Following the death of God, war breaks out between the pantheons, leaving violence and politics to determine who will take the title "King of Kings"
-------------------
God Complex plays on the interesting similarities and differences from the wor...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"...Garm took my arm. Garm...arm... it's really funny if ye think about it!"
The sound of Tyr's rumbling laughter jolts Freya to attention. The large crowd filling the stands of Eden's grand amphitheater slowly trickles into focus, hundreds of voices converging into a single indiscernible murmur.
She turns to see the blue-bearded brute give Freyr a pat on the back that nearly sends her twin reeling out of his seat.
"Y-yeah, I suppose..." Freyr groans in exasperation, obviously regretting the decision to indulge the Aesir warrior. Taking notice of her gaze, Freyr smiles, reassuring as ever.
"Hey. You doing alright?" He asks with a sincerity that leaves Freya feeling almost envious. Her brother had lost just as much as she had during Ragnarok. Her family is -- was -- his family, too. Freyr had a love of his own as well. But his eyes remain strong in ways her's cannot. And so she looks away as if to hide her fragile self. As if she could.
"Yeah...I'm fine." She wasn't. They both knew as much. Freya's fingers trail along her torc, as though touch alone could stoke the flame within. The flame that Odin had seen fit to seal away. Had the old Aesir tyrant kept his wits about himself and not given in to the fear of premonitions easily avoided, then their family's hearts would beat till this very day. You should have killed him the moment you saw his future. Freya thinks, almost afraid of the tone within her own mind.
It's cold, dismissive, uncompromising; it's anything but the woman she wants to be. Who was she to question what Odin had seen? She herself had been spared, right? Odin must have seen something in her future. That's why instead of meeting her end at a sword, she wears this torc. She stares down at her hand for a moment before dropping it to her lap with a soft sigh.
Before Ragnarok, on the days she'd teach Throoth of magic and realms beyond Asgard, Freya would venture past Fenrir's cage. On those days, Fenrir never seemed so bad. A dog much too big for a home, but not deserving of a cage. His only crime had been his strength. A strength that threatened Odin.
"O-oh, h-hello, Lady Freya." Like a miniature Sif, Throoth stood with her long Aesir hair freely on display, azure locks running eagerly down her back. A pair of glasses constantly fell down along the brim of her nose and waited there until Throoth would readjust them.
"We really need to do something about this hair." Freya laughed, fishing her fingers down the back of Throoth's head and through her hair. "If you come by later, Gersemi could braid it for you. It should be fun."
