u/otsovot-

[THE BATTLE THAT GAVE BIRTH TO THE UNSTOPPABLE HUMAN!]

The history of Egypt spans thousands of years - one of the most ancient civilizations on the planet, a cradle of wisdom and might, the equal of which humanity has never known. Over this unimaginably long period, one pharaoh stands out, whose name became a symbol of unwavering greatness. Coming to power at the age of twenty-four, he ruled alone for sixty-seven years and died at ninety-one, leaving behind a country that had pushed the boundaries of the possible. Under him, temples were built that reached the heavens, the state expanded, and he himself was revered as a god.

And in this history, there is one event that, even after millennia, thrills everyone who hears of it.

The sultry haze shimmered over the sands of Canaan. The army of Egypt, divided into four corps named after the gods - Amun, Ra, Ptah, and Set - was inexorably approaching the city of Kadesh. Pharaoh Ramesses the Second, young and full of ambition, led his warriors, and the fire of impending triumph burned in his eyes.

The army halted. Two deserters were brought before the pharaoh - Bedouins who claimed that the Hittites were far to the north, that their forces dared not approach, that Kadesh would fall without a fight. Ramesses listened to them and made his decision. The corps of Amun, led by the pharaoh himself, moved forward. The remaining corps stayed behind - they were not expected.

The camp of Amun was set up by the walls of Kadesh. Ramesses, clad in battle attire, was resting before the fight when a messenger burst into his tent. His face was filled with fear.

"Great Lord... Those deserters lied. The Hittite army is here. It is close. It is already marching on us!"

Ramesses rose. His face twisted. Shock, disbelief, and then - fury. He searched for the guilty ones, shouted orders, but time was slipping away like sand through fingers.

The corps of Ra, suspecting nothing, was marching toward the pharaoh's position when the entire might of the Hittite army fell upon it. It was a massacre. The Hittite chariots, the finest in the world, cut through the Egyptian ranks. Those who survived fled toward the camp of Amun. They burst into the encampment, sowing panic. Cries of terror, the clash of weapons, the stamping of hooves - everything merged into a single hum of catastrophe. The Egyptian army was breaking before their eyes. Soldiers threw down their weapons and ran.

Ramesses stood in the midst of this chaos, staring silently into the void.

The Hittite forces were closing in. Their chariots were already visible on the horizon - a wall of dust bristling with spears. The pharaoh's army was shattered.

But not their pharaoh.

Ramesses mounted his golden chariot. He took a khopesh in each hand. And, waiting for no one, he struck the horses. The chariot surged forward - straight into the thick of the advancing Hittites. One against thousands.

The pharaoh - he did not simply trample his enemies with horses and maneuver among them. He cut them down. Two khopeshes flickered in the air, leaving bloody arcs behind. His figure, drenched in the blood of others, towered over the battlefield, and a smile - that very smile that no one could ever replicate - played on his lips.

The chariot rammed into the Hittite ranks again and again. The pharaoh crushed his enemies, and his laughter carried over the battlefield. The Hittites, unprepared for such madness, wavered.

And then the corps of Ptah and Set arrived. Fresh forces struck from the flanks. The Hittite army, already demoralized by the sight of the frenzied pharaoh, began to retreat. And when the battle was won, when the enemy was fleeing, Ramesses did not stop. He wanted to continue. He surged forward, into the thick of it, to where Hittite warriors still remained.

And the pharaoh's own army had to stop their ruler. Soldiers seized the horses by the bridles, shouted, pleaded. Ramesses, still smiling, drenched in blood from head to toe, finally allowed himself to be led away.

Both sides withdrew. The Hittites, having lost so many men that their army was bled dry. The Egyptians, preserving their forces only thanks to the madness of one man.

On his way back to Egypt, Ramesses the Second simply smiled broadly the whole way.

*Present Day. The Valhalla Arena.*

Spenta Armaiti looked joyfully at Ra's bloodied leg. Her eyes shone, and a quiet, restrained smile played on her lips.

"Although Ramesses' character is not to my liking, I am glad that Göll chose the right human," she said. "It seems he truly can harm a god without a ring."

Göll confidently adjusted her glasses. Her face remained calm, but satisfaction flickered in her eyes.

"Zarathushtra," she asked quietly, "did Ramesses take his ring? Or did he rely on his own strength?"

The prophet, whose lips still bore traces of a villainous smile, shook his head.

"When Spenta and I visited his chambers in Valhalla, we offered him a ring. But that prideful man, in his usual manner, refused. Said something like 'the greatest has no need for such cheap rings'."

Spenta Armaiti frowned and added:

"I nevertheless insisted on leaving the box with the rings in his chambers. Just in case." She paused, and her face grew puzzled. "But when I returned for the box, after Ramesses had already left for the battle... I noticed something. One ring was missing."

Göll turned sharply to her.

"Which one?"

"Diligence," Spenta replied.

Göll narrowed her eyes and adjusted her glasses. Her gaze fixed on the figure of Ramesses in the arena.

"Where could he have put it?" she muttered. "It's not on his hands."

Spenta Armaiti also peered at the pharaoh. There were no rings on his fingers.

And then Zarathushtra burst into loud, ringing laughter. His laugh was full of triumph, and sincere admiration rang within it.

