Never Die Twice

Death.

Gwenhyfar had prepared her whole life to face it. She knew that as a princess of Avalon, her only hope of an afterlife was to die in the service of the gods or in battle with honor; ideally both. Although she had served Tyr as a [Paladin], it had only ever been a trade arrangement, a patronage to further her ambitions of modernizing. Gwen did not believe in Tyr; she believed in the justice and fair order that the Aesir embodied.

When Medraut, her bastard uncle risen from the dead, cut off her head after an inglorious defeat, Gwen had prepared herself to face Hel’s torments. Her hopes had been shattered, and she had failed to defend Avalon in its hour of need. How could the Aesir forgive such a failure?

Instead, she found herself floating in an endless sky, her body as lightweight as a feather; the pain in her lost eye was gone, as was the agony of her last moments. As she floated aimlessly, with no Valkyrie nor Helheim messenger in sight, Gwenhyfar heard a voice echo through the void.

“Gwenhyfar of Avalon.”

An ancient wizard appeared before her, teleporting out of nowhere; her tutor in magic, and the advisor of the royal family.

“Lord Calvert?” Gwenhyfar recognized him, frowning in incomprehension. “What is the meaning of this?”

Was he dead? Had Lancelot, no, Medraut, murdered him too?

“It is the name by which this avatar is known,” the archmage replied. “But it was a mere guise, a body of flesh for me to interact with your world without violating Yggdrasil’s rules. I wore many names in my long existence, but you honor one above all else.”

Like a chrysalis, the entity before her shed his skin, a brilliant light emerging from a lifeless human body. The soul grew and expanded back into its original form, a bearded titan made of solid gold. His colossal spear thundered with the divine lightning, and his helmet bore the horns of dragons. One of his eyes was hidden behind a black eyepatch, the other a shining star.

And then, Gwenhyfar understood.

She recognized who she was facing. The lord of Asgard, the Slaughterer of the Slain, the God of Runes; the one-eyed overlord whose gaze oversaw the Nine Realms, and the patron deity of Avalon.

“I am Odin,” the warrior god said, his voice booming like thunder, “and I have come for you, child.”

Another would have fallen on their knees in adoration, but the princess’ mind wandered off. She remembered all the times she had seen the archmage whisper into her father’s ear, or pretend to have received a revelation from the gods. She thought back about her history books, about the many mysterious advisors and wizards who served Avalon’s royal line all the way back to its founding. A single puppeteer with a thousand faces.

“All along,” Gwenhyfar connected the dots. “You were manipulating my family all along.”

“Guiding it,” Odin corrected. “So mankind could thrive in the savage realm that is Midgard.”

“I see...” Gwenhyfar replied politely, wise enough not to challenge the deity in charge of her afterlife. But she couldn’t alleviate the burden in her heart, nor the bitterness in her mouth.

“My child, if it had not been for me, you wouldn’t have been born.”

Gwenhyfar’s lone eye widened, as she remembered that her father married her mother the queen under advice from Calvert.

Her very existence was planned from the start.

No, not hers.

Arthur’s.

“I hoped your brother would grow into the mighty king Yggdrasil prophesied him to be,” Odin replied, clearly reading her thoughts. “But you proved a surprising success, Gwenhyfar. In spite of lacking the gifts I showered your brother with, you grew up into a smart and courageous leader of men. Though it is a shame that you died before your time… for your bravery and skill, you earned a place in my domain.”

“I am allowed entrance in Valhalla?” the princess asked, surprised. After all she had sacrificed on the altar of her ambitions, it felt like a consolation prize. Good, but not the best.

“You shall be granted a place in my halls for the centuries to come until you are called to defend the Nine Realms in our last battle.” Odin smiled darkly. “Should the Earthlanders fail to defeat the Calamities, you will have the opportunity to avenge your loss during Ragnarok. Perhaps you will be the one to defeat Nidhogg, and ensure he does not poison the next world.”

“I do not care about revenge, Your Majesty,” Gwenhyfar replied. “What about Avalon? What about Arthur? Is my brother alive?”

“Your brother perished by Medraut’s hand, and your kingdom is in chaos.” Odin shook his head. “Midgard will know dark and terrible times under Nidhogg’s tyranny, but I hope my followers and Earthlanders can cast the serpent down…”

The god froze, his lone eye flaring suspiciously.

