u/otsovot-

[THE DUEL OF TWO SAMURAI BEGINS IN THIS CHAPTER!]

In 1862, Saigo fell out of favor with the government of the Satsuma domain due to his firmer views against the shogunate. First, he was sent into exile on Tokunoshima, and then to a 17-day exile at Ino-kawa, living in the home of the Okuyama family.

The Past, 1862. Ino-kawa.

Saigo sat beneath a pine tree, his eyes closed. His face, weathered and tanned, reflected absolute calm. The wind stirred his hair and his rough peasant kimono. But his back was straight, and his breathing was even.

Along the road, dragging a creaking cart of vegetables behind him, came a local resident. He stopped, wiped the sweat from his brow, and greeted:

"Good day, Saigo-san!"

Saigo opened his eyes and answered cheerfully, waving his hand at him:

"Good day!" He half-rose, greeting him. "How are you?"

"Well, I brought a few things." The resident sat down beside him, pulled a carrot from the cart, and held it out. "Help yourself. You must be hungry. Yes, not the most refined, but it is what there is, I admit."

Saigo bowed, accepting the food.

"Thank you. You are very kind."

He began to eat calmly and without hurry. The resident watched him in silence for a while, and then asked:

"Saigo-san... is it not frightening for you to live like this? Without freedom... Well, I mean, in exile?"

Saigo set aside the food and looked at the horizon. His voice sounded firm and without bitterness:

"Of course, I would like to live freely." He paused. "But know this: a glorious future will rise. It will surely come."

The resident chuckled - not mockingly, but rather with warmth:

"Thinking about Japan again?"

Saigo nodded.

Then the resident asked:

"And what will become of it?"

"If the officials do not first correct themselves," Saigo said slowly, "then there will be no point in thinking about Japan anymore."

Footsteps sounded. From behind the trees emerged a samurai in worn armor - the warden assigned to watch over the exile. His face was stern, but in his eyes, as he looked at Saigo, respect flickered.

"This is the last time you rest here beneath the pine, Saigo-san," he said, crossing his arms. "I am already violating all my orders by letting you out for a walk."

Saigo rose and bowed.

"Thank you." But then he added with a slight smile: "However, I will make no promises."

The samurai smirked and shook his head:

"Why do you think about Japan so often? Do you really have no time to think about yourself?"

Saigo looked at him calmly and directly, with no thought of lying:

"I do think of myself, by thinking of Japan."

The samurai sighed and averted his gaze.

A few days later, he was sent to an even harsher exile on Okinoerabu, which lasted two years. In 1864, Saigo was pardoned and appointed to important military and diplomatic positions due to his extensive experience and the respect he commanded among the people.

The Present. Valhalla Arena.

In the stands of humanity, a slender Japanese man in European clothing twirled a revolver in his hands, unbothered by the people sitting nearby.

[Sakamoto Ryoma, one of Japan's national heroes]

"What is it, Saigo, did you start crying at the thought of having to fight Hachiman in particular? Tears of joy, right? How I envy you, Saigo! Ever since the day we met you in Kyoto, in 1864! I will always marvel at your righteousness," Ryoma said loudly, almost in a friendly tone. "You will forever remain my idol."

Heimdall tossed a small drone into the air. It soared above the ring of five banners and activated its recording, beginning a broadcast on a wide hologram, capturing everything happening inside the barrier of red energy.

Saigo screamed.

[Superior Mastery: Kiai]

The Kiai tore through the silence, and the Last Samurai burst from his spot. His katana was raised for a strike, his feet barely touching the stone slabs.

Hachiman stood in an attack stance. His face shone with a fearsome smile, ready to fight for real.

In the VIP box, Yu Huang leaned forward, stroking his beard, and interest was visible in his eyes.

"I can say with certainty... What happened last time will not happen again. Now Hachiman is fighting."

Behind Hachiman's back, a terrifying, red, pulsing aura could be seen. With a sufficient level of imagination, it formed into an inhuman, horrible visage. An enormous oni samurai with horns twisted toward the sky, with a snarling maw, with eyes burning with crimson fire, loomed over the God of War.

Saigo delivered a vertical strike from top to bottom.

[Jigen-ryu Style: Semen-giri]

Hachiman glided aside smoothly, with a fluid and almost imperceptible movement, clearly prepared for this attack. Saigo noticed this only when his katana had already split empty air.

Hachiman continued to retreat, just as smoothly and just as imperceptibly. His figure seemed to flicker, flowing from one position to another. Saigo blinked - and the God of War was already standing behind his back.

Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced Saigo's leg. Saigo lowered his gaze. The fabric on his thigh was torn, and blood flowed from a shallow but long wound, soaking his trouser leg.

Spinning around with lightning speed, Saigo took a defensive stance and leapt backward, increasing the distance. But only then did he notice that Hachiman was standing quite far away to have dealt the blow. The God of War stood in his original spot and smiled, and a few drops of sweat fell from his head.

Saigo, seeing the God's reaction, smiled, and drops of sweat also fell from his head, and in his thoughts, he wondered how such a thing could be:

{"I cannot give a complete answer. Has Hachiman truly acknowledged my strength and is now fighting at full power? Or is his swordsmanship so far beyond anything I have seen?"}

He gripped the hilt of his katana until it creaked.

{"He is using Yagyu Shinkage-ryu, is he not? Waiting for the enemy's mistake and attempting a counterattack. Can I defeat him while wielding the Jigen-ryu style?"}

And immediately, without hesitation, he answered himself:

{"Should I have any doubts that I will leave this arena alive?"}

His face remained with the same smile, reflecting his heroism and his intention to go all the way.

"Hachiman is demonstrating clear superiority!" Heimdall commented. "His movements are truly fast! Saigo is wounded, but he did not even notice when it happened! Let us be honest, none of us noticed! What a difference in level between these two?!?!"

Saigo screamed again, and the Kiai swept over the arena.

[Superior Mastery: Kiai]

After letting out the Kiai, he bored into Hachiman with a cold gaze.

He moved forward. His steps became shorter and more cautious. He approached Hachiman, gripping his katana, and when the distance closed to striking range, he lunged.

Again a vertical strike, from head to bottom.

[Jigen-ryu Style: Semen-giri]

Hachiman reacted instantly. His sword swept up, blocking the blow, and at that same moment, not even letting Saigo complete the movement, the God of War counterattacked. His katana shot straight toward the samurai's heart with a short, thrusting lunge.

[Itto-ryu Style: Tsuki]

Saigo managed to bring his sword up. Steel clanged against steel, but Hachiman's katana slid along the blade and plunged into his stomach. Blood poured from the newly formed wound, but Saigo managed to suppress a cry of pain.

{"Itto-ryu, then..."}

And immediately, before Saigo could finish his thought, a new flash of pain erupted. Something slashed across his wrist, leaving a shallow but bleeding wound, still without him seeing how it had happened.

But Saigo did not think of retreating. When Hachiman pulled his katana out of the Last Samurai's stomach, he masterfully and quickly dropped into a crouch, bending his knees, and directed his katana downward, aiming to cleave Hachiman in two from bottom to top.

[Jigen-ryu Style: Reverse Semen-giri]

But before he could complete his technique, Saigo froze.

He felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder. Saigo glanced sideways and saw: a wakizashi was protruding from his shoulder. Hachiman had thrust it in with one imperceptible movement, drawing it from its sheath, while his main katana remained in his right hand.

[Niten Ichi-ryu Style: Wakizashi, at Full Power]

Saigo staggered back, clutching his shoulder. Long cuts still radiated from the wound.

{"The two-sword style... Who are you, Hachiman?"}

Hachiman gave no sign. His smile remained just as fierce. But in the God of War's mind, a thought flashed that he did not voice aloud:

{"This man... he is the first to make me reveal myself like this. The first in millennia."}

In the stands of humanity, Miyamoto Musashi began to cry.

Tears streamed down his weathered, scarred face, and his eyes shone with rapture.

"A God like Hachiman..." he whispered, "is using my technique! He is using Niten Ichi-ryu! Unbelievable! He knows about me!"

He jumped to his feet, and his voice rose to the heavens:

"I have never seen that technique performed so beautifully and so quickly! Even I did not notice the speed!" He threw his hands up, and tears sprayed from his face. "I do not know where you are, Okido Soji and Sasaki Kojiro... But you simply must see this! If you are not watching this live right now, you are making the greatest mistake of your lives!"

In the stands of the gods, Takemikazuchi crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head.

"Humans are truly naive. They think Hachiman is using their techniques, not suspecting that he spent very little time on Earth."

Futsunushi, sitting beside him, chimed in:

"The only explanation for Hachiman knowing all their styles is that he stands at the origin of every technique. He is the peak toward which all samurai strived. Need it be explained that he is the God of War, the patron of samurai? The very idea that he 'uses' a technique is meaningless, for he himself is the God of all techniques! He does not need to learn or study them... Damn, even I cannot explain it. Even Susano'o spent a long time understanding human techniques, and so did you and I, brother, but Hachiman seems to... Understand swordsmanship on a subconscious level."

Futsunushi smiled, and his face lit up with joy.

"I am glad that Hachiman is finally fighting. I see the joy of battle in him again."

On the balcony of humanity, Spenta Armaiti frowned:

"So what style does Hachiman actually possess? I am not overly interested in combat styles, and even less in swordsmanship, but... it seems as though he uses completely diametrically opposed styles, does it not?"

Göll adjusted her glasses. Her face was calm, but tension could be read in her eyes.

"I think... The answer is obvious. He simply uses all styles. Many swordsmen use one or two styles at most. But Hachiman, as the God of War... Is an exception to that rule."

"It seems the human has greatly underestimated the might of the Great God," Hachiman spoke, towering before Saigo, and his voice resounded over the arena, reflecting off the five banners of Bushido. "Do not disappoint me, Saigo Takamori!"

[HACHIMAN COMPLETELY DOMINATES SAIGO TAKAMORI!]

[WHO KNOWS A THOUSAND TECHNIQUES?]

The Past. Takamagahara.

Night had fallen over the realm of the Japanese Pantheon. The sky was absolutely black, without stars or clouds. Futsunushi slept, sprawled out on his futon, and opposite him, Takemikazuchi slept soundly, snoring loudly.

From beyond the sliding paper door, breaths and the sounds of a katana could be heard. Futsunushi rose, yawning, rubbed his eyes, and looked outside.

In the courtyard stood Hachiman. His katana rose and fell - one and the same technique, from top to bottom. The same one, time after time, again and again.