"Ah, Ramesses!" he exclaimed, slapping his knee. "A proud bastard, yes! But certainly not a stupid bastard!"

Göll and Spenta stared at him in surprise.

"Watch the fight more closely!" was all the prophet said, beaming with a smile. "How glad I am that someone like Ra will be humiliated again, and this time forever!"

In the VIP box of the gods, Ares, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, leaned toward Hermes.

"How is this possible? The human isn't reacting to Ra's ability at all. This is... impossible."

Hermes, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief, opened his mouth, but a calm, dignified voice interrupted him.

"I see only one explanation," spoke Yu Huang, not taking his eyes off the arena. "Only one who himself possesses an ability similar to Ra's can survive such heat. This is completely impossible for an ordinary human. And even if he is using a Völundr — the Valkyries do not grant such abilities."

Zeus smirked, tapping his fingers on the armrest.

"The Valkyries are surprising me today," he cast a sidelong glance at Vidar. "Aren't you worried, Silent One?"

Vidar did not answer. Zeus hadn't expected an answer anyway.

Yu Huang narrowed his eyes, peering toward the opposite side of the arena - to where three figures stood frozen on a small balcony.

"I do not see Brunhilde," he said slowly. "So the rumors that the Valkyries have disappeared are true. Unless Brunhilde herself became the Völundr for the very first fighter."

"Beside the now-grown younger Valkyrie stand Spenta Armaiti and..." Hermes began, but was interrupted by thunderous laughter.

Zeus was laughing, leaning back in his chair.

"I am not surprised! Not a bit surprised that Zarathushtra is here too!" he rumbled. "Who else but him, that eternal troublemaker, would wish death upon the gods and watch it from the best seat!"

Vidar was not listening to them. His gaze slid to the empty spot on the couch beside him. Then he shifted his eyes to Ramesses' weapon and stopped on the pharaoh's left earring. Something in it caught his attention. His face momentarily twisted with displeasure. Then he shifted his calm gaze to the balcony - to where the leaders of humanity in this Ragnarok stood.

Their eyes met. Vidar and Göll looked at each other with absolute calm. Zarathushtra, noticing Zeus's gaze, spread into a sinister smile and tilted his head slightly in a mocking greeting. Spenta Armaiti shifted her gaze between Göll and Zarathushtra, and a strange expression - something between worry and hope - was written in her eyes.

Vidar spoke. His lips did not move, but the mechanical voice resounded in the heads of all those sitting in the box.

"They... They have declared war on the Divine world. So these are the ones who will challenge the gods."

Zeus snorted.

"You are treating this too gloomily and seriously, Silent One. War! This is more interesting than if no one had challenged us for the second Ragnarok."

The door to the VIP box opened. A figure with four wings stood on the threshold. Ares immediately jumped to his feet and straightened into a stance, saluting.

"At ease," the archangel said in a calm, emotionless voice.

**\[Metatron, Commander-in-Chief of the Angelic Host\]**

Hermes bowed respectfully.

"Metatron! What brings you here?"

The archangel walked to the couch and sat down next to Vidar - in the very spot the silent god had been staring at moments ago.

"I have already been invited as a participant on the side of the gods," he replied calmly. "I want to watch Ragnarok from the very beginning. From the first round."

Zeus frowned.

"I haven't written anyone down as a participant yet," he slowly shifted his gaze to Vidar, who was at that moment staring unblinkingly at the arena. The Thunderer suddenly laughed. "I'm surprised by your confidence, Vidar. Have you already drawn up the rosters?"

Vidar did not answer. His eyes tracked every movement on the sand.

Hermes, wasting no time, addressed Metatron:

"This human, Ramesses... Is he one of those you have encountered? Can you tell us anything about him?"

Metatron tilted his head slightly to the side. His lips twitched in a barely perceptible smile - the first show of emotion the whole time.

"If anyone can contend with Ra," he said, "it is a proud bastard like Ramesses."

Ra rose to his feet, limping on his wounded leg. A crimson trail stretched behind him. Ramesses stood motionless, gripping his khopesh.

"I once met a proud scum like you," Ra rasped, his voice trembling with fury. "A long time ago."

He raised his eyes to Ramesses, but seemed to look right through him. Before his inner vision, a gigantic human figure with serpentine features rose up behind the pharaoh's back.

"It ended with the death of that god," Ra continued. "And it will end the same way now."

His body tensed. Waves of heat, of such intensity that the sand beneath his feet instantly turned to glass, began to emanate from Ra.

\[Prominence Field - Full Throttle (Stellar Boundary)\]

The heat surged in all directions. The temperature soared to unimaginable heights. The air trembled, distorting the outlines of objects. Even the stone walls of the arena began to heat up.

Heimdall could not bear it. He whistled, and a giant bird swooped down from the heavens. Leaping onto it, the watcher of the gods soared into the air and continued his commentary from a safe height. Flying past Bastet, he deftly snatched a cooling drink from her hands and took a sip.

But Ramesses was completely unfazed. He stood at the epicenter of this hell, and the smile never left his face. Not a drop of sweat.

Ra looked at him, and what was in his eyes now was not merely surprise - it was amazement bordering on horror.

"I don't understand..." he breathed out. "But after this, a human is surely finished."

He tensed his arm. Muscles bulged, skin glowed gold. Solar energy concentrated in his fist.