“Your Majesty?” Gwen asked, disturbed.

“Something is wrong,” the Lord of the Aesir said suddenly. “One of my valkyries should have brought me your brother’s soul already.”

And then, the skies darkened.

The blue horizon turned purple, its air choking on the smell of rot and death. The clouds became poisonous, the atmosphere oppressive. Odin tensed and adopted a fighting stance, shielding Gwen’s wayward soul with his body.

“I am afraid your valkyries will not collect a soul today.”

The voice echoed across the afterlife chamber, its owner manifesting in front of Odin, Gwen’s soul trapped between two titans.

It was the most beautiful woman the princess had ever seen, but her beauty was of the macabre sort. An ashen-skinned dark queen with long, flowing white hair, pale eyes, sitting on a throne of bones and crow feathers. She carried an air of menace, the stench of inevitable death.

“Hel,” Odin spoke with wariness.

“Odin,” the goddess replied with much calmness, her eyes settling on Gwen. “You have something that belongs to me.”

Gwen froze, Odin’s spear protecting her. Never before had she felt so grateful towards the gods, as the existential terror that plagued mankind played out before her eyes.

“She is mine,” Odin said. “You had your fill of death today, Hel. The Convergence would not have killed so many innocents, had you not worsened it.”

“And I think you should remember the tribute you owe me for my…” Hel marked a long pause. “Neutrality.”

“Princess Gwenhyfar fought with great bravery and died with honor, defending Avalon with her last breath,” Odin replied. “Our accord protects her.”

“I am altering the terms of our agreement.” Hel smiled, amused. Her face reminded Gwen of a cat playing with a mouse, savoring the tension before moving in for the kill.

The Lord of Asgard let lightning come out of his spear, the mighty [Gungnir]. Electricity spread through the clouds, although the goddess remained cold and unmoved. “You forget yourself,” Odin warned. “I shall not stand by it.”

“You wish to fight me, Odin?” Hel mused, unimpressed. “You will not win.”

Gwenhyfar wanted to call this arrogance… until she noticed Odin bristling.

“You will fight?” This reaction seemed to surprise the Lord of Asgard, who had not expected it. “What about Fate?”

“It is not always about duty, mortal,” the goddess replied, some foreign emotion piercing through her cold voice. She corrected herself, her back against her throne. “The current matter is personal.”

The Lord of Asgard, the god-king of the Aesir, remained as still as an ice statue. An ungodly long silence stretched on between them, the deity’s lone eye looking down on Gwen, his thoughts unclear.

No… “Lord Odin…”

“What will you use her for?” Odin ignored the royal princess, focusing entirely on the death goddess.

“I am taking a page from your book, and making my own heroes,” Hel replied with a smirk. “Her two siblings are already part of it, and I love a complete set.”

“Heroes against whom? Nidhogg?” Odin frowned. “Your failure to keep his corrupt soul in your realm is the cause of this entire mess.”

“Know that I will take care of Walter permanently,” Hel replied icily. “But I will not tolerate any interference for your part, nor any of your followers. Certainly, this should allow you to focus your forces on protecting Asgard from Surtr, Thrym, and their ilk. They are accumulating armies near your border after all… waiting for their chosen warrior to pull an end to life itself.”

“What of Medraut and his forces?”

“I will claim his delinquent soul too. They shall not destroy the root, and your family will live for a little longer. All you have to do, Odin,” Hel raised her head haughtily, “is turn your eye the other way.”

Odin didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked down on Gwenhyfar, his face unreadable. At this moment, the princess would have done anything, paid any price, to know what took place behind his expressionless mask.

As the silence stretched on, it suddenly dawned on Gwen that she had misunderstood the entire afterlife system. It wasn’t an arrangement between rival deities or an elaborate balance on which the universe’s stability rested.

It was a tribute from the gods, paid to stave off a higher power.

“Lord Odin,” Gwen said. “Please…”

“I am sorry, Gwenhyfar,” Odin said, and he seemed to mean it… although not too much. “I truly regret it, but this is for the greater good.”

“You ask us to live and die honorably!” Gwen snapped. “But when it comes down to it, you do not live by your own principles!”

