sleep. Then he held out one hand, running it down the blade. A soft, red glow emanated from the sword. It emanated out of the blade as if it were both smoke and fire. At first glance, it didn’t appear to be more than a trick of the lights. It gave off no heat, nor did it make the blade sharper.

  But he felt it. Merely holding the glowing sword strained him in ways he had never felt. It was difficult. His effort was phenomenal, although it did not make his body tired or his mind confused.

  Repeating the same form from moments ago, he found it far more challenging. He knew it was because of the sword’s aura, but he didn’t understand why.

  “You have made progress these past few weeks.”

  The sage’s voice startled him. His concentration lost, the red glow faded from his sword. “I still don’t know what I’m doing. What is happening to my sword?”

  Elijah moved toward the center of the room. He carried a small bundle, and a pole used for cutting practice. “The book has taught you to summon the power of your soul. You are no longer fighting merely with steel and skill, but with your very being.”

  “It’s hard.”

  “Most people never tap into this sort of power. Right now you are similar to a child learning to walk. Don’t worry. Soon it will come naturally to you.”

  “And then what? Why am I learning this? It’s not doing anything but making simple attacks harder.”

  Elijah set the bundle down and began setting up the cutting pole. “It is a subtle power, similar to the weapons in my commons. No one has ever understood its true extent. But no one has ever needed the strength to pierce the ethereal before.”

  “Ethereal? You mean the malak?”

  “Among other things,” answered the sage as he unwrapped the bundle.

  Zeke recognized the contents at once. The thick green roll was all too familiar. His shoulder, although fully healed, felt a prick of remembrance. “A dragon?”

  “Dragon scales are the strongest of all living armors,” he explained, rolling the hide around a bamboo pole. “You have fought them. With your blade, skill, and strength, you barely marred its surface.” He put the hide on the cutting pole.

  “No kidding. Daniel hit one with a shotgun and all it did was piss it off.”

  Elijah stood back. “Now summon your soul into your weapon.”

  Zeke looked at him doubtfully for a moment. Then he raised his hand to his blade, summoning the red aura. He stepped up to the rolled up dragon hide and raised his sword above his head, preparing for a tough cut.

  He brought the sword down.

  What happened next confused him momentarily. He saw the dragon hide split, a clean, diagonal cut. He knew the top fell to the ground. But he felt no resistance at all. His powerful stroke continued unhindered, the tip of his blade cutting through the mat on the floor.

  It stopped when it hit the tile beneath, but not before gouging that as well.

  Elijah smiled. “Now do you understand? Like the malak, the dragon is a creature of the ether. Its hide is imbued with divine power. You need the strength of the ether to harm them. That is the power of your soul.”

  Zeke turned on the sage. “But why is it my power? Why am I the one who has to do this? Can’t your magical mythical weapons do the same thing? Why is the fate of the world resting on my shoulders?” He found his own tantrum unexpected.

  Elijah, however, didn’t seem phased. “That, I’m afraid, is something I cannot a
nswer. The ancient weapons are strong, but your soul is far stronger. I’m afraid you may face enemies more powerful than the malak.” He could see this explanation had no effect. “Let me put ask you, why did you choose to fight?”

  “I’m not sure. I suppose it was for Charlie and Emily,” Zeke answered.

  “Then you fight for vengeance?”

  “Well, no. I mean, yeah, but . . .” He struggled. Elijah, although peaceful, had his own unique intimidation. Someone who had lived for aeons was undoubtedly wiser than any normal man. Zeke didn’t know how to answer to please the sage.

  “So there are other reasons you fight. Ariel, perhaps?”

  “Of course. I have to protect her.”

  “Because of Micah. You honor his memory, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Daniel?”

  Zeke thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I guess he’s all right. Sure.”

  “We could find someone else. Not as powerful, not chosen by the Karellan, but we could find someone. We may even win. But the world is a lousy place with tyrants and slums and monsters. What good is it? Why should you stick out your neck to protect it?”

  The old man seemed to be making a very convincing argument against fighting, but Zeke knew that must be a trick. “I’m not. I’m not fighting to protect the world. I’m protecting the people in it.”

  Elijah smiled.

  “But how do we even know the Karellan is trying to destroy the world? Why would anyone want that?”

  “I don’t think he does. But I believe that is what the book, or rather God’s wisdom, will do. Perhaps he believes he can alter the nature of God. Control him. Pacify him somehow. But he may not succeed, and I am certain that, if restored to life, God will immediately destroy everything.”

  “Or you could be wrong,” Zeke countered hopefully.

  “In which case our worries are over and we can live our lives happily under the world’s tyrannical dictator.” He smiled again.