Despite his wounded leg, Ra lunged forward through the pain. His charge was lightning-fast - a clot of pure destructive force, aimed straight at Ramesses' chest.

Ramesses calmly intercepted the blow. The blade of the khopesh met Ra's fist.

"You are an idiot," Ramesses said with the same smile.

Ra roared. His fist, colliding with the blade, trembled from the strain.

Remember my name, human!" he snarled. "I am RAAAA!"

And with all his destructive power, he increased the pressure. A pressure surpassing everything he had demonstrated before.

The shockwave swept Ramesses away. The pharaoh flew across the entire arena and slammed straight into the wall - into the very fresco that depicted him destroying enemies on his chariot. The stone cracked. The fresco crumbled into shards. Ramesses collapsed onto the sand, fell to his knees, and froze, slumped against the ground.

The stands of the gods exploded with a rapturous roar.

Ra straightened up, breathing heavily. Blood was oozing from his wounded leg, but he smiled - darkly, triumphantly.

"You kept saying that a god should kneel," he said, his voice carrying over the arena. "But the first to kneel was a human."

He laughed loudly, thunderously, and shook the blood from his fist.

Ramesses rose.

Slowly, without a single sound, he stood to his full height. His face showed neither pain nor anger. Absolute, unshakable calm. Sand fell from his clothes. The bruise on his shoulder still blackened, but the pharaoh seemed not to notice it. As he stood, Ramesses spat out blood.

His khopesh was glowing. Now - with a bright, saturated orange light.

Ramesses raised the blade and pointed it at Ra. His voice was quiet, but it held such power that even the stands fell silent.

"You did not understand, god."

He took a step forward.

"You must kneel before me. And accept my power."

Another step.

"Only then will I fight you!"

[EVEN AFTER DISGRACE, THE PHARAOH STANDS HIS GROUND!]

[HOW WILL THE FIRST ROUND OF RAGNAROK BEGIN?]

The Valhalla Arena buzzed. Thousands of gods filled the stands, their shouts merging into a deafening roar full of anticipation and a thirst for spectacle. The defeat of a thousand years past was forgotten, displaced by pride-this time, this time humans would see the true power of the celestial beings.

On the opposite side of the arena, humanity gathered. They did not shout. Their faces, representing all eras and all continents-from Roman legionaries to samurai, from Vikings to scholars of the Modern Age-were focused. They did not celebrate prematurely, but a quiet, unshakeable confidence burned in their eyes. They already knew they could win. They had known since the day Brunhilde, a thousand years ago, proved that gods could be defeated.

The arena was a perfect circle, strewn with golden sand. But the decoration was the main feature. On humanity's side, the walls were painted with frescoes in the Egyptian style: a pharaoh on a chariot, smiting enemies; a pharaoh receiving gifts from subjugated kings; a pharaoh raising his hands to the sky, and before him-kneeling multitudes. On the gods' side, different images shone: an eagle whose talons pierce a serpent; an eagle soaring beside the sun; an eagle worshipped by mortals.

In the VIP box, the mightiest took their places. Zeus, Hermes, Ares, Aphrodite, Shiva, Vidar, and Yu Huang-each occupied their seat, each awaiting the start in their own way. Shiva lounged lazily; Aphrodite's attendants fanned her; Zeus leaned forward, grinning predatorily. Somewhere far away, in a completely dark room, Perun sat before a vast screen broadcasting the event. His icy eyes followed the arena unblinkingly.

Meanwhile, in his palace, Dionysus sprawled on silk cushions, surrounded by laughing goddesses, raised a bottle of wine to his lips and rasped out a laugh:

"Let the revelry begin!"

The goddesses giggled coquettishly, nestling closer to him.

On humanity's side, on a small balcony, three figures observed the proceedings. Göll stood straight, arms crossed, her face impassive. Spenta Armaiti nervously wrung her fingers. Only Zarathustra smiled-broadly, villainously, with anticipation. His eyes shone.

In the center of the arena stood a god.

[Heimdall, Watcher of the Apocalypse]

In his hands was the Gjallarhorn-the horn whose sound heralded the beginning of the greatest events.

He drew himself to his full height and spoke, drowning out the noise of the stands:

"A thousand years ago, the first Ragnarok ended with a score of seven to five in favor of humanity. The gods suffered defeat. But today, a thousand years later, the gods have again decided to issue a challenge. And today the second Ragnarok begins-the last one! No longer is the prize a paltry thousand years. At stake is the very existence of humanity! For all eternity! I declare the second and final Ragnarok commenced as of today!"

He raised the horn to his lips, and a thought, almost childish joy, flashed through his mind: {"How glad I am to do this again. AT LAST!"}. The Gjallarhorn sang-a deep, drawn-out sound that vibrated the air and stilled hearts.

Heimdall lowered the horn and continued:

"From the gods' side shall emerge the one who was the very first to lose in the tournament of the gods. The one who was overcome by the Celtic demigod Cú Chulainn. But today, this disgraced god returns. He will challenge humanity and reclaim the place that is rightfully his. Welcome! The god who, even after a thousand years, inspires awe! The one who once already tried to wipe out humanity single-handedly! The Unstoppable Ra-Horakhty!"