"You should go to sleep," grumbled Futsunushi, stepping out onto the threshold. "There will be another training session in the morning. Just like the day after tomorrow, and the day after that... Right now, you're just wasting your strength."

Hachiman did not stop. His sword rose again and split the air.

"How am I supposed to become a samurai if I don't refine all my techniques to automaticity? Suppose, in the future, we have our own disciples - how will we teach them if our level is on par with theirs?"

Futsunushi stretched.

"And what number of times are you doing this now?"

The sword rose again, and fell.

"Pff... 10,001 times? No, no! 12,209 times!" Hachiman answered.

Futsunushi laughed.

"Why repeat the same technique so many times? Your technique already surpasses all possible mastery. There exist many other positions besides the instant kill."

Hachiman finally stopped. He lowered his katana and turned to his brother. His face was serious.

"So if there are many attack positions, does that mean I can't devote so much time to one technique?" He raised his sword and split the air again.

Hachiman masterfully sheathed his katana, and with his left hand took hold of his bow.

"But..." Hachiman continued, drawing the bowstring and aiming at a target, "who's to forbid you from devoting just as much time, if not more, to EACH technique of EVERY weapon?"

Futsunushi laughed louder and shook his head.

"You are insufferable, brother."

The Present. Valhalla Arena.

Hachiman, bleeding profusely, with a monstrous wound across his entire body, having parried Saigo Takamori's technique, shouted with all his might, spitting blood from his mouth.

"Saigo Takamori! I propose we talk!"

With trembling hands, Hachiman laid his katana on the stone slabs.

Saigo, without a moment's hesitation, followed Hachiman's example and, with special reverence, laid his katana on the stone floor of the arena.

"It will be an honor for me to speak with Hachiman."

"For the first time, in two Ragnaroks, a human and a God have laid down their weapons to talk!" Heimdall announced in shock. "No one expected this!"

Hachiman lowered himself heavily onto the stone. Saigo sat down opposite him.

"I wanted to ask something of the Last Samurai... That's what Heimdall called you, right?" Hachiman spoke.

"I agree. But only if I can ask questions myself."

Hachiman nodded. Then he turned to Heimdall, who was still standing in shock at the impending conversation between two fighters battling to the death.

"Join us. You're probably tired of standing, aren't you?"

Heimdall nervously shook his head.

"No, no! I'll stand! I'm fine here!"

Hachiman shifted his gaze to Saigo. His voice grew quieter, but retained the confidence that was always in him.

"Name for me the five rules of the samurai's life. I want to check how much knowledge of the way of the warrior has been preserved by the end of its existence."

Saigo began counting on his fingers without hesitation - one after another:

"Justice. Respect. Heroism. Honor. Loyalty."

Hachiman chuckled softly.

"All correct."

He paused. And then asked - and in his voice, something resembling sincere interest cut through for the first time:

"What compelled you to fight to the very end? For the idea of Bushido?"

Saigo was silent for a long time, looking at his hands. When he spoke, his voice was pensive, as if he himself were still searching for an answer:

"To this day, I still cannot give a precise answer. It is as if some third force made me agree to the rebellion. I did not make the decision - the decision itself found me and accepted me."

"So you were not even the organizer of the uprising?"

Saigo nodded:

"Twelve thousand samurai themselves began the rebellion against the government. I was drawn by a certain authority among the samurai; they themselves wanted me to lead the uprising."

Hachiman narrowed his eyes.

"What was the numerical strength of the enemy?"

"I do not fully remember," Saigo admitted. "Approximately fifty thousand."

The God of War's eyes widened slightly - on his impassive face, this was tantamount to amazement.

"And how many samurai perished out of the twelve thousand?"

"All of them." Saigo's voice was calm. "Absolutely all of the twelve thousand."

Silence hung over the arena. Even the stands fell quiet.

"The life of a samurai is service," Hachiman spoke slowly. "So what did you serve, Saigo Takamori?"

"Definitely, I served the Emperor."

Hachiman frowned.

"Was not that government headed by the Emperor? Or were you precisely trying to restore his authority?"

"It was." Saigo clenched his fist. "But the people of that time who held power used the Emperor for their vile purposes. For the increase of their own purses. They shielded themselves with his name but despised everything he stood for."

Saigo raised his eyes to Hachiman.

"Did you not follow the activities of the uprising? Even from the Heavens?"

Hachiman averted his gaze. His face in an instant went from curious to full of sorrow.

"No," he answered dully.

"What is the reason then?"

Hachiman was silent for a long time. And then he confessed - quietly, with difficulty, as if every word came to him with blood:

"Long, long ago, I lost my passion for the samurai cause. A teacher cannot be surpassed, so I thought. I am the summit, the peak, the limit, and so on. To look at those who will never reach you - it is unbearable." He fell silent. And then added: "But now I have changed my opinion."

His brothers' words flashed through Hachiman's mind. 'People do develop. Even we become better.'

{"So that's how it is... Now I understand your words, brothers. The puzzle has come together, hasn't it?"}

Takamagahara.

In the heavenly palace, before a huge broadcast screen, two figures sat. Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess, and...

[Tsukuyomi, Japanese God of the Moon]

"It has been a long time since I saw Hachiman fight," Tsukuyomi spoke, and quiet sadness resonated in his voice. "He left Midgard long ago... No one knows where, and no one knows why. Takemikazuchi and Futsunushi asked me to help them find him, but it was all in vain."

Amaterasu did not tear her gaze from the screen.

"Vidar came to me. He offered me a place in Ragnarok. But I recommended Hachiman." She smiled slightly. "He definitely holds third place among the strongest in the Japanese pantheon; his strength fully reaches the level of the chief gods. After Izanagi and Susano'o, of course. And if Susano'o died in the last Ragnarok, and Izanagi disappeared..." She paused. "Then Hachiman can be considered the strongest god of the Japanese pantheon. Susano'o would be proud of him. His mastery of the sword... it is incomparable."

Tsukuyomi averted his gaze. He felt uneasy after the words that Izanagi had disappeared.

Valhalla Arena.

An awkward silence hung between Saigo and Hachiman. And then the God of War abruptly, almost unexpectedly, dispelled the atmosphere:

"And who do you consider the best samurai?"

Saigo thought, for so long that the silence seemed eternal. He looked at his hands, at the katana lying on the stones, at the banners still surrounding them.

"I cannot single out one," he finally spoke. "I do not want to seem proud or selfish. But... I would like to believe that I myself embodied the Way of Bushido, having become the best samurai."

Hachiman smirked.

"That is, if you don't count me - the God of War, right?"

Saigo did not answer. He only smiled back at him awkwardly.

Hachiman stood up. Saigo rose after him.

And suddenly, a cry pierced the arena - loud, deafening, and vibrating. Hachiman's Kiai spread over Valhalla, and even the stone slabs seemed to tremble.

[Mastery of the Greatest God: Heavenly Kiai]

From the heavens, one after another, five banners fell. Enormous and made of steel, they pierced into the stone around Saigo and Hachiman. On each, Japanese characters burned with a scarlet light: 正義 - "Justice." 尊敬 - "Respect." 勇気 - "Heroism." 名誉 - "Honor." 忠誠 - "Loyalty."

A red, glowing energy connected the five banners and closed the two fighters on the arena in a ring.

"You surprised me," Hachiman spoke. "You reacted not at all to my Kiai, as if knowing that no danger awaited you."

Saigo calmly answered:

"I just knew you would not attack."

Hachiman smirked and took up his katana.

Saigo raised his katana.

Hachiman cast a glance at the gods' stands. There, among the spectators, he saw his brothers, Takemikazuchi and Futsunushi.

{"I hope my brothers like what is happening on the arena."}

Then he turned to Saigo, bowed, and spoke proudly, passionately, and as loudly as his condition allowed him:

"It seems we started on the wrong foot. I, Hachiman, God of War of the Japanese Pantheon, challenge you to a sword duel. In this fight, it will become clear who is the best samurai."

Saigo smiled - broadly, and almost crying. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but he was not ashamed of them.

"I have waited for this my entire life," he breathed out. "Of course, I accept!"

"Five banners of Bushido surround the fighters!" Heimdall thundered. "A sword duel between two samurai will begin now!"

Saigo and Hachiman took their stances, smiling at each other.

[THE SWORD DUEL OF TWO SAMURAI BEGINS!]

[HOW DID THE GOD OF WAR TEACH HUMANITY BUSHIDO?]

The most important meaning for a samurai is service.

In Valhalla, three gods are known as the founders of the samurai way. Three brothers: Hachiman, Takemikazuchi, and Futsunushi. But the first to share his idea was Hachiman - the Japanese god of war. His brothers supported him, grew interested, and for many years they trained together, reaching the peak of mastery. And having reached it, they descended to Midgard to teach this way to humanity.

The Past. Midgard. The Japanese Isles.

Futsunushi stood atop a hill and gazed at the expanses spread out below. Green forests, rivers, mountain peaks vanishing into the clouds. The wind ruffled his hair, and a smile of sincere admiration played on the god of the sword's face.

"It is very beautiful here," he said, breathing in the clean air. "Just imagine what kind of people inhabit these lands."

Takemikazuchi, standing beside him and rubbing his palms together, smirked.

"Susanoo should make our work of spreading the samurai way easier. The people here already possess high swordsmanship skills. I have heard about it."

Hachiman, standing a little apart, shook his head.

"Do not forget that the samurai way is not only about swordsmanship. It is also an entire meaning of life." He unfolded a map - a crude one, drawn on rice paper, with the outlines of the islands. "We must go where the most people are right now."

His finger pointed to a spot at the foot of Mount Unebi.

"The most influential person on these islands resides here - Emperor Ojin."

The three brothers exchanged glances. A spark of excitement lit up in their eyes - the kind that only appears before great undertakings. Without a word, they set off.

The Imperial Palace.

[Emperor Ojin, 15th Emperor of Japan]

Emperor Ojin was resting in his palace when the silence was torn apart by the stomping of feet.

[Takenouchi no Sukune, advisor to Emperor Ojin]

Takenouchi no Sukune, an old advisor, burst into the chambers, gasping for breath and trembling.

"My lord! At the entrance to the palace... three enormous men! They call themselves 'akin to Susanoo'! They are sitting there, simply waiting! And not a single warrior dares to attack!"

Ojin rose. His face was calm, but a shadow flickered in his eyes.

