Round one of Ragnarok had just ended, the mightiest angel of all had been brought to the brink, and there was not a single soul in Heaven who thought nothing of it.
"Why, why does such bloodshed have to occur?" Tsukuyomi cried to himself as he began dreading the future even further.
"WHAT? The man who taught me all I know, my only possible equal, gone?!" Lamented an armoured man from within his waiting room, who began clawing at the scruff of beard on his jaw, knees touching the ground.
"Huh, I could've sworn Lucifer's light got dimmer there." Commented a slender, elegant figure standing next to him; who finished eating a pastry before immediately taking another from a humongous stack piled atop a service trolley.
Meanwhile, as the crowds began to cheer and the bells rang across the heavens to announce the Gods' victory, a strange thing was happening in Lucifer's mind. The Seraphim was the pinnacle of the divine, the unstoppable, the uncontested, able to slay billions and think nothing of it.
So why did the image of that king linger in his brain?
But no, he shouldn't allow this notion to set. The Lucifer whose victory was being celebrated shouldn't let a mere human stay within his memory, and he wouldn't either. Lucifer recollected himself, resting on his spear, and began to slowly drag himself to the other side of the mountain of rubble that was once the arena. The light dragged particles of dust into the limelight, languid, like falling feathers. The remaining slabs of debris shattered under his heel, red on white, boots stained and ruined.
Except for the small segment that they fought their final clash on, the arena had been completely decimated. Where there was once ground, a seemingly bottomless chasm lingered. The once-mighty remains of Caliburn teetered on the chasm's edge as the last of its magic trickled away in the form of sublime dust, swept away by soft zephyr into a picture of serenity. The blade had shattered away with the death of Arthur, but its hilt remained as an eternal reminder of humanity's first champion.
"Greetings my Lord." Metatron said jovially as Lucifer entered the catacombs, a stutter in his gait. "Your performance today was truly spectacular! I trust you will want Caliburn's hilt added to your exquisite collection?"
"No." The angel muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes shut. "Give it to the Wizard."
"But why on earth should a mere human possess the legacy of such a magnificent blade?" Metatron questioned. "You won the battle my lord, you deserve the spoi-"
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!" An overpoweringly loud voice asked incredulously to the pair. "Lord Lucifer! You are in no state to stay and have idle chit chat. Get to the Infirmary IMMEDIATELY!"
The voice belonged to a young God, the luminary of medicine, Asclepius. He was the finest doctor in heaven, and would not tolerate seeing his lord wasting away.
"And Metatron, stop crowding around Lord Lucifer while he is in such a state. Your overbearing fawning will only make his condition worse!" His anger flared at the young angel, who shulked back from the scolding.
"Alright...I will make my way there Asclepius. Also Metatron, it was Arthur's sword," Lucifer coughed, the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. "Give it back to his men. It will serve as a reminder...to show them that, now that he is gone, their struggles are..." He coughed blood onto the floor once more, "Futile..."
"Very well my lord! It will be delivered as soon as the arena has been cleared."
With that, Metatron scurried off to prepare the infirmary for his lord's arrival, and Lucifer too, began making his wayward journey towards sanctuary, Asclepius following after Metatron screaming about how he would "ruin everything". As he trailed behind his subordinates, he thought to himself:
'In all my countless millennia of living, I doubt there will ever be a day I shall remember as vividly as this one.'
The angel dragged open the door to the infirmary, and allowed himself to collapse for the first time in aeons. A peaceful slumber, an escape from the memories of the distant past...
<The Office of the Chief Warden of Tartarus>
An hour had passed since the battle had ended, and Solomon, Bael and Legion were sitting in the Demon King's office. The chamber was a grand yet unnerving room, arranged in an octagon, with many shelves jutting out from the dark scarlet walls. Solomon sat at his desk writing away, while Legion hurried about, doing their best to keep the room in order. Bael sat in the corner, not saying nor doing much. Suddenly, the ornate letterbox opened with a click, and a small scroll slipped through. Legion quickly snatched up the rolled paper, and handed it to their master.
"Here, Sir!" The demon said in their best sucking-up-to-the-boss voice, "It appears to be an official decree from Lucifer."
"Thank you Legion." Solomon replied.
"Asskisser" Bael murmured under her breath.
Solomon unfurled the scroll and read its contents, Legion peeking over his shoulder:
"On the orders of His Heavenly Majesty Lucifer, here are the scheduled divine combatants in the great tournament of Ragnarok:
Let it be known that this is all the knowledge the mercy of the gods will offer, and that humanity shall not be given any further handouts."