The gates on the gods' side swung open. But instead of Ra, slaves poured into the arena. Dozens, hundreds-they assembled into a living pyramid, climbing onto one another until they formed a towering dais. And when the pyramid was complete, a figure lightly leaped from the gods' stands onto it and settled at the top as if on a throne.

[Ra-Horakhty, Head of the Egyptian Pantheon]

Heimdall sighed inwardly: {"Prideful gods like Ra will constantly try to show off. Although, from the information I have, the human is exactly the same."}

Ra rose to his full height. Even after that disgrace, even after a thousand-year coma, he made them believe. He jumped down to the arena, and the slaves scattered.

Heimdall turned toward the gates of humanity.

"From the side of humanity shall emerge the one who was born on the very land that Ra himself once scorched. Who could possibly have come into the world in that desert? The answer is simple-the proudest human! The greatest pharaoh, who, over sixty-seven years of rule, did not lose a single one of his fifteen military campaigns! Fourteen victories and one draw! But even in that draw, he showed himself to be truly unstoppable! He reached a pinnacle of kingship such as none had seen before or since! And he lived ninety-one years-which for that time and that region can be considered immortality! But most importantly, this man..."

He did not finish. The gates on humanity's side burst apart with a crash-they did not open; they were blown off their hinges, reduced to splinters. A golden chariot flew into the arena at full speed. The finest steeds of the stables of Ancient Egypt, harnessed to magnificent horses, raced across the sand, kicking up clouds of golden dust. And in the chariot, smiling broadly and not wavering in the slightest, stood the pharaoh. His eyes sparkled with delight and absolute, impervious self-confidence.

The chariot hurtled past Heimdall, and the pharaoh, at full speed, snatched the Gjallarhorn from the hands of the gods' sentinel. The chariot came to a dead stop, throwing up a wall of sand. Heimdall stood speechless, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

The chariot stood stock-still.

The pharaoh raised the horn to his lips and spoke. His voice, thunderous and filled with incredible, inconceivable pride, rang out over the arena:

"One can put it more simply! Merely: the wisest, the strongest, the richest, the most beautiful, the greatest human, and all the rest are his fans, including the gods themselves! The Unstoppable Ramesses the Second, the Great!"

[Ramesses II, the greatest pharaoh of Egypt]

Finishing, he carelessly tossed the Gjallarhorn back into Heimdall's hands, jumped from the chariot onto the sand of the arena, and landed lightly. The chariot wheeled around and raced back, leaving only a cloud of golden dust behind. In Ramesses' hand gleamed a khopesh.

Ra looked at him. In his eyes boiled a fury such as he had not felt even in his battle with Cú Chulainn. Not even when he saw Ptah on his throne. This human-this wretched mortal-dared? Dared to behave this way? On his arena? Before him?

The humans exploded with laughter and enthusiastic cheers. They recognized their fighter. The gods, on the other hand, froze in shock. From the stands came bewildered exclamations: "Ra will disgrace himself again against some pitiful...", "It cannot be...", "Who is this mortal?"

Heimdall, finally mastering himself, cleared his throat and proclaimed:

"Well then, I declare Round 1, the battle of two unstoppable forces, begun! FIGHT!"

Both fighters stood frozen opposite each other. The sun god and the sun pharaoh. Two titans of pride. Two beings unaccustomed to yielding. Silence hung over the arena, heavy and ready to explode at any moment.

Ramesses spoke first. His voice was calm, almost lazy:

"By right of being the greatest, I will not attack first. Not until my opponent acknowledges my greatness and kneels."

Ra blinked. He thought he had misheard.

"What?" he asked again, certain his ears had deceived him.

Ramesses smiled even wider.

"Until you kneel and acknowledge that I am the greatest, I will not attack."

The fury boiling in Ra's chest was unimaginable. He had thought he had reached the peak of rage when he saw Ptah on his throne. He was wrong. Now he was shaking. But to attack first-that would mean losing face. He, the sun god, could not allow that. And so he decided otherwise.

"I will do to you what I did to Egypt," Ra whispered, and his eyes lit up.

[Prominence Field]

The temperature in the arena spiked sharply. The air wavered. The gods in the stands shifted uneasily, and at that moment they appeared:

[Bastet, Egyptian goddess of protection from evil]

[Hathor, Egyptian goddess of the sky, fertility, and love]

[Isis, Egyptian goddess of funeral rites]

[Sekhmet, Egyptian goddess of war]

The Egyptian goddesses were distributing cooling drinks. In the VIP box, Ares, alone among all, began to sweat. Beads rolled down his forehead, but he did not take his eyes off the arena.

From the stands of humanity, various words were heard, but all were astonished: "What kind of power is this?", "Am I the only one who's getting hot?"

Ramesses stood absolutely still. Not a single drop of sweat appeared on his face. He looked at Ra with the same condescending smile, and his fingers gripping the hilt of the khopesh were dry.

Heimdall's lenses fogged up slightly.

"Ra, intolerant of such treatment, will force Ramesses to move!" he announced.

Ra narrowed his eyes. {"It cannot be. Not a single drop of sweat?"}

[Prominence Field - Full Throttle]

He raised the temperature again. Even higher.

Heimdall's lenses fogged up completely. He could see almost nothing, but continued to commentate, straining all his vision:

"Ra continues to torment the human! But Ramesses is completely unfazed!"