{"Again? Gods again? How tired I am of them..."}

"Very well," he said wearily. "Let us go."

Behind him moved warriors - the best of the best, the emperor's bodyguards, tempered in battle.

When they stepped out into the courtyard, a sight met their eyes that made even the veterans freeze. Three men sat on the stone steps, completely relaxed. One lazily twirled a small stone in his fingers. Another examined a flower. The third sat with closed eyes, as if meditating.

The three rose - unhurriedly, with dignity. Hachiman stepped forward and bowed.

"We greet you, ruler. We wish to impart something to you, the people."

Ojin narrowed his eyes.

"The fact that you called yourselves 'akin to Susanoo'," he said in an icy voice, "is an insult. I do not intend to listen to you. I will kill you at once."

Hachiman raised his hand in a conciliatory gesture.

"We did not mean to offend. Perhaps people will simply better understand who we are this way." He paused. "I need only one fight. One - and you will understand everything. I am certain you yourselves will want us to teach you something."

Ojin was silent for a moment. Then he turned to his warriors.

"The strongest of my army will face them."

From the ranks stepped a man - a true giant. His body was a mountain of muscle, and in each hand he held a sword. Two blades, long and heavy, capable of cleaving a man from shoulder to hip. He was clearly strong - as strong as a mortal can be.

Hachiman, Takemikazuchi, and Futsunushi exchanged glances. And, to the complete bewilderment of the emperor and his retinue, they began playing rock-paper-scissors.

"Rock! Scissors! Paper!"

Hachiman showed paper. Futsunushi and Takemikazuchi - rock.

"Yes!" Hachiman breathed, and a satisfied smile blossomed on his face.

The other two gods exhaled in disappointment, having hoped to fight. But Hachiman had already stepped forward.

"Remember," he said loudly, addressing all those gathered. "The first rule. Justice."

He drew a katana from its scabbard.

"The second rule. Respect."

He bowed to his opponent - low, with sincere dignity.

"My name is Hachiman. Those two are Takemikazuchi and Futsunushi, my brothers. I am a god of war. And I intend to fight, killing you with a single blow."

Ojin tensed. Something in these words, in this calm confidence, made him inwardly shrink.

The opponent roared with fury and charged into the attack. Two swords spun in his hands in a deadly whirlwind. He was fast, very fast - for a human.

Hachiman easily evaded.

"The third rule. Heroism."

He raised his head to the sky and shouted.

[Superior Mastery: Kiai]

The shout tore through the air, and even the heavens seemed to tremble.

The opponent attacked again - furiously, chaotically, enraged. Hachiman evaded, not taking his eyes off his movements.

"The fourth rule. Honor."

The opponent missed again and again. His strikes cut through empty air. He began to tire, his breathing grew heavy, and his movements - slower.

"The fifth rule. Loyalty."

And with these words, Hachiman struck.

[Jigen-ryu Style: Semen-giri]

The katana sliced through the air vertically - and the opponent's body split into two halves, cleaved from shoulder to hip. It was done so beautifully, so lightning-fast, so perfectly, as no one had ever seen. Blood sprayed in a fan, and the two halves of the giant crashed to the ground.

A deathly, absolute silence fell.

Emperor Ojin slowly sank to his knees. His face was pale, and tears stood in his eyes - not of fear, but of reverence. Nearly weeping, he whispered:

"Teach me... Teach us this! What is it called?!"

The three gods exchanged glances and answered in chorus:

"It is the samurai way. Bushido."

The years passed. Decades. The three gods trained people, taught them philosophy, taught them how to make armor, how to hold a sword, how to live and die with honor. The samurai way spread across the islands, took root, and flourished.

But one day, long afterward, the three brothers stood on a hill and watched a training bout of samurai below. Futsunushi and Takemikazuchi were joyful and content - their students were demonstrating excellent technique, their movements were refined, and their spirit was strong.

Hachiman, however, stood silent, and his face was completely empty, expressing nothing.

Already back in Valhalla, in their shared dwelling, Futsunushi could no longer hold back.

"What has happened?" he asked, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I have noticed you have looked upset for a long time."

Takemikazuchi nodded in confirmation.

Hachiman was silent for a long time, unwilling to speak. But finally, he said - hollowly and lifelessly:

"I no longer see the point in it. No human will ever win."

Takemikazuchi frowned.

"Humans cannot kill an immortal god. You know that."

"I am not talking about that," Hachiman cut him off. "I am talking about the fact that I already exist as the peak. The pinnacle of this way. And there is nowhere further for humans to strive. When they look at me, they see a limit. A limit that can never be surpassed. So what is the point of teaching if the student will never surpass the teacher?"

Futsunushi objected:

"Humans do develop. Even we become better over the years."

"That is not true," Hachiman's voice was cold. "You two are exactly the same in strength as you were a thousand years ago. You have not changed at all. And you will never defeat me. This is neither good nor bad, it is... a given."

Futsunushi froze. His face stretched in offense. Takemikazuchi clenched his fists.

"It is wrong to speak like that," he said. "One must not speak of brothers like that."

Futsunushi acted in silence. He took his blade, bowed, and said:

"I challenge you to a fight."

Hachiman summoned his sword of red energy and assumed a stance.

"Attack."

Futsunushi shouted - and charged forward. His speed was immense, his technique - flawless. But when he reached Hachiman, he stopped abruptly. Hachiman stood in a defensive stance, not even flinching. Futsunushi stepped back, and then everyone saw: on his neck, just above his collar, was a small, thin scratch.

Hachiman lowered his sword.

"That is what needed to be proved."

"I also wish to fight!" Takemikazuchi shouted, taking an attack stance. "I will prove that we have changed!"

He began to settle into a defensive stance, preparing for a long duel. But he did not make it in time. A millimeter from his neck, Hachiman's blade stopped.

Hachiman snorted in displeasure and left without looking back.

Present Day. The Valhalla Arena.

Hachiman was aiming. His fingers held the bowstring, and the tip of the arrow, blazing red, was aimed straight at the running Saigo. The energy accumulated in the arrow over the long seconds of being held hummed and vibrated, ready to burst free.

"Hachiman is firing!" Heimdall thundered.

The arrow tore from the bowstring. It hurtled toward Saigo faster than the eye could follow.

[Arrow Surpassing the Sun]

Saigo dodged.

His body twisted in an unthinkable pirouette, and the arrow passed by - mere millimeters from his shoulder.

But even having missed its target, it did not miss completely. The energy emanating from it wounded Saigo. Saigo's arm was torn open - a huge gash ripped through flesh from shoulder to elbow. Blood gushed in a torrent, soaking his sleeve, dripping onto the stone slabs.

"Saigo is wounded! Seriously wounded!" Heimdall shouted. "Even evading did not save him completely! This is the power that will kill anyone!"

On the balcony, Göll and Spenta Armaiti simultaneously flinched, opening their mouths. But Zarathushtra raised his hand, stopping them:

"Calm yourselves. Wait. Do you think Saigo will stop now?"

In the VIP box, Metatron leaned forward.

"How did that happen?" he asked. "The arrow flew past. Yet Saigo is still wounded."

Ares folded his arms across his chest.

"Now that, I can explain," he said, and his voice held involuntary respect and pride. "Hachiman, as a god of war, possesses a special gift. Within him, the experience accumulated over all his training and battles can burst outward as an untamed, destructive force and energy. Even Hachiman himself cannot fully control it; the least he can do with it independently is to create arrows or accumulate it in his weapon, which consumes much of his energy. But as an untamed force, it can willfully wound opponents. This force, this gift, is called Ara-Mitama."

Hermes nodded, adjusting his jacket:

"Truly, Hachiman fully justifies the title of God of War."

Ares shot him an angry look but said nothing.

On the arena, Saigo continued to run.

His arm was completely drenched in blood. His face twisted in pain, but his legs did not slow for an instant. He ran - faster than before, faster than anyone could expect from a man with such a wound.

Hachiman drew the bowstring for a new shot. His fingers had already begun to form a new arrow when his eyes widened.

{"He is still running... So confident in his victory? And he is rather fast... Very much so!"}

Hachiman did not have time to finish the thought. He began to release the bowstring, but at that moment he felt something - a prick, a flash, a premonition of the inevitable.

Saigo appeared before him. The katana surged upward - and came crashing down.

[Jigen-ryu Style: Semen-giri]

Hachiman screamed. It was a cry not only of pain but also of shock. The katana swept vertically, deep from the top of his head to the bottom. The god's blood spilled onto the arena floor, forming pools of blood, spraying everything around.

[HAS THE GOD OF WAR BEEN KILLED?]

[ROUND 2 OF THE SECOND AND FINAL RAGNAROK HAS BEGUN!]

Many years ago. Takamagahara.

Far from everyone, beside a stream, stood a minka. Inside, two gods slept, stretched out on futons. One futon lay empty.

[Takemikazuchi, God of Swords of the Japanese pantheon]

[Futsunushi, God of Swords of the Japanese pantheon]

The door flew open without a knock.

[Hachiman, Japanese God of War]

Hachiman entered - swift, with burning eyes, eager to tell them something important.

"Wake up!" His voice tore through the silence. "I have finally figured it out! Come on, come on, wake up!"

Takemikazuchi cracked one eye open. Futsunushi stirred, grumbling in displeasure.

"What is so important that you wake us in the middle of our rest?" Takemikazuchi muttered. "Though you are our brother, it is... probably not good to tear us from our sleep."

Hachiman smiled - wide, inspired. He stretched out his hands, in which he held a scroll.

"This - is Bushido!"

Present Day. The stands of the gods.

In the stands, among the host of divine spectators, sat two who stood out especially from the crowd.

[Takemikazuchi, God of Swords of the Japanese pantheon]

[Futsunushi, God of Swords of the Japanese pantheon]

They watched the arena, and the fire of memories burned in their eyes.

"I am glad to see our elder brother Hachiman in battle again," Takemikazuchi said. "We have not seen him for so long. Essentially, we haven't seen him at all."

Futsunushi nodded.

"Perhaps that love for the samurai way has awakened in Hachiman once more." He paused, watching Saigo. "Although... something will surely awaken within his heart. For before him stands none other than the Last Samurai."

Takemikazuchi folded his arms across his chest.

"Do you remember how we watched the Battle of Shiroyama?" His voice grew deeper. "I have never seen such dignity. Such strength from the samurai. This man... he is the embodiment of everything Hachiman taught."

The Valhalla Arena.

