Fate written across the stars

Chapter 9

The Serpent's Fangs

Fists pound through the air, meeting either thin air or the flesh of their opponent. Shockwaves are created whenever their fists collide with one another. The crowd continue to cheer loudly as both fighters continue this brutal meeting of pure strength. Neither fighter appears to have the advantage as both of their fists slam into one another's face, pushing them away from each other, neither seeming worn out yet as their faces and knuckles are covered in cuts and blood belonging to the two of them.

'I must apologise, human, but it is time I get serious.' Jormungandr says, reaching to his fist and grabbing the handle of his whip. 'This match shall shortly be over. However, you should stand proud that fighting you was the most fun I've had in millennia.'

'All good things must come to an end I guess.' Beowulf sighs as he prepares to close the gap between them. 'It was a fun brawl though, definitely one I'd love to continue. Not even my fight with the dragon made me feel this alive.'

Without another word, Beowulf charges forward like before and Jormungandr responds by swinging his whip horizontally to catch the warrior's waist.

'What are you doing you idiot? Draw your sword!' Orion calls out from the stands. But his words fall upon deaf ears as Beowulf leaps into the sky, his fists joined together to create a hammer aimed to crush Jormungandr. Beowulf's fists are about to crash down onto Jormungandr when a sharp pain in his arm is sent throughout his entire nervous system.

Beowulf lands on the ground as Jormungandr jumps back to create space, pulling the head of his whip out of Beowulf's arm, bringing two small pieces of flesh along with them. Yet even with the whip out of his arm, his nerves still felt like they had been set aflame.

'And so another falls victim to Loki's foul weapon.' Odin says, his face and tone showing a deep sorrow, his eyes on the floor instead of the arena.

'And so the match is won, just like it was against my dear old brother.' Loki mutters from a dark corridor in the arena.

Valhalla millennia ago

In all of Valhalla, you would be hard pressed to find a duo as close as the world serpent, Jormungandr, and the thunder berserker, Thor. Their bond was much greater than any regular bond between uncle and nephew, they were brothers in arms, the strongest of the Norse, and true friends who would stay side by side until their final moments. Everyday these two would fulfil their lust for battle in the arena, battling in endless spars throughout the day and the night, only stopping when their bodies could no longer continue. The sound of Mjolnir crashing down and Jormungandr's whip cracking become comforting to those who would walk by, the joy of the two battling being spread to those around.

But these sounds and joy would soon cease to exist.

The morning started as usual and Jormungandr was on his way to the arena like usual when he was stopped by a hand grabbing ahold of his shoulder. He turned around to see the familiar face of his father looking at him with a smile. 'Now then Jormungandr, where are you off to this fine morning?' The trickster god asked, his words seeming innocent in nature.

'The same as usual father. I'm surprised someone as smart as you didn't expect this.'

'No no, you have me mistaken my son. I was expecting you to be going to meet with my brother for your endless sparing. That is actually why I came to find you.' Jormungandr looked confused by Loki's words, but his confusion soon turned to intrigue as Loki raised his other hand revealing a whip within his grasp. 'Consider this as a present, a whip more fitting for one with your title.'

Jormungandr carefully took the whip from his father and looked over it, the golden snake head at the tip of it the first to catch his attention, the long fangs glistened in the sun's rays. 'Are you sure? I haven't really done anything to deserve it.'