The pharaoh stood just as motionless. His proud smile did not dim. The khopesh in his hand did not waver.

Ra could not believe his eyes. He stared at the human-an ordinary, mortal human, who should already have been writhing in agony-and saw only calm.

"A human is not capable of enduring such heat," he whispered, and for the first time, doubt crept into his voice. "Without a drop of sweat... This is impossible."

He waited. A minute. Two. Ramesses did not move. His smile seemed to grow even wider. Ra bit his lip. Blood dripped onto the scorching sand. His fist clenched with such force that his nails dug into his palm, tearing the skin. The sun god was at his limit. But Ramesses was not.

And then Ra snapped.

With a wild, inhuman roar, he tore from his spot. His body, engulfed in solar fire, became a blurred bolt of lightning. Heimdall barely had time to commentate:

"Ra launches his attack! The sun god is the first to go on the offensive! Lightning speed!"

Ra struck with his legs-one after another, in a flurry of combinations. But Ramesses dodged. Easily, playfully, as if dancing. His body flowed away from the strikes with unnatural fluidity.

{"It cannot be," flashed through Ra's mind. "In this heat... He can't move like this. He can't react like this. It's impossible!"}

He increased the pressure. The strikes became faster, more ferocious, but Ramesses continued to evade. Then Ra leaped. He soared into the air and crashed down from above, putting all his divine power into a kick.

[Divine Condescension]

Ramesses raised his khopesh to defend-the blade met the blow. But the force was such that the guard faltered. Ra broke through the block, and his foot slammed into the pharaoh's shoulder. The sound of the impact was accompanied by a crack.

Ramesses stepped back. A huge bruise bloomed on his shoulder. And where the blow had landed, a deep crack yawned in the arena floor. Ramesses' khopesh, after this attack, glowed with a dim, orange light.

Ra landed and straightened. A satisfied smirk played on his lips.

"And this is what you meant by greatness?" he asked mockingly. "Human?"

Heimdall, whose lenses were finally beginning to defog, commented:

"The first to spill blood is the human! What else could be expected from the power of the unstoppable Ra!"

Ramesses did not answer. He looked at the bruise, then at Ra. His face showed neither pain nor fear.

Ra, emboldened, rushed into the attack again. He jumped-exactly as he had the first time, confident in his superiority, in his invincibility and unstoppability.

[Divine Condescension]

But this time Ramesses was ready.

The pharaoh shifted the khopesh into a different grip-blade down. The movement was lightning-fast, honed through thousands of battles. He struck from below upward. The curved blade sliced through divine flesh, sinking deep into Ra's leg. As the khopesh touched Ra's body, the human's weapon vibrated strangely. Blood spattered onto the sand.

[Will of the Pharaoh]

And two seconds later, Ra was hurled backward. An invisible shockwave, unleashed from the khopesh, flung him across the entire arena, and the brightness of the khopesh faded. The sun god crashed onto the sand, rolled, and lay still. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked at his leg. Bloodied. From the wound stretched a long trail of blood, glistening on the sand.

Heimdall, his eyes wide, exclaimed:

"Now that is what should be expected from the unstoppable human! Ramesses strikes back!"

On the balcony, Göll smiled faintly. Her wager had been confirmed. Spenta Armaiti watched the arena with quiet satisfaction, and Zarathustra even shouted joyfully, shaking his fists in the air.

Ramesses lowered his khopesh and looked down at the fallen god. His smile did not dim. His voice was still calm, still regal:

"Two suns in this world are one too many. The only one worthy of being the sun is me. Ramesses the Second, the Great."

He paused. The sand beneath his feet, melted by Ra's heat, crunched like glass.

"I repeat for the last time. I will not attack first until you accept my greatness and kneel!"

[THE PHARAOH LAUGHS IN THE FACE OF THE UNSTOPPABLE GOD!]

[THE GODS HAVE CHOSEN A SECOND RAGNAROK. WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?]

The corridors of Valhalla had emptied. Echoes of furious shouts and the stomping of hundreds of feet still lingered beneath the vaults, but the gods themselves had already scattered to their halls-to celebrate the coming slaughter. Göll walked alone. Her footsteps, light and almost silent, were swallowed by the thick silence. She twisted a strand of hair around her finger, adjusted the glasses sliding down to the tip of her nose, and bit her lips.

She did not notice the two figures that stepped out of the shadows behind her.

"Is it true that the surviving Valkyries disappeared after Ragnarok?"

The female voice was soft, almost sympathetic, but Göll flinched as if a gong had been struck next to her ear. She spun around sharply. Two people stood before her. A woman-tall, with wings on her back. A soothing radiance emanated from the feathers. Beside her was a young man with sharp yet pleasant features. In his hands, he held a wooden casket of an unusual hexagonal shape. At its center, Persian symbols glowed gold, and within them, some ancient secret seemed to be contained.

"I see none of your sisters," the woman continued, sweeping her gaze over the empty corridor. "So it is true..."

Göll was silent, studying the uninvited guests. Surprise mixed with wariness was written on her face.

"It doesn't matter," she finally said dryly.

The woman smiled softly, inclining her head.

"Forgive me. We clearly started badly. I am Spenta Armaiti," she placed a hand on her chest. "And this is my companion, Zarathushtra."

