Loki grins, as my teacher fades away. "Well, Round One is over! The four survivors of the round will be moving on to round three."
Son of a bitch, I'm going to have to resummon her again. She's always incredibly pissy when she dies.
"Question."
"Yeah?"
"Why are you operating by tournament rounds?" I turn to look at him.
"Wow, not pissed about your mentor's death?" Loki asks. "That's cold. And I should know, I'm a frost giant!" He slaps his knee as a laugh track starts playing.
"Eh." I shrug. "I mean, pretty much all of my Servants have been dead for centuries. After a while, you just get jaded enough that them dying isn't a tragedy so much as a temporary inconvenience."
Loki raises an eyebrow. "Huh. Well, to answer your question, the King of Mages offered me a Grail and a chance to screw everybody over as vengeance for my treatment at the hands of the Aesir."
"And this is the most efficient way to go about it?" I raise an eyebrow right back at him.
"Do you really want to know?" he asks, further raising his eyebrow.
"Yes." I raise my eyebrow even further, just for the hell of it.
Loki pouts. "My sardonic eyebrow-raise was bigger."
"Yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that."
"Oh, you want to play it like that? Fine then, no exposition for you."
"Oh, come on- Ugh. Fine. Your eyebrow raise was better than mine."
Loki does a victory dance, before sitting back down. "Alright, alright. So, Solomon gave me a Grail, told me to wait here and ambush you, and in doing so, I would screw you over. But I thought to myself, 'Hey, Loki you handsome devil. What if, instead of following our boss's orders, we screwed him over too?' Well I thought that was a splendid idea, so I set up this tournament, and now humanity's getting screwed over, Chaldea's getting screwed over, AND SOLOMON'S GETTING SCREWED OVER! EVERYBODY'S GETTING SCREWED! WHILE I WATCH!"
Right, I'm not even dignifying that with a response. "So, new round. That'd be Siegfried, Duryodhana, Erik, and Sinfjotli."
"Indeed it would be!" Loki says.
"So, I'm guessing that the enemy team is composed of Bhima, Egil Skallagrimson, Hagen, and… hm. Perhaps the Valkyrie Gudmund? Sinfjotli didn't have a lot of stories that focused on him as anything other than Sigmund's sidekick."
"Three out of four," Loki says with a nod. "Not bad." He then turns to his microphone. "All right, now! Round two begins! Get on out there and try not to die too anticlimactically!"
I sigh, and then focus my attention onto the screens.
---
"Alright people," Duryodhana says, looking between the other three members of his team. "We stick together, and use the buddy system. I'm with Sinfjotli, and Siegfried, you're with Erik. We'll need a signal, to tell the other team if we need help."
"Howl three times like wolves?" Sinfjotli suggests. "My father and I used that one whenever we split up on a raid."
"That works for me," Siegfried says.
"Right. Howl three times like wolves if you get in over your head." And with that pronouncement from Duryodhana, the two teams split up.
---
"Huh." They… didn't immediately fracture?
"It would seem that while Attila is the better strategist, Duryodhana is the better leader," Loki notes.
"The natural difference between one who leads by fear and one who leads through a mixture of position and persuasion, I suppose." Duryodhana may have been a tyrant, but he inspired loyalty. Attila inspired fear. I suppose that it makes sense that the King of the Kauravas would be more well-suited to leading Heroic Spirits.
There's a ten minute stretch of silence, as Loki and I watch the two teams make their way through the city, each looking for a fight.
Siegfried and Erik find one first.
---
Erik rounds the corner, and there he is. Pale, almost grey skin. Dark, messy hair. Corded muscles, and a blocky, ugly face.
"
EGIL," Erik growls, his eyes flaring red with madness.
"
ERIK," the Son of Skallagrim growls right back, his axe and sword in hand.
"I… take it you know each other?" Siegfried says questioningly, as the two old enemies glare at each other, readying their weapons as they slowly advance towards each other.
"You know, I may have forgiven you when you gave me that poem," Erik says, as the two Vikings slowly circle one another. "But I always wondered who would win in a fight between us."
"And I haven't forgiven you for Thorolf," Egil says, tightening his grip on his weapons. "Not one bit."
"I feel like I'm missing some context here," Siegfried observes.
Then, as one, Erik and Egil roar like lions and lunge at each other, reason letting slip the reins as mad fury rose triumphant, axe and sword and axe and sword clashing again and again in a furious dance for supremacy. First Erik swings his bloodstained axe, only to blocked by sword and axe in unison, before Egil breaks the block and steps out of the blade's arc, lunging in from the side.
"Okay, um… is this a personal thing? Because if you want, I can back you up," Siegfried says.
The axe handle drives into Egil's side, disrupting his strike at Erik's flank and forcing him to take a step back, and bring his axe and sword up to block as Erik capitalizes on the opening.