To his credit, the Lord of Asgard didn’t try to hide his hypocrisy. “You have lost your sister and brother,” he replied. “I have lost a son.”

He lowered his head until his lone eye peered into Gwen’s own.

“And there is nothing I won’t do,” Odin declared, “to protect my family.”

He took back his spear, leaving the princess with no protection from Hel’s grasp.

“If you die after this, Your Majesty,” Gwenhyfar asked the king of the gods, her tone harsh, “Will you go to Valhalla?”

Her words made Odin freeze as if he had been shot by an arrow. His face twisted into a scowl of anger, then the shadow of regret… and then nothing.

And with that, he vanished in a flicker of lightning, abandoning Gwen to her fate.

Despair overwhelmed the princess’ heart, an anguish even greater than what she had experienced in the bowels of Lyonesse’s dungeon. She was truly alone, abandoned by all.

“Now.” Gwen froze, as she sensed Hel’s cold hand on her shoulder. “You should not worry so much for your immortal soul, my dear princess. I am merciful and understanding; if you serve me well, you shall be richly rewarded.”

Gwen shivered but remained strong. “I refuse.”

The hand seemed so much heavier. “And why so?”

“Because being the lesser evil,” Gwen replied with defiance, “doesn’t make you good.”

Hel’s hand turned into festering flesh, full of maggots.

“We shall test that bravery of yours, thrall.”

Walter Tye finished reading the princess’s mind, the memory followed by flashes of hideous torture and soul experimentation. The deific necromancer stood there, astonished, and then did the one sensible thing he could.

“Eh…” a sound came out of his dead lungs. “Eh… eh…”

He laughed.

Much to his shame at this childishness, Tye couldn’t help but laugh.

“I know, right?” Loki joined in, his cackle echoing through the cavern while Gwenhyfar glared at the two Calamities. “The irony!”

“Gwen!” Annie immediately rushed to help her chained friend, ignoring the fell god in the room. Lady Yseult didn’t, her eyes warily set on the chained Loki; the fallen Aesir answered with a charming smile.

“Annie…” Gwen gasped, her lungs damaged. Walter took the opportunity to check on the princess’ essence with magic and grew worried the more he learned.

She lacked flesh beneath the armor, her entrails replaced with magic. Gwenhyfar wasn’t human anymore, but a unique monster. A soul bound to Hel’s will, fueled by her divine essence; not quite undead, yet not quite dead either.

Type: Death Hero (Humanoid/Divine).

“Her will wouldn’t break, no matter how hard my daughter tried to make her submit,” Loki mused, answering Tye’s inner questions. “So Hel sent her to me, hoping that my whispers would drive her mad.”

“The [Bloody Discord] Perk?” Tye asked.

“Difficult to kill a bound Calamity, when your allies slaughter one another,” Loki chuckled. “You should thank me for sparing you a demonstration.”

“What do you want?” Tye asked, wary. “How do you fit into this?”

“I would be thankful if you broke my chains and set me loose. After all, we Calamities are all one big happy family, aren’t we?”

“Not going to happen,” Tye replied, much to Lady Yseult’s relief.

“Did my joke rile you up a bit? I only show people what they love most.” Tye snickered, doubtful, causing Loki to smirk at him. Since he appeared like Hel to the necromancer, the effect was unnerving. “But when I peer into Walter, I see nothing, so I improvised. I am afraid you will be deceived in your feelings, my dear Annie. He cannot love you the way you do.”

The young witch was wise enough to distrust the god of lies, paying him no attention while she attempted to break Gwenhyfar’s chains, to no avail. They had been forged by a god, and no mortal hands may break them.

“Good to know that I have high self-esteem,” Hagen mused, the Dullahan seeing himself in Loki.

“Hagen, I am so disappointed you never spared me a prayer!” the Calamity said with false sadness. “I would have spoiled you like no god ever did!”

“If I had an interest in destroying the world, Lord Loki, I would have exalted you above all else,” the Dullahan replied, Lady Yseult looking on in disgust. “Alas, I have but one master now.”

Tye observed Loki with a coldblooded glare, finding him to be strangely laidback and friendly for a monster bent on destroying all creation. But then, so had been Laufey. When he peered into the Calamity’s eyes, the necromancer saw the ugliness behind the mask.