[Spenta Armaiti, last of the Amesha Spentas]

The man bowed courteously, and a spark of sincere respect gleamed in his eyes.

"It is an honor to meet a Valkyrie," he said. "I have heard much about your kind."

[Zarathushtra, prophet of Zoroastrianism]

Spenta Armaiti stepped closer, and her wings shifted slightly, stirring a light breeze.

"How do you intend to stop the gods if your sisters are not at your side?" she asked. There was no mockery in her voice, only concern. "And are you ready, Göll, to take on the responsibility of your elder sister's role?"

Göll straightened. Something in her fragile figure changed imperceptibly. The uncertainty that had flickered a minute ago vanished.

"It is what my sisters would have wanted," she answered firmly. "I believe they will appear by Ragnarok. I do not need help. And if they have truly disappeared forever…" she faltered for only a moment, "…then I will think of something. There is no reason why I should stop helping humanity."

Zarathushtra nodded approvingly, but his gaze remained serious.

"A wonderful attitude. And yet… please, hear us out." He exchanged a glance with Spenta and continued: "There are those in Heaven who are also dissatisfied. Those who wish life for humanity. At first, we did not think to contradict the gods. But Brunhilde…" he uttered the elder Valkyrie's name with special reverence, "…a thousand years ago, she showed everyone: the gods can be fought. She inspired us as well."

He paused, and his face darkened.

"After the death of Ahura Mazda-the vilest of villains-we are finally free. Free from his oppression. And now we can close the chapter on our centuries-long inaction. We want to help humanity. And we are ready for anything. Please, give us a chance to participate in saving humanity."

Göll tilted her head to the side. No added interest appeared in her eyes; rather, a polite indifference.

"And what can you offer?"

Spenta Armaiti answered. She spoke slowly, as if weighing every word:

"Long ago, Ahura Mazda desired that only he be known on Earth. The One God. To that end, he created thirteen rings. Each one represents one of the human traits. With their help, a person binds themselves to an object that means something important to them-to something with which they walked through life. The bond with that object depends solely on how important it was to the person in life. The ring allows one to unlock the potential held back by the body and… to harm a god. One only needs to put the ring on a finger."

Zarathushtra, no longer able to contain himself, flung open the hexagonal casket. Inside, in velvet compartments, lay the rings. They shimmered each with its own hue, and the air around them seemed to thicken from the power they contained. Zarathushtra began listing, his voice ringing with pride:

"Bravery. Confidence. Diligence. Heroism. Honesty. Independence. Innovation. Justice. Loyalty. Mercy. Passion. Patience.…"

He paused briefly, then took his own ring from his finger-a dull, battered thing-and carefully placed it into an empty slot.

"And Determination!"

He closed the casket and added quietly:

"Only I possessed such a ring. The others…" he pressed his lips together, "…could not handle Ahura Mazda's temper. To put it mildly."

Spenta Armaiti stepped very close to Göll. Her wings trembled slightly, and in their light, the Valkyrie's face looked very young.

"Allow us to help you," she asked quietly. "I truly want to help humanity. And you. I deeply respect the Valkyries. I was acquainted with Brunhilde." A shadow of a memory flickered in her eyes. "An unshakable woman. She always achieved victory. I… I myself want to be like that."

Göll looked at her for a long time. Then she sighed-not joyfully, but with a kind of weary resignation-and adjusted her glasses.

"I already have an idea for the first round. Just in case, prepare the ring 'Diligence'."

She turned away and was about to leave, but stopped and threw over her shoulder:

"Although, most likely, the first human won't even need a ring to defeat a god."

Zarathushtra and Spenta exchanged glances. Anticipation lit up in their eyes.

Meanwhile

Vidar strode through the corridors of Valhalla with that same measured, silent gait. Behind him, barely keeping up, walked Forseti.

"I found out and ran straight to you, as you requested. He just woke up," the god of justice blurted out, breathless. "Though I still don't know your plan. What are you hoping for, Vidar? Zeus made it clear-he won't give you the position of the fighters' leader. He told you that directly, didn't he? So why?.."

Vidar did not answer. He silently pushed open the door and entered the infirmary. Forseti, left in the corridor, threw up his hands in irritation.

"You don't have to be so silent!" he called after him, but the door had already closed. "I can't get along with his character..."

Inside, a sterile twilight reigned. It smelled of herbs and something bitter. Vidar bypassed the common ward and moved further, into a special room hidden behind a heavy curtain.

There sat a stern god. The god looked unwell. His body was covered in scars, and a bandage covered the place of his left eye, remnants of a battle a thousand years old. He was grumbling something, addressing the god standing next to him.

[Ra-Horakhty, former head of the Egyptian pantheon]

"The last thing I remember," Ra was saying in a creaky voice, "I almost defeated that Celtic demigod in that foolish tournament. Almost."

[Asclepius, Greek god of medicine]

"The patient must not be disturbed," Asclepius cut him off, noticing Vidar, and stepped forward, shielding Ra with his body. "You have no right to be here, whoever you are. Even with your status."

Vidar simply looked at him-with his expressionless eyes. Asclepius faltered, mumbled something, and left, as if an invisible force had pushed him aside.

Ra stared at the newcomer. Bewilderment was written in his bleary eyes.