Saigo ran at full speed. His katana was raised for a strike, and his feet barely touched the stone slabs. The distance between him and Hachiman shrank with every second.

The God of War did not move from his spot. The arrow that had materialized in his hand pulsed like a heart. Hachiman first aimed straight at Saigō, but then directed his bow upward.

Hachiman shot into the sky.

The arrow soared high above the arena and scattered into a thousand tiny arrows. They rained down in a continuous shower - red, sparkling, like fireworks.

[Crimson Arrow of the Rising Sun]

Saigo was forced to retreat. His body moved with lightning speed - he dodged, leaped, rolled, and not a single arrow touched him. When the last mini-arrow embedded itself in the stone, the samurai stood completely unharmed.

Hachiman lowered his bow. His eyebrows rose slightly on his impassive face, it was almost astonishment.

"A masterful evasion," Heimdall commented. "Without a single wound! I am surprised by you, Saigo Takamori!"

The stands of humanity.

A man, a true giant in massive armor, slapped his palm against his knee.

[Honda Tadakatsu, one of the Four Heavenly Kings of the Tokugawa]

"I am positively surprised!" he boomed. "Saigo managed to evade such an attack without a single scratch!"

Beside him sat a man, and his face beneath a white hood was pensive.

[Uesugi Kenshin, the Dragon of Echigo]

"I cannot help but remark on his stance," he said. "Proper. Flawless." He narrowed his eyes. "He intends to cut Hachiman down with a single blow. And I am somewhat shocked that Saigō believes he can do it."

A young and enthusiastic man, with shining eyes, turned to his companions.

[Minamoto no Yoshitsune, samurai of the Minamoto clan]

"I respect how Saigo has presented himself before Hachiman! Valiant and Worthy!" He was almost bouncing in place. "He will not disgrace our teacher!" Yoshitsune suddenly faltered and turned to the massive figure beside him. "Benkei, what do you think? You are, after all, supposed to participate in this tournament, aren't you?"

[Benkei, the most loyal warrior]

Benkei, the warrior-monk, slowly nodded. On his hand glinted a ring with a brown, transparent stone, and it almost glowed - dimly, but noticeably.

"I cannot fail to note how Hachiman reacted to Saigos lightning-fast attack," he replied in a deep bass. "His reaction is flawless. And with a power like Hachiman's..." he shook his head, "Saigo will not be able to dodge forever."

At the other end of the stands, a young boy furiously shook his fists. His face was flushed, and his eyes shot lightning. He sharply turned to the man sitting beside him.

[Miyamoto Iori, adopted son of Miyamoto Musashi]

"Father, you were not invited to the tournament again! Again! The last tournament, and you are not on the roster!"

The man sat motionless. His scarred face maintained absolute calm.

[Miyamoto Musashi, master of the Niten Ichi-ryū style]

"I am not upset that I was not invited."

"Ah... and Saigo Takamori, is he stronger than Sasaki Kojiro?"

"Nor do I know for certain whether the Last Samurai surpasses the First under the Sun in swordsmanship. But..."

He did not have time to finish. He was interrupted - by several voices at once, merging into a single chorus.

[Kirino Toshiaki, participant in the Satsuma Rebellion]

[Shinohara Kunimoto, participant in the Satsuma Rebellion]

[Murata Shinpachi, participant in the Satsuma Rebellion]

[Ikegami Shiro, participant in the Satsuma Rebellion]

[Hemmi Jurota, participant in the Satsuma Rebellion]

[Beppu Shinsuke, participant in the Satsuma Rebellion]

"We can tell you!" they shouted. "Saigo is a role model for any samurai! Even if one counts Hachiman!"

Beppu Shinsuke added, clenching his fists:

"Our Saigo will not lose! He cannot!"

Humanity's balcony.

Spenta Armaiti pressed her hands to her ears - the echo of the battle cry still rang in the air.

"Why does Saigo shout before beginning an attack?" she asked. "It is very loud."

Göll stood silently, but her eyes behind her glasses were intently tracking every movement in the arena.

Zarathushtra smirked - with that very villainous squint he got when he enjoyed understanding what was hidden from others.

"It is kiai," he explained. "The signature shout of the samurai. It works so that the neurons in a person's head completely change. Speed, reaction, adrenaline, sensitivity - everything increases many times over."

The Valhalla Arena.

"Saigo has managed to dodge Hachiman's attack masterfully!" Heimdall thundered from on high.

Saigo did not delay. He again filled his lungs completely with air, and his kiai tore through the silence. And with this shout, he tore from his spot, hurtling toward Hachiman.

[Superior Mastery: Kiai]

The God of War drew his bowstring once more. A crimson arrow materialized in his fingers - but this time, he did not aim it at the sky. He aimed at the running samurai's legs.

A shot.

The arrow struck the stone slab right in front of Saigō and shattered into a thousand fragments. This time, they scattered low over the ground - striking sparks from the stones, flying straight at the samurai.

[Crimson Arrow of the Rising Sun]

Saigo tried to evade. His body twisted, his katana flashed, deflecting several arrows. But the distance was too short, and the arrows - too many.

Although Saigo managed to dodge the majority, dozens of cuts bloomed on his arms, shoulders, thighs, legs, and chest. Shallow, but bleeding. Blood soaked his sleeves, dripped onto the stone slabs. Saigō stopped, breathing heavily.

"The first wound!" Heimdall commented. "The Last Samurai, Saigo Takamori, is the first to be wounded!"

In the VIP box, Metatron, seeing Saigō's blood, twitched the corners of his lips slightly. It was not a full smile - rather, a shadow of satisfaction. Göll and Spenta exchanged nervous glances. Zarathustra stood fully focused, not uttering a sound.

Vidar was absolutely calm.

Saigo straightened. His face, covered in drops of sweat and blood, remained serene. He looked at Hachiman - and smiled.

"I am glad to be wounded by the hands of a teacher," he said, and touched his wound in the chest area.

Hachiman smirked slightly.

"That is a surprising reaction for me," he admitted, and his voice sounded almost warm.

Saigo shouted again.

[Superior Mastery: Kiai]

The kiai swept over the arena, and the samurai charged forward. His legs, still bleeding, carried him at the same speed as at the start of the battle, despite all his wounds.

Hachiman raised his bow again. But now he did not hurry. His fingers drew the string, and the crimson arrow appeared once more - but this time he held it for a long time. A very long time.

The arrow began to glow brighter. Sparks showered from it in a hail. The red glow became ever more intense, ever more saturated, until it turned into a blazing clot of energy from which a low, vibrating hum emanated.

"Hachiman is holding the arrow!" Heimdall shouted, and alarm rang in his voice. "It is accumulating power! What is he planning?! The Japanese God of War will show his strength to this man!"

The God of War watched the running Saigo, and his face was focused.

{"Well then, this man wants to kill me with a single blow? How will he react to this?!"}

The arrow in his fingers was no longer merely sparkling - it blazed with red fire, like a small sun.

[THE GOD OF WAR PREPARES HIS ATTACK!]

[WHO IS SAIGO TAKAMORI?]

https://preview.redd.it/detkxe63idgh1.jpg?width=1280&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=9503a69e64cd69cb9b292501e3d02a1329f49e05

Zarathushtra and Spenta Armaiti walked through the corridors of Valhalla. Their footsteps echoed off the high vaults, and ahead loomed a door - simple, wooden, without any adornments, set aside for a fighter of humanity.

"I am very worried about Göll," Spenta said, her voice full of quiet anxiety. "She is so young. She certainly does not deserve such a burden."

Zarathushtra smirked without even slowing his pace.

"Göll knows perfectly well what she is getting into. She is a Valkyrie. The thirteenth, yes. And it seems she is also the last Valkyrie, and the others have apparently abandoned her. But Brunhilde did not prepare her to break after the very first defeat. There is no need to try to change her mind. Don't even attempt it."

He pushed the door open and entered.

They were met by a cozy, calm, simple room. A tatami mat on the floor, a low table, a couple of scrolls on the wall. No gold, no luxury. In the corner, an oil lamp quietly crackled. And in the center, sitting cross-legged, a man was drawing. His brush glided across the paper smoothly and unhurriedly, and each movement was filled with a strange, almost meditative peace. A small dog ran around beside him, occasionally nudging his knee with its nose.

[Saigo Takamori. The Last Samurai]

"Your time has come, Saigo!" Zarathushtra proclaimed as he entered. "Your hour."

Saigo did not turn around. His brush continued to glide across the paper, tracing the outlines of mountains. The little dog yapped and spun in place. Several long minutes passed before he set aside the brush, rose, and bowed - calmly, with dignity.

"I apologize for not being able to answer at once," he said. "And I apologize that you had to wait."

On the paper, a landscape was blossoming: a calm, tranquil forest, a river running off into the distance, mountains whose peaks were lost in the clouds.

"That is very beautiful," Spenta Armaiti breathed, glancing over his shoulder.

Zarathushtra wasted no time. He flung open the hexagonal casket, and the rings inside shone.

"You must go out next, Saigo," he declared. "You are the one who has every chance. You will secure the first victory for humanity. I don't just believe it - I know it."

"There should be no doubt in me," Saigo replied. "I am always ready."

Zarathushtra pointed to the ring - the very one he had chosen in advance. Saigo took it without hesitation and put it on his finger. For a second, his body was enveloped in a bright yellow light - and it vanished, absorbed within.

"Now choose a weapon," the prophet continued. "Something connected to you. Something that means something important to you. With such an object, a human's potential becomes especially pliable."

"I already know what I will choose," Saigo said.

He walked to the far part of the room. Zarathushtra and Spenta followed him. The little dog tagged along too, wagging its tail. On a wooden stand rested a katana. Neat, beautiful, sharp.

Saigo took it in his hands carefully, like a child. And at that moment, the katana shone with a yellow light for a second - and Japanese characters appeared on the blade: 英雄主義

"It is time to remember the past," Saigo said quietly. "Good times."

Leaving the room, Zarathushtra and Spenta Armaiti walked in silence. Their footsteps echoed in the corridor once more.

"Are you certain Saigo will win?" Spenta asked.

Zarathushtra smirked, and those very villainous sparks danced in his eyes.

"Anyone from the roster of humanity that I added will kill gods," he replied. "Anyone."

Zarathushtra stopped in front of Spenta, pondering something.

"And we also need... to give rings to the rest of the new Einherjar. Preferably right now, while there is time."

Spenta nodded calmly, and together they walked back in the direction they had come.