In Loki’s eyes, he saw none of the wrath and despair that fueled Medraut’s insanity, nor Gwenhyfar of Avalon’s misplaced ambition.

Loki was the worst kind of evil.

Motiveless evil. Cruelty for its own sake.

Tye then glanced at the serpent slithering above the bound Calamity’s head. The beast looked back without making a sound, fearful, and obedient.

“Your spawn,” Loki told Tye. “Or rather, that of the previous you, which Asclepius worshiped. My eldest daughter always had a dark sense of humor; she had to get something from me, I suppose.”

“Asclepius…” Tye trailed off, slightly angry to hear this vile creature say his mentor’s name.

“Hasn’t Medraut told you of our arrangement?” the Calamity replied. “I granted him power, he worked to spread undeath to the Nine Realms and revive you. I can’t stay here forever, you know? One day, you have to throw down the cosmos in chaos and set me loose.”

“Lies,” Tye replied, still unwilling to believe his mentor could have helped a Calamity.

“If you still doubt, you can always ask him directly. My dear Hel keeps him and the other necromancers in the chambers below for target practice.”

That was all Tye wished to know. He prepared to turn around and simply leave Loki to his solitary confinement when he noticed Annie and Lady Yseult wouldn’t follow.

“Tye,” Annie said, having failed to free Gwenhyfar. “We aren’t done.”

“We can’t leave the princess here, Walter,” Lady Yseult nodded in agreement.

“We can and we will,” Tye replied coldly, having no desire to free that notorious pest. Even if Hel had failed to tame her, she remained a threat to his plans for mankind, and she was too cunning to control.

“I’m not leaving without Gwen!” Annie insisted stubbornly, the princess looking up at her friend with a thankful gaze. “I swore I would bring her back!”

“Oh my, quite the spitfire you have there,” Loki mocked them, noticing the hateful gaze Lady Yseult sent him. “You seem to like your friends with an iron core, Nidhogg. But while iron may not bend… it breaks just as easily.”

“Where is Lord Balder?” Lady Yseult asked the Fell God, her tone venomous.

Loki marked a long pause, his gaze turning haughty and condescending. “You still don’t get it.”

“Oh, no way,” Hagen chuckled to himself, having understood something which Lady Yseult didn’t. “This is going to be good.”

“Where is my god?” Lady Yseult all but ordered the bound Calamity. “You cast him down to this terrible place, so tell me where—”

“‘Lord Balder.’”

The voice that came out of Loki’s mouth wasn’t that of Hel, but Lady Yseult’s.

“‘Lord Balder, please… Why did you inflict such a bane upon me? What have I done to deserve this? What have I done?’” Loki mimicked Lady Yseult’s prayer, before changing his voice to that of a man; one with a lyrical, melodious tone. “‘My dear child, it is because life is finite, that it is beautiful.’”

Lady Yseult shook in place, her face drained of all colors. “Impossible…”

“He can read minds,” Tye pointed out, finding this cruel display rather pointless. “Do not believe him.”

“Perhaps she needs better proof then?” Loki’s smile widened. “Listen to your god, vestal.”

Tye sensed it through his [Godslayer] Perk. Although he had excluded Lady Yseult from its effect, he could sense her bond with her deity and spy on the divine communication.

Where there had been silence, the bond reactivated; a divine connection reestablished.

“No…” Lady Yseult whispered, shaking uncontrollably. “No…”

“Did you truly think the dead grant prayers, instead of laments?” Loki mocked her with cold cruelty. “I grant my followers the power to steal the faces of their victims… and so do I.”

“How?” the priestess panicked, while everyone else watched in heavy silence. Annie, in particular, seemed almost as shocked as Yseult herself. Her entire knowledge of theology was being disproved right before her eyes.

“Have you ever wondered why the Aesir believe so strongly that the Earthlanders can defeat the Calamities, even after centuries of failure?” Loki asked.

“Earthlanders managed to bring Fenrir below half HP during a raid,” Annie finally spoke up with a frown, remembering her Academy lessons. “A feat thought impossible.”

“But that happened after they sank so many resources into the project and summoned an entire army,” Loki replied mirthfully. “Why summon the army of weaklings in the first place, equip them, train them, with no guarantee of success? Unless…”

“Unless they already had proof of success?” Annie whispered, her face paling. Just as Walter, she caught on to what Loki implied.

