The Gods have gathered in the Council of Valhalla and have decided that it's humanity's time to face judgement day. However one man, King Solomon, has a plan to save them.
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The fighters for round two of Ragnarok had just been decided, and in the smouldering ruins of what was once the mighty Valhalla arena, frantic construction was underway.
"Damn you Metatron!" muttered one of the many workers as they lugged orichalcum around, dragging harshly against the ground. "Be ready by dawn my ass! It's been 5 hours and we barely have the frame!"
"Quit your whining and put that orichalcum in the paver!" Barked the foreman from one of the few finished seats in the house. "If the boss wanted the arena to build itself, he would've done it! Now back to work!"
The simultaneous groans of two hundred workers filled the site.
"Shut up you lot! What, do you think a superbeing is just going to come along and build this thing themselves?"
"SILENCE." Boomed a voice so deep it sent shivers down the workers' spines, piercing into their hearts.
"Wh—greetings Lord Yaya..." The foreman whimpered as a large, ornately tattooed figure emerged behind him.
"Good evening. My name is Yaya, and, after seeing the repulsive state Lucifer and that disgusting piece of pottery have left the battlefield in, I have come to assist in the construction of the Arena." Announced the mighty god. He was dressed impeccably, with an elaborate headdress, a beautiful kilt held up by a jewelled belt, and several ornate bracelets. He held a decorated war club in one hand and a calfskin drum was fastened to his belt.
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The site's many workers gathered round to see how Yaya planned to assist them. They expected fresh tools or greater supplies, but Yaya simply beat his drum, and then something strange happened. The god seemingly dissolved into a blur, while the arena, as if by magic, began building itself; with the cluttered piles of bricks spreading into a perfectly uniform floor, mighty towers rising out of the unfinished frames, the stands turning from unstable messes into perfectly-arranged seating, and many more strange phenomena occurring, while the workers' contributions became minimal in comparison. This spectacle continued until, just 5 minutes after Yaya entered, the arena was finished.
Yaya's new arena was a beautiful sight. Perfectly circular, with 2 large towers packed with ornate viewing boxes flowing through the stands before merging with the arena walls. The arena floor rested 3 meters below the front seats, with gated vomitoriums at the towers' bases. The whole arena was beautiful, with the beige sandstone and white marble mixing to create a stadium just as dazzling as the fight it would house. Yaya sat atop an ornately carved throne he had built for himself, and smirked.
"Let all who enter this arena, most of all my doubtlessly inferior opponent, know that the endless might of the heavens shall NEVER be tarnished."
Soon after, crowds began pouring into the arena, ready to watch the second round.
"I can't wait to see what kind of scrub those humans send out next!" Moros laughed to himself.
Hmm,' Lucifer thought from within his hospital bed. 'Prove your worth Yaya... Prove you're not an obstacle on the road towards Paradise...Or perish like a mad dog you proved yourself to be.'