"I'll just… stand here, then." Siegfried looks around, whistling awkwardly.
The two Vikings glare at each other over their locked weapons. And then Egil headbutts Erik, and sets him stumbling back, before lunging in and scoring a cut across Erik's chest. Then the Bloodaxe King raises his guard once again, and looks to be on the verge of a counterstrike, so Egil skips back out of axe-range, and the two begin circling each other once again.
"First blood to me," Egil says.
"First blood doesn't mean shit," Erik growls, his axe pulsing in agreement. "Only last blood matters."
"You can do it, Erik!" Siegfried calls.
"Oh, fuck off."
"Look, there's not much else for me to do at the moment. Excuse me for trying to be supportive."
"Find your own opponent, then!" Erik calls, as he and Egil circle each other.
"Erik, there's no one else in sigh-AGH!" And with that, Siegfried falls forward, a spear driven into his back.
"Sorry, Sieg. But I really do need to win," the man I'm assuming is Hagen says, as he fades into view behind his victim.
"Hagen? Why?" Siegfried gasps out as he coughs up blood.
"When I get the Grail, I'm going to make it so that I never killed you," Hagen says, before noticing Siegfried's incredulous look. "Okay, poor choice of words. But once I make my wish, everything will be fine again. We'll be at peace. Gunther won't be in danger of looking weak if he doesn't kill you, and you guys can be friends again. And more importantly, my sister won't brutally murder me for killing her husband."
He looks down, only to realize that Siegfried died while he was monologuing.
"Shit, did he catch all of that?"
He's interrupted by Erik's axe taking his head off.
Erik, for his part, turns back to Egil and nods appreciatively. "Thanks for agreeing to a truce while I killed the dishonorable coward."
"No problem," Egil says as he lunges back into battle, sword and axe lunging towards Erik's throat. "Now DIE, Bloodaxe!"
"You first, Skallagrimson!"
---
Loki grins. "Right, then. The other team just ran into their own opposite numbers. I'm going to switch over to them."
"I kind of want to see how this fight ends, though."
"I have a DVR, you can have the recording."
"Wait, how would that even work? I mean, aren't we watching this via magic?"
"Don't question the Wizard DVR, Flynn."
"I kind of
am, though."
Loki bonks me on the head, and the screens switch over to display Duryodhana and Sinfjotli.
They're face off against a man who reminds me even more of Hercules than Duryodhana.
---
"Bhima," Duryodhana says as he faces off against his nemesis. "To what do I owe this distinct unpleasantness?"
"I was told that the Grail could grant any wish," the strongest of the Pandavas says. He's more than seven feet tall, dark-skinned, and sports a massive handlebar mustache. His chest is bare, displaying chest hair to rival Duryodhana's. "And I would dearly like to see my sons again."
"And I'd like to see me brothers again, and the man who was brother to you in blood, and brother to me in every other way," Duryodhana replies. "But we both made our mistakes, and we reaped a harvest of sorrow for our follies. The war is over, and we both held responsibility for it."
Bhima snorts. "Don't try to blame me for your evil, cousin. You're rotten to the core, and it's your greed and pride that started the war."
"I- WHAT?" Duryodhana takes a moment to calm himself, and then continues in a more level tone. "I'm pretty sure that I made a speech to the contrary. You remember, don't you? I pointed out how you guys weren't all that much better than me? How you'd broken your own honor code? How your elitism and high-handedness were the birth of my hatred for you? You remember that speech, don't you? I made it while I was dying after you'd ended our duel dishonorably by hitting me in the dick? I was bleeding out from the mangled remains of my genitals? Is
any of this ringing a bell?"
"Just the whining of a sore loser," Bhima says with a confident smirk as he crosses his arms. "And the man whose war killed my boy Ghatotkacha."
"YOU HAD JUST CRUSHED MY TESTICLES INTO A
SOUP! I HAD EVERY RIGHT TO BE UPSET!"
"Please, you've been out to kill me and my brothers ever since we were kids. Why would I ever listen to you?"
"Oh, excuse me, but when have you
ever listened to me?" Duryodhana snaps, all attempts at peaceful reconciliation quite thoroughly abandoned. "Hey, you remember when I told you to stop challenging my brothers to wrestling matches? Remember that? I had to wrestle you, in all your freakishly strong glory, on a daily basis, just so you wouldn't snap one of my little brothers' spines in half because
you were bored and wanted to show off how strong you were."
"Please. Just because they were afraid of an honest competition, you're treating me challenging the cowards to a proper match like it's a crime!"
"You
broke Ravi's arm!" Duryodhana shouts, utterly apoplectic. "HE WAS FIVE!"
"Old enough to start learning how to wrestle," Bhima says, rolling his eyes. "And you and your entire brood of dishonorable cowards tried to cheat Yudhistira out of his birthright!"