“You think Odin, rigid, inflexible, ‘honorable’ Odin, could even imagine calling upon outsiders for help?” the fell god mused. “The person who summoned the first Earthlander to the Nine Realms was me, dear child. I guided the hand that slew my blood brother Balder; so thorough the deed, that the soul was extinguished utterly.”

“Why?” Lady Yseult whispered in horror.

“Frankly? Because I had learned of the fate Yggdrasil had prepared for me, and I thought if I had to play a role, I should put a unique twist on it.” Loki shrugged. “Also, Balder was a foppish bore who couldn’t laugh at a joke to save his life. He would have bored you to death, milady, trust me.”

“You remember.” Tye’s eyes widened. He remembered the Cycle.

“No,” Loki replied, his gleeful gaze meeting the necromancer’s. “But my eldest daughter is always born old.”

Hel. Having survived Ragnarok, she remembered the Cycle across her incarnations.

“Why…” Lady Yseult trailed, her voice breaking. “Why?”

“I believe you misunderstood the question,” Hagen told Loki, clearly amused by the scene. Tye silenced the Dullahan with a glare, although he didn’t cut it short; the matter had piqued his curiosity.

“Ah, why did the Aesir hide the truth? My, it would cause an uproar if mortals knew they could kill their gods if given the proper tools.” Loki chuckled. “While Odin was struggling to find a lie, something cruel came to my mind. I began to answer Balder’s prayers in his stead, spinning an elaborate lie.”

“Forcing Odin to either play along or reveal the truth,” Tye guessed.

“What a joke it was, forcing Odin to pretend his dear son was still ‘alive.’” Loki said, quite proud of himself. “I never broke character once, at least until Walter and Medraut’s good work on Midgard made it pointless to continue. It was one of my best performances.”

“This doesn’t make sense,” Tye said. “Why not exploit the situation? Why not use Balder’s church to further your plans?”

“Walter, Walter, you don’t get it.” Loki shook his head in disappointment. “What’s the point of holding a tiny shop without true practical purpose? Life is not about winning or losing, it’s about being happy. I am a playwright, and the Nine Realms are my stage.”

All these lies and bloodshed, because he found it funny?

None were more devastated than Lady Yseult, who could barely hold back her tears. “Was… was it all a lie?” she asked. “Every piece of advice, every warm word… it was all a lie?”

“My dear Yseult, from your point of view, your life is a tragedy… but from mine?”

Loki chuckled.

“It’s a comedy.”

As Lady Yseult crumbled to her knees, her false god’s laughter filled the cave.

Tye immediately activated the [Necromancer’s Stone].

The effect was brutal and instantaneous. The illusion hiding Loki’s features crumbled, his magic disrupted. Instead of a facsimile of Hel, the necromancer now faced a naked giant with demonic features, hooves, and horns. His eyes radiated flames, his tongue split like that of a snake. Some of his flesh ripped into scars, drops of blood flowing into the stone.

“Your whores will be dead before you can move, Nidhogg!” Loki snarled, his bound hands growing claws, his body radiating magic.

“I can revive them,” the necromancer said, unimpressed, although it made Annie wince.

“There are fates far worse than death,” the fell deity replied menacingly, his eyes burning with infernal flames.

“But you will be as dead as your daughter.”

Loki’s expression turned into resentment, but he didn’t seem to care all that much. Laufey had been a tool, nothing more; the Fell God valued his own eternal life much more.

“When Hel gazes upon my face,” the bound Calamity said, a dagger made of words, “it is yours that she sees, Walter.”

These words sent shivers down the necromancer’s spine, but he refused to show unease. The trickster god chuckled, clearly delighting in his unease.

“Let him suffer, Walter.”

Tye looked down at Lady Yseult, who had risen back up. Her hollowed eyes had turned to steel. A glare of pure bitterness and hatred; the same shine the necromancer had seen in Medraut’s gaze.

“If he would rather end the world than stay there forever,” Lady Yseult seethed, her hands clenched. “Let him stew in this pit, Walter. Leave him in his daughter’s tender care.”

Tye pondered whether he should simply consume the Calamity anyway, but decided to focus on the mission. Hel might intervene to prevent Loki’s demise, and the necromancer had come to save his undead brethren, not do the Aesir’s job for them. “As you wish.”