"Who are you?"

"Vidar. Son of Odin," came a mechanical voice that required no movement of lips. "Deputy head of the Norse pantheon."

Ra grimaced, but Vidar continued, giving him no chance to interject:

"How would you feel if you learned that that tournament ended with Zeus, without even finishing the tournament bracket, declaring himself the winner and entering Ragnarok?"

The sun god raised his eyebrows. His gaze wandered somewhere into the distance, through the walls of the infirmary. For a few moments, he seemed to turn to stone. Then his lips twisted into a bitter smirk.

"It doesn't surprise me that a moron like Zeus could do such a thing. That was to be expected…" he paused, "…but not if I had won."

"You were in a coma for a thousand years," Vidar reported in the same impassive tone. "But surprisingly, all your vitals are normal now. Though you have probably already been told."

Ra abruptly leaned forward. His eyes flared up.

"What do you want from me?" he nearly shouted.

Vidar did not flinch.

"The last Ragnarok ended with humanity's victory. Humans found a way to wound gods. Though, judging by the rumors, they will have no such way this time. Now a second one is coming." He paused, letting the words sink in. "You will never be chosen as a participant. No one takes you seriously."

"Get out," Ra hissed. "The eternal sun of Egypt will never set!"

"Then where are your servants?" Vidar asked calmly. "Where is Bastet? Sekhmet? Isis? Hathor?"

Ra froze. Something flickered in his face. Vidar continued:

"Your position as head of the pantheon has been taken by Ptah."

Ra jumped to his feet.

"Ptah?! That old fool? He dared?!"

"You can see for yourself," Vidar nodded toward the exit. "There will soon be a congress of pantheon heads. You may still have time to stop by the palace of the Egyptian pantheon before Ptah leaves."

Ra was breathing heavily. His nostrils flared, and his fingers curled.

"If all this is true… then what do you want from me?"

"After the palace, you go to the council of pantheon leaders," Vidar replied. "As the head of Egypt. There we will help each other. Thanks to me, you will enter Ragnarok and restore your reputation." He paused and added: "I have some… knowledge of your true power. I believe: you can secure the first victory for the gods."

Vidar once again gazed into the void-that place he always looked at when he fell silent-and then shifted his gaze to Ra. The sun god stood motionless, and a flame slowly kindled in his eyes.

Palace of the Egyptian Pantheon

The Egyptian palace soared toward the heavens like a gigantic pyramid. In the light of the setting sun, its facets shimmered with bloody gold. Ra walked through the familiar corridors, and with every step, the spark of anger in his eyes burned brighter. He muttered an ancient incantation, and a secret door swung open-just as it had a thousand years ago.

The inner hall opened before him. Ptah-ancient, wizened, but clad in ceremonial robes-was making his way surrounded by Bastet, Sekhmet, Hathor, and Isis. They carried fans and trays of incense. And behind their backs, where images of Ra had once adorned the walls, now hung frescoes bearing the face of Ptah.

[Ptah, head of the Egyptian pantheon]

Ptah froze first. His mouth fell open. The goddesses, one by one, turned around-and their faces twisted in horror.

"R-Ra…" Ptah stammered. "I… I can explain everything…"

The goddesses, without a word, collapsed to their knees. Their heads pressed to the floor.

"Forgive us, O Great One! Forgive us!"

Ra did not listen. He looked past them-at where his images had been replaced by another's. Slowly, without uttering a word, he stepped toward Ptah. Ptah retreated, holding out trembling hands.

Ra struck. A single blow-sharp, without a backswing, straight to the gut. He did not even glance into the usurper's eyes. His fist passed right through, and Ptah's body began to crumble, turning into cosmic green dust that settled on the marble floor and melted into the air.

Ra turned to the prostrate goddesses. His voice thundered so that the walls of the pyramid shook:

"Who is worthy of the title Unstoppable?!"

"Only Ra! Only you!" the goddesses wailed in chorus, not daring to raise their eyes.

Hall of the Assembly of Pantheon Leaders

The Council of Pantheon Leaders was assembled. The round hall, illuminated by magical lamps, held those who decided the fates of the universe. Zeus sat at the head of the table, and beside him, as always, stood Hermes. Perun was positioned to his right.

[Lugh, head of the Celtic pantheon]

[Yu Huang, head of the Chinese pantheon]

[Amaterasu, head of the Japanese pantheon]

To his left-Shiva, arms folded across his chest, and Thor, grim and pensive.

"Has Izanagi truly not appeared since his disappearance? He usually always showed up to support his daughter," Perun asked, lowering his voice, addressing Yu Huang.

Yu Huang merely shook his head.

"It seems so. Not a word, not a trace."

Zeus turned to Hermes.

"Where are the Egyptians? And the others?"

"Egypt is delayed," Hermes reported, checking his scroll. "The rest, as usual, ignored the invitation."

"All the better," Zeus smirked. "That way I can squeeze more of my favorites onto the list."

He was about to declare the meeting's agenda when the door swung open. Vidar entered the hall. Forseti loomed behind him, but as soon as he met the gazes of the pantheon leaders, he paled, muttered something unintelligible, and hastily retreated.

Thor nodded approvingly to his brother. Vidar took a place at the table, and his colorless eyes swept over those assembled.