"Oh, his 'birthright?'" Duryodhana repeats mockingly. "Yeah, his birthright. Half the kingdom that
my father ruled. And on what grounds?"
"We are part of the older branch of the family," Bhima says. "We had every right to the throne, as your father recognized."
"You're not part of the family at all!" Duryodhana roars back. "
Uncle Pandu was part of the family. You and your brothers were the sole result of a bunch of gods knocking up your mother and then dumping their bastards on us and telling us to treat you like the perfect, special little snowflakes that you are! YOU ARE NOT MY COUSIN! YOU'RE JUST SOME PUFFED-UP DIVINE CUCKOO BIRD THAT GETS EVERYTHING HANDED TO YOU, INCLUDING HALF OF
MY KINGDOM!"
"You hold a grudge against
us, and yet you didn't mind our mother's bastard."
Duryodhana freezes, and then says, his voice tight with rage, "Karna was worth a hundred times you and your brothers combined. And your egoistical little jackass of a brother
shot him in back."
"He
killed my son. That albino bastard got what was coming to him."
Duryodhana's face goes completely still. "Them's fightin' words."
And then the two hulking men slam into each other, so hard and fast that the windows around them shatter, mace strikes flying between the two giants, each hit ringing out like thunder.
Suddenly, I realize something.
---
I turn to Loki. "Where's Sinfjotli?"
"Huh." He looks nonplussed. "Hold on, let me rewind and look through the footage."
Soon, we're looking at Sinfjotli, and Loki starts to replay the footage.
---
While Bhima and Duryodhana start to argue in the background, Sinfjotli sighs.
"Great, they're gonna be at this for a while, aren't they?"
He receives no answer.
"Well, who knows. Maybe my opponent will show up soon."
"Sinfjotli."
He jumps, and then turns around to stare at the woman who spoke, looking for all the world like he just saw a ghost. "M-Mother? Is that you?"
"Well of course it is, you imbecile," Signy Volsungsdottir says as she emerges from the alleyway. She looks like her son, with a narrow, harsh face and silver hair. She's in her early forties, if I had to guess, and she looks it, the sharp, harsh lines on her face setting off the burning intensity of her eyes as she glares at her son. "I will be claiming the Holy Grail and using it to restore your grandfather and uncles to life. You will assist me."
"But-"
"Sinfjotli," her calm tone doesn't hide the menace in her voice. "Do I need to get my sewing kit again?"
He flinches. "No, Mother. I'm sorry. I'll be good."
She pats him on the head, ignoring how he cringes at her touch. "Good boy. Now heel. We have some hunting to do."
She strides off into the shadows of the alleyway, and he follows her, giving a regretful glance back towards the clash between Bhima and Duryodhana before quickening his pace to catch up.
---
"You summoned
Signy?" I ask Loki, utterly disgusted. "Low blow, man. Low blow."
"Eh. I mean, the guy barely qualifies as a Heroic Spirit anyways, he accomplished so little with his life." Loki shrugs. "His mother was the worst of his enemies that I could find."
"Still. Not cool, dude."
"Yeah, yeah. Back to Bhima v. Duryodhana, Dawn of Dick Shots?"
"Sure, whatever."
---
The two titans smash into each other once again, and, knocking aside his opponent's mace, Bhima closes in, and then drives his knee into Duryodhana's groin.
"I know your weakness and have no weaknesses!" Bhima roars, as Duryodhana staggers back. "MY VICTORY IS INEVITABLE!"
Duryodhana snorts, and then slams his mace into Bhima's chest. "You think you can beat me with a cheap shot
twice? Joke's on you, I WORE A CUP!"
Duryodhana swings, only for Bhima to drop his mace, get around behind his opponent, and hug him from behind.
And then he piledrives the king of the Kauravas into the pavement, burying his entire torso in the ground.
"Well, then," Bhima says, retrieving his mace as Duryodhana kicks helplessly. "Let's see how strong that cup of yours is."
"Bhima, wait, we can talk about this! Please! I don't want to die like this again!"
Bhima brings down the mace, and I cross my legs in sympathy.
---
"Right," Loki says uncomfortably, as Bhima goes to town on his cousin's genitals with an eighty-pound mace. "Back to Erik and Egill?"
"
Yes."
---
The two Vikings lie across from each other in a puddle of blood. Both are covered in bloody gashes, and clearly only alive because of Battle Continuation.
Finally, Erik rises, using his axe as a crutch, before limping towards his fallen enemy.
Egill turns his head to look at him.
Erik breaks the silence. "Good fight."
"Yeah."
He brings down the axe.
---
"Huh. Now I'm just disappointed that we missed that fight."
"Yeah, me too. But, either way, ROUND TWO IS OVER!" Then the God of Mischief grins. "On to Round Three."