“Leaving me so soon, m’lady?” Loki taunted Lady Yseult, who refused to answer. “I will pray for you, then. Pray for your cancer to come back.”

The priestess remained graceful, letting the cruel deity’s words wash over her like waves on a rock. This annoyed Loki and Tye realized he only found joy in degrading others. By refusing to let him drag her down and keeping her pride, Yseult denied him victory.

“Tye,” Annie insisted, a hand on Gwenhyfar’s shoulder.

“No,” Tye replied for the last time. “Let us leave, Annie.”

“Please…”

The necromancer stopped, the princess managing to gargle a word.

“Please…” she said, her throat too damaged from Hel’s tortures to make full sentences. “Please.”

“No,” Tye replied. “I gave you too many chances to walk away.”

“I am not leaving without her, Tye,” Annie said. “I studied necromancy to bring her back.”

“I shall not prevent you from raising this pest when you grow powerful enough to do so,” the necromancer replied. “But she will not rise by my hand. Hel already altered her raw soul into the monster you see.”

“Then I will raise her myself,” Annie said stubbornly. “I have the [Animate Dead] Perk, and her soul is right there. You proved it can be done.”

Tye regretted telling her that part. “The creature you see is her soul, half-twisted into something else. You would need twenty more levels to purge her of Hel’s influence and make an [Ankou] out of her.”

Annie fell silent, trying to find a solution.

“Chief,” Hagen spoke up. “I agree that the brat is more trouble than she is worth, but if we leave her there, Hel might succeed in turning her against us. I say we give her a merciful demise, trap her soul in some portrait.”

Mmm… unfortunately, he had a point.

Tye observed his former nemesis long and hard. The princess was too hard to control, and he loathed the idea of raising her… but she might prove more useful out of Helheim than inside. “You still have [Paladin] levels?” he suddenly asked.

The princess’ gaze hardened. She must have guessed.

“Curse Tyr,” Tye said, “and swear fealty to me instead.”

“Tye!” Annie protested while Lady Yseult remained eerily silent. Loki observed the scene in the background, like some theater spectator.

“Turn your [Paladin] levels into [Dark Knight],” Tye continued, ignoring his apprentice’s protests. “Open your soul to my power, and fall to your knees.”

“Never…” Gwen rasped angrily.

“If you swear obedience, I will bring you back to life this instant.” Tye attacked the princess where it hurt. “You will be able to rule Avalon. To change it according to your ideals… so long as they fit my own.”

Gwenhyfar’s face turned into a wall of stone.

“Princess.”

Lady Yseult spoke up, much to Tye’s surprise.

“If you choose us, you choose life. If you choose them…” The priestess glared at Loki. “You choose death.”

Us.

Although it had come at the price of tears, Tye couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of satisfaction.

“You are… a threat to Avalon…” Gwenhyfar rattled at the necromancer, but her resolve was weakening. She had precious few avenues of escape, abandoned by gods and men alike. “You kill… without hesitation…”

“For a purpose,” he replied.

“For... yourself…”

“To you, I may be the lesser evil,” Tye said, bending a knee to approach the princess. “But your greater good is not among your options.”

His cold eyes peered into her.

“What will it be, Gwenhyfar of Avalon?”

He spied on her surface thoughts, sensing her hesitation, her mind examining every angle. Until she came to the one conclusion that allowed her to stay true to herself.

“No,” Gwen said. “I won’t… submit. Not to Hel… not to you...”

This astonished Tye, who realized he had finally found a true martyr. The likes he hadn’t seen since Asclepius.

“I admire your dedication to your ideals,” the necromancer admitted. “I truly do, even if it is misplace—”

“That’s it!” Annie spoke up at once. “Soul in a portrait! “I don’t have to raise her now! I simply have to take the soul back to Midgard for now!”

“If you find a [Soul Vessel] to contain her soul,” Tye replied, having no intention to provide one.

Annie searched in one of her spell components’ pouch and brought out a black gem.

The undead necromancer found himself speechless, while his apprentice smiled wickedly.

“How do you think I earned my first [Necromancer] level?” she asked proudly, while Hagen erupted into roaring laughter in the background.

Tye didn’t know whether to congratulate his apprentice on her success, or snarl in frustration.