The Valhalla Arena.

It had increased in size, expanding in width and height. The floor now consisted of uneven, rough stone slabs. On the gods' side, Japanese characters adorned the doors, forming: 最初. On humanity's side - 最後. In the center of the arena rose a colossal Japanese pillar - a torii, a wooden gate without doors, marking the boundary between worlds.

In the VIP box of the gods, the same faces had gathered. Metatron, his four wings pressed tightly against his back. Vidar, motionless and impassive. Hermes, Ares, Zeus, Aphrodite, Yu Huang, and Shiva. They waited.

"I am eager to see how Vidar will surprise an old man," Zeus rumbled, tapping his fingers on the armrest. "And it infuriates me that we have to wait so long to find out who will come out this time."

Vidar was silent. His gaze was fixed on the arena.

On humanity's balcony, Zarathushtra and Spenta were already standing in their places. Göll approached them - calm, composed, her glasses sitting perfectly.

"Is everything alright?" Spenta asked, peering into her face.

"Yes," Göll answered shortly.

Spenta glanced at Zarathushtra. He looked at her, then shifted his eyes to the arena. Spenta tried to embrace the Valkyrie, but Göll quickly, almost sharply, moved her hand away.

In his palace, Dionysus, sprawled among the cushions surrounded by goddesses who had grown quite bold, raised a bottle to his lips and smirked, watching the broadcast.

"One can tell from the arena: a battle of Japanese awaits us. I am already greatly intrigued."

In the center of the arena, beneath the giant torii, stood Heimdall. He raised his head and brought the Gjallarhorn to his lips.

"I welcome you all once again to the Valhalla Arena! The arena where the fate of humanity is decided. The arena where the second and final Ragnarok in the history of the Heavens is being held!" his voice rang out over Valhalla. "In the very first battle, the gods proved their superiority over humanity, and the great Ra-Horakhty! But who, despite this setback, who among humanity will challenge the gods now!"

The stands of the gods roared in approval.

"From the side of humanity shall emerge a samurai!" Heimdall continued. "But it was with this very samurai that the entire era of the Great Way of Bushidō came to an end! In 1877, the samurai rose up to fight for their way. And they chose him as their leader! He is the embodiment of honor, heroism, and justice! Welcome the Last Samurai, SAIGO TAKAMORI!"

The gates on humanity's side swung open, and Saigo stepped into the arena. He walked calmly, measuredly, and his katana rested in its scabbard at his belt.

[Saigo Takamori, the Last Samurai]

"From the side of the gods!" Heimdall raised his hand. "Who will challenge the Last Samurai? Why, of course, only the one who founded this very way! This god, together with his brothers, created the Way of Bushido, the very foundations of every samurai's life, and enlightened humanity to this path! Welcome, the God of War of the Japanese pantheon... HACHIMAN!"

The gods' gates opened, and a god stepped into the arena. In his hands, he held an enormous bow - long, curved, with a bowstring almost invisible. His face was calm, and he smiled relaxedly.

[Hachiman, Japanese God of War]

Heimdall blew the Gjallarhorn:

"Well then... A battle between the first and the last samurai, Round 2 of the second and final Ragnarok... is declared begun! FIGHT!"

Saigo and Hachiman stood opposite each other. Silence hung over the arena - thick, palpable, as if it could be cut with a sword.

The silence was broken by Saigo. He bowed - low, with sincere respect.

"I am Saigo Takamori," he said. "Of the Satsuma domain. To fight you and to kill you will be an honor for me. As a true samurai, I will fight at my fullest. I will show my teacher what I have learned."

Zeus, sitting in the VIP box of the gods, peered at Saigo's ring.

"Hermes... In the last battle, Ramesses put on a ring and was able to harm Ra. Now this human has a similar ring. Have the Valkyries found some kind of workaround? What is this?"

Yu Huang looked toward humanity's balcony and stared directly at Spenta Armaiti.

"Well, Zeus... Perhaps I can answer that question. For a long time, I have studied... various divine treasures, especially those of gods who have a special connection to humanity. When Ahura Mazda appeared in the heavens, as you know, he chose a prophet for himself, such as Zarathustra. And for a long time, various rumors circulated that Ahura Mazda had his own plans for Valhalla, and that he created something special to aid him in his plans. It seems these rings are precisely what Ahura Mazda created. Truly, he was an unstable god."

"So you probably knew even before the first Ragnarok that one could unite with the souls of humans to give them the ability to kill gods? You knew about Völundr, and that is why you did not enter the first Ragnarok, even though I invited you?" Zeus said, looking at Yu Huang with a smirk, stroking his beard.

Yu Huang merely smiled nervously for a second and then looked back at the arena.

On the Valhalla Arena, Hachiman froze. His face, which had remained calm, flickered slightly. And then he laughed, but there was no condemnation in his laughter.

"I am glad," he said, "for the way you began this fight. Saigo Takamori, that is your name, is it not?"

He straightened up, raised his bow, and drew the string. From his hand, red energy formed into an arrow.

Saigo instantly drew his katana. But then, as if reconsidering, he placed it back into its scabbard. He shouted - loudly, at the top of his lungs - and charged forward, rapidly closing the distance.

[Superior Mastery: Kiai]

[ROUND 2 OF THE SECOND AND FINAL RAGNAROK HAS BEGUN!]

[WHO WILL WIN THE FIRST ROUND OF THE SECOND RAGNAROK?]

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Egypt. Abu Simbel.

Ramesses led Nefertari by the hand. She walked beside him, squinting against the bright sun, her robes swaying in the wind.

They stopped before the entrance to the temple. Nefertari tilted her head back and gasped. Before her towered colossi - four gigantic statues of Ramesses himself, carved directly into the cliff. And between them, on either side of the entrance, stood smaller statues - her own likenesses. Yet even these "small" statues were taller than the images of the gods in any other temple in Egypt.

"They..." Nefertari could not find the words, "they are taller than the gods. Taller than the statues of Ra... and indeed all the gods put together!"

Ramesses smiled his signature, broad smile.

"And what else should the statues of true gods be like?" He gestured around the temple.

Nefertari laughed - a quiet, kind laugh, in which there was neither mockery nor fear of blasphemy.

Ramesses looked at her. His smile softened slightly.

Nefertari suddenly grew serious.

"Have you heard anything of Moses?" she asked quietly.

Ramesses remained silent.

"Meritamen is beside herself," she continued. "Be that as it may, she raised him as her own son. And I... I did too." She took his hand. "Ramesses, perhaps you acted too cruelly."

"I?" Ramesses quickly released her hand.

Silence hung over them. The wind drove sand across the stone slabs. Ramesses looked at the statues, and his face was inscrutable.

"My majesty knows no Moses," he said at last. "And no Hebrews."

Nefertari said nothing in reply. She simply shifted her gaze to their enormous statues - his and hers, frozen in stone for eternity.

Present Day. The Valhalla Arena.

Ramesses stood up.

His body, wounded and burned, moved slowly, but in every movement, that same inhuman will was felt. Blood dripped from his clothes. The huge bruise on his shoulder had blackened. The skin on his arms was charred from the heat. But he rose to his full height and stood calmly, as if nothing had happened.

Ra looked at him. His face was now covered by an iron mask of an eagle. A golden radiance emanated from him in waves. He was absolutely calm.

"Ramesses is getting up!" Heimdall cried out, his voice trembling with amazement. "He is still standing!"

The stands of humanity exploded with shouts. Their fighter, their pharaoh, was still on his feet. Unarmed, wounded - he stood. And as long as he stood, hope lived.

In the crowd, Nefertari pressed her hands to her chest and whispered:

"Get up... get up, pharaoh..."

Even Moses, seated among the humans, leaned forward slightly. His face remained stern, but something flickered in his eyes - a shadow of anxiety mixed with unexpected joy. His grandfather was still standing.

In the VIP box of the gods, Zeus smirked.

"This human has an iron will. There's no taking that away from him." He leaned back and folded his arms. "But without a weapon, all his efforts will be in vain. You can already celebrate your victory, Vidar."

Shiva nodded silently in agreement. Aphrodite, having already recovered from the shock, smiled languidly. Ares clenched his fists, still worrying for Ra. Yu Huang observed with impassive interest. All of them calmly and confidently awaited the resolution.

Only Metatron sat differently. His four wings were pressed tightly against his back. His face, usually devoid of emotion, was now twisted with barely perceptible malice. He stared at the arena unblinkingly.

Vidar, seated beside the archangel, shifted his gaze into the void. Then his eyes slowly slid back. He looked at Ramesses' left earring.

On humanity's balcony, Göll clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned white. Her voice was sharp and demanding:

"Zarathushtra! You know Ramesses took a ring. It is high time you said where it is. And whether it will help the pharaoh. Speak now!"

The prophet smiled. His smile was still as villainous, but there was also something else in it - the patience of a hunter waiting for the perfect moment.

Spenta Armaiti gently touched Göll's shoulder.

"Calm down," she said calmly, almost tenderly. "There is still time." She shifted her gaze to Zarathustra. "But I, too, noticed nothing. Where is the ring?"

Zarathushtra laughed - briefly and triumphantly.

"Just a little longer," he said. "Just a little longer to wait."

Ramesses raised his hand to his left ear. His fingers, burnt and trembling, touched the earring. He yanked it out sharply.

And then everyone saw.

That earring was the ring "Diligence."

Ramesses put it on his finger.

At that very instant, his body was enveloped for a second by a dark pink glow. The light ran across his wounded arms, across his burnt skin, across his face - and vanished, absorbed within. The pharaoh straightened up. His back became straighter, and a new fire lit up in his eyes.

He bent down and picked up his nemes from the sand - the very one that had flown off his head during the beating. Touching his fingers, the nemes shone for a second.

Ramesses walked toward Ra.

The stands fell silent. Everyone - both gods and humans - froze, watching the wounded man stride toward the standing Sun God.

Ra looked at him, and his voice was almost weary:

"Your stubbornness compels my respect. But it is already over. Your words turned out to be lies. You never managed to put a god on his knees."

The pharaoh did not answer. He came closer and closer. His steps were heavy but steady.

Ra did not move. He waited, confident in his invulnerability. He had, after all, already regained his power. What more could a human do against him?

Ramesses came right up close.

He raised the nemes - and brought it crashing down on Ra's helmet. The golden diadem with the cobra descended upon the Sun God's head.

