Before It Gets Worse Pt. 01-03

Author Prelude

Hi everyone! I know it's been a bit since my last post. Writing full stories and coming up with inspirations for them is hard. Anyway, I just want to let you know that this story will be a slow burn, at least towards the beginning. In fact, the first 3 parts have no sexual content to speak of, so keep that in mind going forward with this one.

Secondly, this story covers some pretty heavy stuff. Religion, trauma, queerness, and oppression are all central to this piece, and I will be bad mouthing Christianity at many, many turns. If any of that is triggering, or just not your cup of tea, I won't be offended if you skip this one.

One final note, just so you and I are clear on things, Alva is very much trans, it just isn't explicitly mentioned yet.

With that lengthy but necessary preamble out of the way, please enjoy:

Before It Gets Worse Pt 01-03

By: Nymph

Prelude

Alva took in a breath.

"Our wools are our battle standard,"

One more breath in, and an arrow knocked.

"Our rage is our trumpets,"

The bowstring pulled back, taught as she could make it.

"Odin be with us,"

Her aim settled perfectly.

"And help us banish the night,"

She exhaled, and then finally let the arrow fly. Its path was true, and struck the doe it was primed for straight in the neck with such certainty the poor creature more or less died on the spot. Alva finally remembered to breathe, as she slung her bow over her shoulder, and made her way towards her kill. Speaking her oath, even if just a whisper, always helped to settle her nerves and help her focus, so using it while hunting just... made sense.

She slung the deer over her shoulder, giving a small prayer to Skaði for Alva's success on her hunt, before beginning the trek back to her lone shack. The quaint little building came into view right as the sun crested the tops of the trees, but she didn't have time to focus on that. The smokestack to her house was billowing, and she had distinctly not lit a fire before she'd left the house that morning.

She very quickly discarded the doe as near to her house as she could, praying silently some upstart wolf wouldn't steal her kill, and burst through her rickety front door to see just who the intruder was, pulling out her crude hunting knife an instant after she'd passed over the threshold.

The intruder seemed to be a nondescript person, their features obscured by their cloak, sitting at the small table in her one-room home. They jumped pretty violently as she burst through the door, clearly startled by her sudden appearance, and turned to her with their hands raised.

"Just who the hell are y-" Alva began to get out before the stranger cut her off,

"Hey! Hey, calm down, calm down, Odin sent me-" The stranger responded,

She took a breath, lowering her knife but not putting it away. She gave them a once over, noting their pale skin and completely obscured face.

"Prove i-" She began to say,

"Your name is Alva. You discarded your last name nearly 7 winters ago after deciding that due to your parent's death, it wasn't worth anything anymore in a world you decided not to participate in. You've been visited by agents of the Gods before, early on into you living alone, trying to get you to become their agent,"

Alva sighed, and put the knife away, deciding to deal with her kill outside later. She sat on her improvised bed, and sighed again as the stranger turned to her.

"I thought," She began, "I made it clear to all of Odin's lackeys 7 years ago that I'm not interested in dying for them against the Christians,"

Despite not being able to see their face, Alva knew the stranger smirked,

"Odin thought I'd make more headway," They said,

"Who even are you?" Alva responded,

"Glad you asked!" The stranger stood up with a dramatic flourish before they continued speaking, "You may call me, for the time being, Hearth. I'm something new Odin's been... cooking up, we'll say,"

The smile Alva couldn't see but knew was there, she also knew, was genuine. She cocked an eyebrow at their last comment.

They took her meaning, "A fresh God! Still in development. Odin sent me to... reignite your passions, so to speak,"

Alva sighed again, "It won't work, Hearth,"

"Give me a chance, Alva. It's important now more than ever, for you to help us. Our world, our way of life, is dying at the hands of-"

"The Christians," Alva rolled her eyes, "And if they continue they'll create a world oppressive to foreign cultures and peoples from all across the world and lead to destruction and death on such a mass scale it would boggle the mind, yes yes- Hearth I've heard this before. Nearly verbatim,"

Hearth gave her a knowing smile, "Good. Willing to give me a chance?"

That particular reaction actually caught Alva's interest. It was fleeting, just for a moment, but it was enough for her to nod.

Hearth pulled the chair from her table to sit across from her, looking directly at her with those eyes she couldn't see.

"Everyone who's come before me to try and convince you," Their tone had completely shifted now, taking on one of sympathy, and pity, one which Alva appreciated, even if she wouldn't admit it, "Hasn't been able to give you anything more than the fight. They've told you we want you to charge at armies with the most advanced weaponry yet achieved by man, and somehow overcome it all with the favor of the Gods. They were under the misconception that how sure they were would be so intense it would infect you, especially in the cloud of emotions after your parents' death,"

They paused, gracefully allowing her to digest what they'd said. She knew this all, of course, having had 7 years of solitude to think about her past, but she still appreciated them for allowing her to take it in.