Solomon closed the scroll and set it alight in his hands. He had already ingrained everything into his mind. 'Only seven of those parasites, and my plans, my ambitions will flourish! Twelve of the strongest gods remain, yet I am sure that this can be done!'
His mind raced in excitement at the thought, but quickly turned back to his normal composed demeanour.
"Interesting," Bael thought aloud. Legion was keeping his distance from her, fearing an outburst of verbal abuse at any second. Bael was known for her temper in hell, though she had not displayed such emotions since her partnership with Arthur.
After a few minutes of thought, Solomon snapped his fingers and ordered Legion to stand before him.
"Yes boss?" Legion asked as they dashed over.
"Legion." Solomon explained. "Lucifer has revealed his champions to me, but has not revealed who our next opponent is."
"What are we gonna do then?" asked Legion worriedly, "There ain't a human who stands a chance fighting every god in the list!"
"There is one." Solomon continued. "One human capable of adapting to anything, one human who not a single of the remaining gods holds a one-hundred percent chance of victory against, one human who I am certain could fight every one of these gods with a smile on his face, and he shall be our next fighter." He smiled. "Bring me the greatest mind of humanity, Leonardo Da Vinci!"
Taking the chance to get away from Bael, Legion excitedly burst open the doors and hurried off to find the peerless inventor, almost falling over the many scrolls as he ran.
Bael sighed, before Solomon summoned a portal for her to leave through. "I know you are planning something, Solomon. You better be prepared for everything. The gods are strong beyond belief." She said with a deep pain in her eyes, before leaving Solomon to himself...
<The Domain of Lucifer>
Meanwhile, the divine fighters were plotting their next move from within the vast catacombs of Lucifer's palace, which had been generously refurbished into the ideal meeting hall.
"Why did we even have to call this meeting?" Moros moaned miserably, leaning back on his chair. "Lucifer won, the meat puppet lost, so be it."
"Silence you punk. Tactics are important!" Scowled a tall goddess with pale skin and fiery hair. She was wearing a suit and trench coat, and a mighty shield was affixed to the back of her throne. She glared at Moros from across the room, and the air seemed to colden.
"Oh yeah?" Moros snapped back, "Will your tactics help when you've wasted a century plotting how to destroy a mite?"
"Pipe down, the both of you." Ereshkigal ordered with a stern look on her face. "We have come here to determine who shall fight in the second round of the tournament. And I have received word that Solomon has already chosen his fighter."
The chamber fell silent as the gods mulled over who to send in retaliation. After a brief pause, the Goddess in the trenchcoat was the first to speak:
"I shall go and fight this mysterious figure. I believe my unequalled intellect shall ensure my victor-"
"FUCK NO!" Dionysus butted in as he hopped atop the table. "A little less conversation, a little more action BABY!" He yelled as he pushed Moros to the side, who had almost jumped out of his seat from the randomly loud outburst of the wine god.
"Very well then." The Goddess said with a hint of anger. "What do you propose, you drunken oaf?"
"Well, dear~ I have used MY unparalleled intellect to jovially decide that it's time to send out the traitor to our ranks!" Dio said as he struck a pose and made a heart symbol with his fingers.
"That BEAST?" Half the council gasped in unison.
"Please, can we not?" begged Tsukuyomi. "He cannot be given an opportunity to rise to prominence again!"
"We can't send him out after Lord Lucifer, it would be a disgrace!" Metatron continued.
"Why him of all people, of all deities is that piece of shit gonna represent us next!" Moros said with disgust in his voice.
"True, he is a rotter. But he ain't gonna play Solomon's little games and'll have the round done and dusted in seconds!"
"You do raise a good point." The Red-haired goddess conceded. "And, as much as I hate to admit it, he will almost certainly get the job done."
"Splendid!" Dionysus clapped his hands together. "So, are we all in agreement?"
One by one, slowly but surely, every hand in the room was raised.
"It's a shame really," Tsukuyomi said as the votes were cast. "I never liked bloodbaths, but if it has to be done. I will go along."
"On Lord Lucifer's behalf, I approve," Announced Metatron, though a hint of distaste adorned his tone.
'I can't believe I have just agreed with bloody Dio.' The red-haired goddess thought to herself.
Ereshkigal counted the votes, struck the gavel, and, with a mighty thud, Round Two's fighters were decided...