[Almighty Cobra]

A deafening crack rang out. The iron mask of the eagle, which had only just merged with the Sun God, split. Ra's blood gushed from his head. The nemes had breached the defense, breached the armor, breached the divine flesh itself.

The gods in the stands roared - but now it was a cry of horror and amazement. This could not be. "The human had no weapon!" "How?!"

On the balcony, Göll and Spenta Armaiti exhaled simultaneously. Their faces lit up with hope. Zarathushtra clapped his hands, and his laughter rang out over the balcony.

"There it is!" he exclaimed. "Ramesses took the ring, and as expected, he managed to pierce Ra! I told you so!"

Ramesses, without wasting a second, swung again. His nemes rose into the air...

[Almighty Cobra]

But Ra was faster.

His fist slammed into the pharaoh's face. And then, directly from his hand, he fired a beam of purest heat and light that enveloped the entire arena.

[Prominence Field - Absolute!]

The concentrated sunlight struck Ramesses in the face and hurled him far away, to the other end of the arena.

The pharaoh collapsed onto the sand.

The human stands groaned. People covered their faces with their hands. Some wept. Their hero had fallen again.

Only Nefertari did not lower her head. She looked at her husband, and her lips whispered the same thing: "Get up... Get up... You always got up..."

Ra lowered himself onto the sand. His blood dripped from the wound on his head, but he smiled - darkly, with satisfaction.

"Was it worth it, human? You could have defeated me, but you decided it was better to stand your ground and wait for the fulfillment of your conditions. Did it never even cross your mind that there might be someone who would not fall for your provocations, human?"

Ramesses stirred.

Slowly, by an incredible effort of will, he raised himself onto his elbows. His face was smashed and bloody, and half of his face was so badly burned that his skull was visible. His breath came out in a wheeze. But he lifted his head and looked at Ra.

And in that gaze was the same pride. The same smile - weak, but unbroken.

"Ra... know your place!HAHAHAHAHA!" rasped Ramesses the Second, the Great.

And he crumbled into green cosmic dust.

It rose into the air, swirled - and vanished, dissolving into the arena of Valhalla.

Silence covered the arena. Even the gods were silent.

Heimdall swooped down on his bird, raised the Gjallarhorn to his lips - and blew.

"The battle is over!" his voice rang out over Valhalla. "The winner of the first round of the last Ragnarok..."

He paused.

"Ra-Horakhty! The Sun God of Egypt! The gods claim their first victory!"

The outcome of R1.

[THE FIRST ROUND OF THE LAST RAGNAROK HAS ENDED WITH VICTORY FOR THE GODS!]

[HOW WAS THE UNSTOPPABLE GOD BORN?]

The Egyptian pantheon is one of the most ancient in Valhalla.

More ancient than many pantheons whose names have already been erased from the memory of the gods. The Egyptian gods witnessed the first wars of the divine world. They saw how celestial forces coexisted without assemblies, without the laws of Valhalla, without rules. Nothing but cruelty. And a slaughter in which even the word "pantheon" was superfluous. But this story begins at a time when the Council of Valhalla already existed in the form known today. Yet the cruelty remained just the same.

In those days, Ra, the Sun God, was dining in his temple, seated upon a golden throne. He was being attended to by the goddesses - Bastet, Sekhmet, Isis, Hathor.

The door flew off its hinges.

A heavy stone slab, torn away by inhuman strength, hurtled straight toward Ra. The Sun God managed to react - a single punch, and the door shattered into splinters without even touching him. The goddesses, shrieking, pressed themselves against their lord.

In the breach stood a tall god. A human body, but with serpentine features - scales covered his arms, and his eyes were vertical, red, with narrow pupils. He was smiling - wide, insane, with the pleasure of a maniac.

[Apophis. The Unborn.]

In his hand dangled something dark, shapeless. Ra lowered his gaze - and tensed.

[Set, Egyptian god of storms]

Or rather, what was left of him. The dead god of the desert, with his throat torn out and eyes glazed over.

Apophis, still wearing that same smile, hurled Set's corpse at Ra. The Sun God instantly transformed - a flash of light enveloped his body, and golden armor shone upon him. Set's corpse, touching this armor, burst into flames and crumbled to ash.

"A bastard like you," Ra's voice was quiet, but a fury capable of incinerating worlds seethed within it, "has imagined himself to be someone who can enter the palace of the Egyptian pantheon? You have defiled this very place with your presence. And only through your death, serpent, will I somehow forgive you."

Apophis stepped forward. His scales shimmered in the half-light.

"It is time to put an end to Ra's dictatorship," he said, and his voice resembled a hiss. "The fact that you managed to seize power during my absence does not make you the ruler. Other gods have interests too. They should also be taken into account. Do you think that because you seized power during the First War, by a convenient chance, everything is now permitted to you, huh?"

Ra burst out laughing. Openly, contemptuously, thunderously, and proudly.

"You called yourself a god?" He shook his head. "I will remind you of your title, the Unborn. A bastard like you is fit, at best, to serve the D-category gods in Valhalla. And even then - unlikely."

Apophis roared and charged into the attack.

Their clash shook the temple. Ra brought down solar power upon the serpent - blinding rays.

[Prominence Field - Maximum Output]

But Apophis moved differently. His body writhed like a snake's, evading direct strikes. He attacked from where his opponent could not see - from the side, from behind, from below. The dark energy emanating from him allowed him to push Ra, redirect his attacks, alter the trajectory of his blows and beams.

[Field of Darkness]

Ra's fist struck empty air. A beam of light, aimed at Apophis, warped and flew off into the sky.

They demolished the temple. Columns crumbled. Golden ornaments melted. The goddesses scattered in terror. Ra struck blow after blow, and his power was devastating, but Apophis, like a shadow, slipped away and struck back. His claws left deep scratches on Ra's armor. His tail lashed so that stone slabs cracked.

In the end, both bloodied - Ra covered in bites, with blood oozing from his wounds; Apophis covered in burns, with smoking scales - they no longer paid attention to where their battle was taking place and shifted to Midgard, to the territory of modern-day Egypt.

But this was not the Egypt that people know today. Endless greenery, tropical forests, grasses taller than a human. They fell directly onto a human settlement, completely destroying it. The humans, seeing the falling gods, scattered with cries.

Ra and Apophis continued to fight.

The solar power scorched the greenery. Where Ra stepped, the grass burst into flames and turned to ash.

[Prominence Field - Full Throttle (Stellar Boundary)]

Apophis, slithering among the trees, hurled clots of darkness at the Sun God. The dark energy coiled around Ra like serpentine rings, squeezed his armor, tried to strangle him. But Ra tore through these bonds, and each time his light grew brighter, and the heat - more unbearable.

Apophis used darkness to push Ra. To redirect his attacks. Ra struck - and his blow veered aside, crushing trees instead of the serpent. This battle had already shifted into a contest of who would tire out first.

[Prominence Field - Absolute!]

Ra unleashed power from his fist and struck Apophis directly in the face. The heat was so intense that the blinding light from the attack was visible from any point on the planet.

Apophis, half-dead, lay on the scorched earth, unable to move.

Ra towered over him. His fist slammed into the serpent's face again and again, tossing Apophis into the air.

[Midnight Sun (Unsetting Sun)]

And with each blow, he asked:

"Was it worth it? Was it worth directing your forces against one who is better a priori? Against one to whom the entire pantheon belongs by right of strength and birth?"

Apophis spat blood in his face.

"Scum like you… prideful scum… must die."

Ra seized him by the throat.

"How then do you differ from me, Apophis? You, who out of your own pride decided to usurp power? Because you are 'not like the others'?"

Apophis stretched out his burnt, smoking hand. Within it was concentrated all his remaining dark energy - to the last drop, to the very limit. He unleashed it upon Ra.

"Ra, know your place!"

[Field of Darkness - Absolute!]

An explosion. A blinding flash in which light and darkness merged.

Apophis's body crumbled into green cosmic dust, unable to withstand his own attack.

But Ra screamed in pain.

The power of the Sun, his own power, had been redirected against him. Apophis had done something he had never done before: the Unborn had concentrated the dark energy not for an attack, but to redirect the very might of Ra that flowed within him. He broke his armor, his energy, his destructive power - and shattered them into small fragments. Pieces of armor scattered across all of Midgard.

Ra lay in blood. Only pitiful remnants of his armor remained. His body was wounded. And at that moment, he saw humans. They were approaching him, and Ra prepared himself for contempt, for mockery at a god's weakness.

But the people fell to their knees. They began to rejoice. They shouted that Ra was their lord and worshipped him right there, in the middle of the scorched desert.

Then Ra thought:

{"Humans are inferior beings. They are good for nothing. They worship even the defeated, even the broken - only because he is a god. There is neither pride nor dignity in them. Only blind, pitiful adoration."}

Some time later, Ra returned to Egypt. With what power he had left, he dried it up completely. The green tropics turned into a dead desert. Rivers dried up. Thousands of people perished. But Ra did not reckon with their lives. He was searching for fragments of his power - mercilessly, methodically, ruthlessly.

And when only the last fragment remained…

The gods came to him.

[Gabriel, warrior of the angelic host]

[Michael, warrior of the angelic host]

[Uriel, warrior of the angelic host]

[Raphael, warrior of the angelic host]

The archangels formed a semicircle. And before them stood the young leaders of the pantheons. Zeus, not yet gray-haired but already with lightning in his eyes.

[Odin, head of the Norse pantheon]

[Izanagi, former head of the Japanese pantheon]

and beside him, Amaterasu, goddess of the Sun. Perun, gripping two axes, in anticipation of battle.

Zeus stepped forward.

"Ra," he said thunderously, "you, disregarding the Council of Gods and the decision for a thousand years, have decided to destroy humanity."

Ra turned to them in fury. His face twisted.

"I do not need your Council! I have no interest in you! Get out! I have no aim to destroy those losers!"

Zeus did not move from his spot. The angels did not flinch. Odin looked at Ra, but there was something different in his gaze compared to the others. There was interest in his gaze.

Ra, seeing that they were not leaving, lunged at Zeus. His fist, still holding the remnants of solar power, flew toward the thunderer's face.

Zeus struck first.

With a single movement - fast, elusive, full of power - he knocked Ra down.

[Near Lightspeed Jab]

The Sun God flew back, crashed onto the sand, and lay still, unconscious. His last words were:

"Zeus… know your place…"

The archangels bound Ra in shackles. Zeus, departing with everyone else, threw over his shoulder:

"Congratulations, Unstoppable One."