"Take a seat," Zeus said with a smirk. "Have you, perchance, seen the leader of Egypt?"

Vidar gazed into the void-that very void he always looked into-and then shifted his gaze to Zeus.

"I have another proposal."

And at that very moment, the door burst open again with a crash. Ra stood on the threshold. Triumph blazed in his eyes.

"I have missed this building!" he thundered, entering. "The invincible head of Egypt has returned home!"

A shadow of a smile flickered across Vidar's face for a single brief second. He nodded calmly to Ra.

The reaction of those assembled was eloquent. Yu Huang wearily closed his eyes, and his face read: "Not this clown again." Amaterasu sighed and muttered aloud:

"Damn, that fool has woken up… And Vidar is behind him…"

Thor looked at his brother with curiosity, but his expression clearly showed he knew nothing about this. Shiva, who had been sitting with a gloomy look, first widened his eyes in amazement, then grinned widely, stifling laughter. Lugh pursed his lips with interest. He was truly eager to hear what the silent god had to say.

Zeus jumped up. His voice roared with thunderous peals:

"You!" he jabbed a finger at Vidar. "I won't allow it! I won't allow you to ruin Ragnarok with your idiotic ideas! And I won't allow Ra to take anyone's place!"

Shiva lazily raised his hand.

"I don't mind if Ra takes my spot. I have no intention of participating in the second Ragnarok. Nor will anyone from the Hindu pantheon."

Vidar shifted his gaze into the void, then back to the assembled. When he spoke, his mechanical voice cut through the tension:

"The idea of a Ragnarok deciding humanity's fate for eternity-is mine. And it is for me to decide who will fight." He paused. "Perhaps we lost last time because you, Zeus, bet on showmanship and flashiness rather than on more complex fighters." And then he added, without changing his tone: "But I do not doubt your leadership over the other gods."

Zeus, already ready to explode, slightly loosened his grip on the armrests of his throne. The last words clearly pleased him.

"I propose a wager," Vidar continued. "Ra goes out first. If he wins-I become the leader of the gods' fighters. I coordinate everything. If he loses-you do whatever you wish."

Zeus burst out laughing.

"I see no point in arguing over power when the power is already mine!"

"Are you afraid?" Vidar asked.

Zeus's laughter grew louder, more booming. He leaned back on his throne and slammed his palm on the table so hard that the tabletop cracked.

"You are a fool, Vidar, if you think I'll fall for such cheap manipulation!" He abruptly stopped laughing. "And an even bigger fool if you think I disagree. Every idea of yours, every challenge-is already accepted." He jabbed a finger at Vidar. "However, all responsibility will fall on you. Completely. Do you understand?"

Vidar closed his eyes. Pain flickered across his face. He slowly opened his eyes and nodded.

"Yes. I understand."

"Then I declare," Zeus thundered, rising. "The leaders' meeting is postponed. And possibly, it won't take place at all, if Ra wins and Vidar gets carte blanche to create the rosters!"

He cheerfully strode toward the exit. Hermes scurried alongside him, whispering something in his ear, and Zeus nodded.

When they left, Ra turned to Vidar and smirked:

"Surprised how you used me for your own gain. But remember, I am the unstoppable god, and you haven't found someone to control if you think you can manage me."

Vidar did not answer. At that moment, Thor approached him. His face was serious.

"We need to walk."

The two brothers walked through the corridors until they found themselves in a cozy park with a murmuring fountain. The trees here were covered in blossoms, and the air smelled of honey.

"I know: Ragnarok, for you, is merely a necessity for something greater," Thor said quietly. "I will support you. But, brother…" he placed a heavy hand on Vidar's shoulder. "Don't go too far. Do you hear me?"

"And don't tell me your plan," Thor added, removing his hand. "If I find out, I likely won't support you."

Vidar nodded. Then, as usual, he fixed his gaze on the void. Thor sighed and walked away, leaving him alone by the fountain.

Akashic Records

In the Akashic Records-the boundless repository of all fates and knowledge-a special, unearthly light reigned. Myriad files floated in the air. Göll stood at the central console, and next to her stood Spenta Armaiti and Zarathustra.

"Who is the person capable of fighting a god without a ring?" asked Zarathushtra. His eyes burned with curiosity.

Göll, without turning around, answered:

"I have been studying my sister's groundwork for a long time. This person… is unreliable. He is prideful, dangerous even to other humans. But he truly possesses the power of the gods themselves. Perhaps he is even situational, but I am ready for anything to win the very first battle."

She was sorting through the files, discarding hundreds upon hundreds. Finally, her hand stopped. The file cover displayed a pharaoh.

Zarathushtra leaned forward. His lips stretched into a villainous smile.

"I think I understand." He straightened up and said quietly, with grim triumph: "Today, the heavens will shake as never before. Truly, the rumors are true if he is capable of defeating a god without special power!"

Spenta Armaiti, looking at her companion's satisfied face, smiled slightly-softly, almost motherly.

Göll tapped the file and removed the hand with which she had previously covered the name. All other images dissipated, vanished into the air, and only one remained. On the cover, the pharaoh looked on proudly, staring into eternity.

The name read:

[Ramesses II, the greatest pharaoh of Egypt]

[THE GREATEST PHARAOH WILL CHALLENGE THE GODS!]