Present Day. Humanity's Balcony.

Göll stood with her arms crossed over her chest, and her voice was calm, but steel rang within it.

"I was lucky. Brunhilde spent a long time studying Ramesses and the nature of his power. Unfortunately, she lacked enough data to make use of him for the first Ragnarok. But over a thousand years, I have fully studied him."

She adjusted her glasses.

"His khopesh is capable of accumulating all the kinetic energy dealt against Ramesses. And then, upon an attack, with a delay of several seconds, it releases it back into the opponent. That is why Ra was sent flying with a delay after each wound." She paused. "But I could not explain where a human got a divine weapon. And why Ramesses came out against Ra specifically without a ring, not suffering any consequences from the heat. Now everything is clear. If the weapon is indeed linked to Ra, then the Sun God's power simply does not work against Ramesses."

In the VIP box of the gods, Ares shifted his gaze from the arena to Zeus and back in shock.

"What are they even talking about?" he breathed. "What fragment? What weapon?"

Zeus leaned back in his chair and laughed.

"I think I understand," he drawled. "When Ra went to destroy humanity, he said that his aim was not destruction at all. I did not take it seriously then. But now everything falls into place." He shook his head, recalling. "Those were excellent times. Ra's powers ended up on earth. He went to search for them - be it the doing of Apophis, Set, Shezmu, or someone else. And now that power is in the hands of a human."

Zeus shifted his gaze to Vidar and smirked.

"You knew about this? If you hadn't, you wouldn't have bet on such a god in the very first round."

Vidar was silent. His gaze was directed not at the arena, but at the emptiness in the corner of the VIP box.

On the arena, Heimdall was commentating on the events, but his voice trembled with tension.

"What a turn in the first round! Ramesses, it seems, possesses Ra's power!"

Ra stood opposite Ramesses and thought. His thoughts darted about, trying to find the right solution.

{"I just need to take that weapon. And how do I do that? Heat doesn't work, and as can be seen, my destructive power, though it harms him, always gives him time for a counterattack. I need to somehow drive him into a position where he won't be ready for an attack... Damn, not that! Mgh, what won't one do for this..."}

Irritated, almost enraged, Ra straightened up. His voice rang out over the arena, and within it vibrated a tension ready to snap at any moment:

"I… acknowledge the full supremacy of Ramesses as pharaoh. His Majesty and power." He paused and forced through gritted teeth: "I am ready to kneel."

The stands of the gods exploded.

They shouted. They called Ra names: "Pathetic." "Coward." "Traitor to divine pride." "How could he?" "How dare he?"

Shiva, in the VIP box, froze, and his third eye opened slightly in astonishment.

Aphrodite gasped and swayed - her attendants barely managed to catch her so she wouldn't fall.

Dionysus, watching the broadcast surrounded by ladies, screamed, spilling wine: "Damn bastard! You are not a god! You are a worm!"

In the dark room, Perun leaned forward slightly, and a spark of interest flickered in his icy eyes. Zeus, Hermes, and Ares exchanged shocked glances. Yu Huang narrowed his eyes, his face showing deep interest. Metatron looked at Ra with anger and amazement.

And only Vidar remained calm.

"Ra acknowledges the supremacy of a human! Can it be that the unstoppable god is not so unstoppable after all?" Heimdall cried out, not believing his own words.

Ramesses laughed. His laughter was loud and full of triumph.

"The pitiful god has done the right thing!" he exclaimed. "Come closer. You must kneel and also acknowledge me as the one and only Sun God! Yes, yes. I am tired of waiting, so I demand compensation for the delay!"

In the stands of humanity, a man leaned toward Moses and Aaron. His face was tense.

"Is this the very pharaoh who brought misfortune and grief upon us, the Hebrews?" he asked in a whisper. "Should we be rooting for his victory?"

[Joshua, Abrahamic prophet]

Moses was silent for a long time. His eyes were full of bitterness.

"We are not supporting Ramesses," he finally said. "We are supporting humanity. That is enough."

"But what would you feel if he died?" Joshua persisted. "Bitterness? Or joy that he was punished for his behavior?" He paused. "I would probably even feel sad. Although, perhaps, I would sin a little at first, laughing at the pharaoh."

Moses raised a heavy gaze to him.

"I would feel only pain." His voice was hollow. "As the Divine Prophet from heaven told me, there is nothing in this world more important than any life. Rejoicing in someone's death is forbidden. And he told you the same, didn't he?"

He hesitated, and his face twitched.

"Besides… Ramesses is my grandfather. Even if not by blood."

Joshua recoiled.

"Why didn't you say so earlier?!"

"I don't want to talk about it," Moses cut him off. "We are not even blood relatives. But…" He closed his eyes. "No matter how much I hate my grandfather, he is still my grandfather. And he was not always bad. Not to everyone. There was a time when he truly loved me. He even forgave me the murder of the Egyptian - just so that I would live in Egypt as a pharaoh. As the Divine Prophet told us, in every evil there is also good."

On the arena, Ra slowly approached Ramesses. Each step was difficult for him - not because of his wounded leg, but because of his wounded pride, which burned stronger than any fire.

"I agree," he said, stopping a few steps from the pharaoh.

Ramesses visibly relaxed. His smile grew wider, his shoulders dropped. He waited for the Sun God to kneel before him.

Ra began to descend. His knee was already almost touching the sand.

And then he raised his eyes to Ramesses.

The pharaoh frowned. Something in that gaze he did not like. He thought:

{"Am I a complete fool? Just cut his head off right now and be done with it."}

His fingers gripped the khopesh, and he began to raise the weapon…

A shining starlight.

Ra tore from his spot. His fist, at insane, impossible speed, nearly punched through Ramesses' chest. The pharaoh flew back, tumbling through the air, not even having time to cry out.

"Ra attacks! Treacherously! Without warning!" Heimdall shouted.

The Sun God did not stop. He soared into the air, caught Ramesses in flight, and began bouncing him all over the arena. A blow - the pharaoh slams into one wall. Another blow - into another. Sand erupted in fountains. Stones crumbled.

[Midnight Sun (Unsetting Sun)]

The gods in the stands roared with delight. Heimdall could not keep up with his commentary - Ra's attacks were too fast, too merciless.

"I can't follow it!" he shouted. "Too fast!"

Because of the heat still tormenting the arena, only the fountains of blood from Ramesses were visible - and nothing more.

Ra continued the series of attacks. A hail of blows - kicks, punches, elbows. And for the finale, from within his armor, from his very chest, he fired a beam of purest heat at Ramesses.

[Prominence Field - Maximum Output]

Ramesses' khopesh, from such blows, shone so brightly that it was not so much orange as blindingly white.

For a millisecond, in the air, when they were already practically above the ground, Ramesses struck Ra vertically, from below upward, across the body with the khopesh.

[Will of the Pharaoh]

Though he managed to strike Ra, the khopesh did not go in deep enough.

Ra, with destructive recoil, fell and crashed through the stands on the gods' side. The gods fled and screamed, seeing Ra fall.

The pharaoh crashed onto the sand. Covered in blood, in bruises, in wounds - completely battered, he fell to his knees and went still. Beneath him was a huge pool of blood, and the khopesh lay beside him.

Ra, wasting no moment, quickly flew over and took the khopesh, landing far from Ramesses' body.

The khopesh trembled in his hand. The weapon transformed - and turned back into a piece of the mask. That very piece.

On the balcony, Göll shouted in shock:

"This is impossible! How did this even happen?"

Ra brought the fragment to his face. The metal shone, pulsed - and merged with the Sun God. His face was enveloped by an iron mask of an eagle. Huge, predatory, shining with gold. And Ra himself began to glow - with a bright, blinding light that made even the gods in the stands shield their eyes.

He raised his head to the sky and let out a cry.

[Amon-Ra, Supreme God of Egypt in Midgard, in Helheim, and in Valhalla]

[RA RECLAIMS HIS POWER BY RIGHT!]

​

[WHAT MADE THE UNSTOPPABLE HUMAN CONSIDER HIMSELF A GOD?]

Ramesses II's grandfather, Paramessu, served as vizier and military commander at the court of Pharaoh Horemheb - the last ruler of the Eighteenth Dynasty, who had no heirs. It was Paramessu, having proven himself in countless battles and demonstrated loyalty to the throne, whom Horemheb appointed as his successor. Thus the warrior became Pharaoh Ramesses I, founder of a new dynasty.

After his grandfather's death, Ramesses' father, Seti I, ascended the throne. And when the young Ramesses was only eleven years old, Seti did what no pharaoh had done before - he appointed his son as prince-regent. A co-ruler. An heir who, while still a child, tasted power.

During the solemn ritual, as the priests placed the crown upon the boy's head and the courtiers fell prostrate, Ramesses stood motionless. And on his child's face, even then, shone that very smile - proud, wide, promising the world a greatness it had never seen.

Years later. After the Battle of Kadesh.

The army was returning to Egypt. The soldiers, exhausted by the long march, could barely move their feet. Their armor was dented, their faces gray with dust. But when the walls of Thebes appeared ahead, they were greeted with flowers. Thousands of people poured into the streets, showering the warriors with lotus petals, shouting praises. They welcomed their pharaoh - the one who had single-handedly turned back an entire army.

Ramesses' chariot rolled through the exultant crowd. The soldiers, barely standing on their feet, looked at their ruler in amazement: the pharaoh, drenched in the blood of his enemies, shone with a broad smile, as if the deadly battle had never happened.

It was after Kadesh that Ramesses' spirit could no longer be contained. Syrian campaigns that knew no bounds. Nubian expeditions that crushed all resistance. Libyan campaigns that pushed the borders ever further. And in all of them, Ramesses was the victor. The Unstoppable Pharaoh, who knew no defeat.

One day, when the war trumpets fell silent and a brief calm descended, Ramesses was resting in his chambers. Huge columns of rose granite rose upward, and a light breeze from the Nile stirred the curtains. The pharaoh was reclining on a divan when a servant announced visitors.

Two entered the hall. The first - tall, with a staff in his hand. The second kept slightly behind, his gaze heavy.

Ramesses beamed. He leaped from the divan and spread his arms wide.

"Moses!" he exclaimed, rushing toward the guest.

[Moses, Abrahamic prophet]

But his embrace was met with cold. Moses stood motionless, his face stern. Ramesses stepped back, but did not drop his smile.

"What does my grandson desire, and his..." he shifted his gaze to the second man, "...friend?"

"This is my brother by blood, Aaron," Moses said coldly. "And I desire that all Hebrews be free. That they leave Egypt forever, and that no one disturbs them."

[Aaron, Abrahamic prophet]

Aaron's gaze was angry, searing.

Ramesses was taken aback for a moment. He had not expected this.

"That... that is a lengthy process," he began, his voice growing more serious. "The enslavement of the Hebrews has existed in society for many generations. Such things are not resolved in a single day... But I will consider your words, Moses. I will certainly take action."

He paused and smiled again:

"Are you hungry? Do you desire anything else?"

"No," Moses cut him off. He had already turned to leave but paused for a moment. "It is not only my people who desire this. This is also desired by the Heavenly Seer. The Helper of God."

Ramesses frowned.

"Which one?"

Moses did not answer. He simply turned and left with his brother, leaving the pharaoh in silence.

That night, Ramesses could not sleep. He sat on the edge of his divan, clutching his head in his hands, and thought:

{"What am I to do with the Hebrews? To let them go is to show weakness. To keep them is to incur the wrath of the one Moses called the Helper of God."}

He did not fear gods. But he did not want to disappoint Moses - he was, after all, part of his family.

Suddenly, the air in the room trembled. From the heavens, straight through the stone ceiling, a figure descended. Ramesses leaped up, seizing his weapon.

Before him stood a man with four wings. Two upper, two lower. He was slightly awkward, glancing around somewhat nervously, as if not fully accustomed to his position himself.

"Horus?" Ramesses breathed. "Ra?"

"I am the messenger of God from heaven," the newcomer replied. "Metatron."

[Metatron, The Unseen]

Ramesses slowly lowered his weapon. His eyes lit up with understanding.

"Moses has told me about you." He paused. "I am considering his words. I want him to be pleased."

Metatron stepped closer. His voice was quiet, but there was a strange, unshakable confidence in it.

"I know you, Ramesses. You care nothing for the words of God. For the true desires of Heaven. Your true desire is for your grandson to be pleased. For him to live as a pharaoh." The archangel tilted his head to the side. "So that no one can reproach Ramesses for having a failure in his family."

Ramesses was silent. His face was inscrutable.

"Speak," he finally said. "What must I do?"

Metatron moved a little closer.

"You must refuse," he said. "You must tighten the bondage. Only thus will Moses live as a pharaoh. Only thus will he rise."

Ramesses froze. His eyes widened.

"And one more thing," Metatron added, "you must never speak to Moses about me. Never. And immediately, at once, deny any heavenly messenger who comes to you."

He vanished as suddenly as he had appeared.

Some time later.

Ramesses sat on the floor in his room. His back was hunched, his hands lay listless on his knees. The air trembled again. Four wings unfurled behind the one who entered.

Metatron stood over him.

"You have done everything as I said. You tightened the burden upon the Hebrews. When they went to the Red Sea, you declared war on your own brother. You staked your army, your country. Everything as it should be."

Ramesses raised his head. His eyes were red but dry.

"I think... I think I acted wrongly." His voice sounded hollow. "I should not have listened to you. This is my mistake."

"Only thus," Metatron answered seriously, "did you do anything in your life for which your ancestors will thank you."

Ramesses jumped up. His voice broke into a shout:

"I did not count on half my army dying! On a famine inside the country! On the Nile turning to blood! AND MY DAMNED HEIR DYING!"

Metatron did not flinch.

"This is the only worthy thing you have done, Ramesses. You laid your country upon the altar. This is your greatest merit. And when the Great Judgment comes, which will affect all, it will be counted in your favor. As Ramesses II the Great."

He vanished.

Ramesses, unable to react in time, struck the empty space where the archangel had just stood with a roar. His fist punched straight through the stone wall.

"Go to the depths, messenger of God!" he bellowed. "I did not merely doom my country to suffering! It is my property! Where I rule as God!"

The years passed. Construction began in Egypt on the Ramesseum - a mortuary temple dedicated to Ramesses himself. Huge statues, such as had never been erected for any pharaoh before, rose toward the sky. And when the first of them was completed - colossal, majestic, a perfect copy of the ruler - Ramesses was invited to behold it.

He stood before the statue, his head tilted back. His face showed no delight.

"Well, you know..." he drawled without enthusiasm, "I think I should be taller."

The priests exchanged glances. One of them dared to ask:

"Taller than whom, O Lord?"

"Taller than the gods."

Silence fell upon the gathered as if a stone slab had crashed down. Someone gasped. Someone whispered:

"How... to be taller than the gods?"

Ramesses did not let them finish. He turned to the speaker, and his voice rang out - calm, full of unshakable confidence:

"One must face the facts. Have you seen Ra in his form? Or have any of you, perhaps? I do not speak of the sun. I do not speak of some natural object. No. I ask: has a giant eagle ever stood before you and said, 'I am Ra'?"

The man was silent.

"There you have it." Ramesses swept his gaze over those assembled. "And have you seen Ramesses the Second stand before you?"

The man was silent again, thoughtfully staring at the ground.

"During the Battle of Kadesh," the pharaoh continued, his voice filling with power, "I thought I would die there. I thought I would meet a heroic death. That way I could atone before the gods for giving them the wrong offerings. I would be remembered for generations as one who understood his mistake." He paused. "But then I fought like Sekhmet, the goddess of war! Like Ra! And not the Ra you know from drawings on walls. No. I am more real. I am more victorious. I am more unstoppable. I am stronger than those drawings and statues. I am Ramesses the Second, the Great!"

To his proud smile, the people responded only with silence. Before turning to leave, Ramesses said:

"Besides, name me one god besides myself who saved this country from extinction."

Some time later, in one of the temples where the statue of Ramesses towered above the images of the gods, the pharaoh was led to the farthest chambers. There, an old priest met him.

"I have found something for you, O Lord," he said, and the fire of reverent fear danced in his eyes.

In his hands, he held something wrapped in a thick cloth.

"We hid it from the eyes of ordinary people. We have a supposition that it belongs to the gods," the priest explained.

Ramesses, barely listening, unwrapped the fabric. Inside lay a fragment - a piece of an iron mask, resembling the face of an eagle. The metal, unlike any earthly one, emitted a quiet, steady glow.

The pharaoh froze. Something drew him to this fragment - a strange, inexplicable feeling. As if this piece of the mask were part of himself.

Ignoring the priest's warnings, he took the fragment with his bare hands.

Ramesses smiled proudly, gazing for a long time at the piece of metal in his palm.

But in Ramesses' hands, the metal suddenly began to change. It flowed, shimmering, and transformed into a khopesh - a curved blade shining with orange light.

"Ramesses the Second, the Great!" the pharaoh proclaimed, raising the weapon above his head.

The priest fell to his knees.

"Truth!" he breathed. "Truth!"

The khopesh gave Ramesses strength surpassing that of a human. But it did not grant immortality. Having lived ninety-one years - longer than anyone else in that era - Ramesses the Second died. He had eight wives and one hundred and fifty children by various women. He built cities, raised temples, expanded the borders of Egypt to unimaginable limits. And he - alone among mortal rulers - lived in Midgard as the gods live in Valhalla.

In the country's hardest times, he stood firm. Even the divine punishment that fell upon Egypt for his actions did not break his spirit.

And now, after millennia, that spirit stood in the arena of Valhalla, clutching in his hand the khopesh pulsing with orange light.

Present Day.

From the heavens, a beam of blinding light crashed down upon Ra. The armor - the very one the Sun God had been unwilling to use against a human - enveloped his body. The stands of the gods roared.

"Ra has finally donned his armor!" Heimdall shouted from on high.

The Sun God, without a word, waved his hand again. The heat returned - but now it was dozens of times stronger. Sand melted in streams. Stones heated to a white glow.

[Prominence Field - Full Throttle (Stellar Boundary)]

Ra, using the armor's power, soared into the air. Now he flew around Ramesses, intensifying the heat, and with each circle, the temperature grew ever more unbearable.

[Flare Shift (Wings of Light)]

Heimdall, once again flying up to Bastet, snatched two cooling drinks from her. But even they could not quench the thirst that Ra's heat provoked.

Flying circle after circle, the Sun God peered at the standing Ramesses. And what he saw made him slow down.

The pharaoh had not sweated. At all. He stood in the midst of this hell and was completely, absolutely focused. His eyes tracked Ra's every movement, and a smile played on his lips.

Slowing for only a fraction of a second, Ra made a mistake.

Ramesses seized the moment. His body soared into the air, the khopesh traced a sparkling arc - and crashed down upon the Sun God's armor, while Ramesses himself performed a sliding dash, shifting his position.

[Chariot of the Pharaoh]

A deafening crack rang out. The armor on Ra's arm burst, scattering into golden shards. The khopesh sliced through flesh, leaving a deep, ragged wound. Ra was hurled backward. He stopped flying, crashing onto the sand.

"Ra's armor is breached! Unbelievable!" Heimdall cried out in shock.

Ra propped himself up, clutching his bleeding arm. His eyes widened. He stared at Ramesses, and thoughts one more terrible than another raced through his head.

{"This cannot be. This simply cannot be. The only thing I can assume... He is from Egypt. Is that it? Could he have found it?"}

The Sun God rose. His face, always wrathful, was now twisted with outright horror. He shouted at Ramesses:

"Speak now! What is that weapon? Where did you get the fragment?!"

Ramesses laughed. He laughed long and sincerely, then extended the khopesh before him.

"So this is yours?" he asked, his voice dripping with the venom of superiority. "This is yours, is it?" He shook his head. "I'm not surprised. Not surprised that someone like you lost this."

The khopesh in his hand flickered. Its outlines shifted, and the weapon transformed back - into that very fragment of the mask in the shape of an eagle.

The Sun God froze. His mouth opened, but no sound escaped. He simply stared at the piece of his own mask in the hands of a mortal.

"Ramesses is a failure!" he finally shouted, but his voice trembled. "A failure who has nothing of his own!"

Ramesses laughed again. He squeezed the fragment in his fist, and it once more transformed into a shining khopesh.

"Everything I see," the pharaoh declared, his voice rolling over the arena, "becomes mine! Just as this fragment became my property the moment I set eyes on it! I have claimed it!" He aimed the point of the khopesh straight at Ra's face. "And in the same way, I claim you, Sun God! I command you to die! Right now! I am already tired of waiting for your defeat!"

[THE SITUATION IN ROUND 1 IS HEATING UP TO THE LIMIT!]

[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!]