"I can offer more than that. An actual chance against the Romans, against the Christians, and you won't be alone," They continued,

She tilted her head, indicating Hearth to continue.

They did, "Odin won't let me give too many details, you know how he is," She nodded in agreement with a disgruntled sigh, "But I can say, with complete confidence, that if you choose to go down this path, you won't be alone. You will have a chance to prevent the same fate that befell your parents, befell you in your childhood, from happening to billions of humans, present and future, and you'll have others by your side, standing there with you,"

"I don't want to be a hero, Hearth," Alva said quietly,

"I'm not asking you to be. I'm asking you merely to do the right thing,"

There was an eerie silence that settled between the two of them, and Alva couldn't meet their gaze as she took a few moments to consider. How had it been this difficult for the valkyries and spirits Odin had sent so long ago to convince her if this short exchange genuinely had her reconsidering her decision to not fight the largest empire history had yet seen, even if fractured as it was now?

She took one more deep breath, "I'll... consider it, Hearth. Your argument is certainly better than the ones I've heard before,"

Alva gave a slight smile, and she knew Hearth returned it in full.

"Hey, I'll take that. I'll be checking in at certain points to check the progress of your decision," Hearth said, standing up and heading for the door.

She nodded, standing up too, "Just don't surprise me like that again. Finding a complete stranger in your house in the middle of the woods can leave a girl pretty shaken up, you know?"

"Hey, I didn't expect you to arrive so quickly! Skaði must really like you, or something. I don't know, we don't talk much," Hearth responded,

Alva chuckled, "I can only hope, at least if I want to continue eating,"

Hearth nodded, and left out the door, closing it behind them. When Alva opened the door to deal with the kill from her hunt, Hearth was nowhere to be found.

"Typical," She said with another chuckle, as she once again hurled the doe over her shoulder.

Part 1

It'd been a few days since she'd met Hearth. She still hadn't reached a decision about Hearth's particular offer, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't given it a lot of thought. She had more present worries though, as she stepped into the square of the town nearest to her little cabin. She almost never made trips into town, given her opinion of the people that ran them, but occasionally she needed materials like fabrics, or pelts she herself couldn't acquire. She'd decided to do a bit of stocking up on both, just in preparation for whatever might happen.

For as much as she disliked the settlements and towns and cities the Romans had left behind, she did admit that the town squares of these places had a strange appeal to her. The smells of good food, the bustle of people, conversations one could drown themselves in. It made her feel safe, in an odd way. No one really cared where she'd come from, who she was. It was a stark, and pleasant contrast to the persecution she'd experienced earlier in life.

She'd finally decided on a vendor, one she hadn't seen before, selling various colors of fabrics. Never blue or purple, obviously, which always disappointed her despite her understanding of why neither color was present. She was examining a piece of red fabric, finding it of good quality and color, before she caught something in her vision.

A figure, cloaked with their features obscured. Nondescript, standing in the crowd, looking directly at her.

It was Hearth, she realized. She turned to set the fabric down in a flash, and looked up, doing a swift double take to see Hearth standing directly behind the vendor now. Alva jumped back in surprise, the vendor eyeing her with a confused look before Alva's eyes flicked in a random direction, like a subconscious test, and sure enough, Hearth was standing on top of the roof of a building just beyond the town square, still staring at her.

She cocked an eyebrow, almost daring Hearth to answer her as to why they were following her.

Hearth didn't have the time to explain, and the reason why made Alva very much wish they did.

Alva heard the shouts of those she immediately recognized as soldiers echoing over the heads of the crowd, demanding a path through the people. Alva instinctually made herself smaller in stature, less noticeable, praying they wouldn't notice the state of her dress, a woolen patchwork cloak made up of a menagerie of colors set against white, a clothing choice very much atypical in comparison to the surrounding people.

The soldiers reached her, thankfully paying Alva no more mind than anyone else in the crowd. It was then that Alva wished she'd saved her trip into town until tomorrow, as she saw why it was the soldiers were cutting through the crowd.

Behind the soldiers were people, dressed in rags unfit to carry garbage in. It barely covered their bruised and dirty skin, and Alva could feel her rage skyrocketing further and further as she saw the matted hair of each slave, some matted with dirt, others with blood, others still with both. Their broken lips, the cuts all over their beaten bodies.

It took all her willpower to not slaughter the soldiers guarding and leading the slaves through the square to the house of some nobleman in town, to be dealt out to other important people like prized pieces of jewelry.

It made Alva sick.

She finally turned around, trying to distance herself, even a little bit, from the horror behind her, but her eyes only met Hearth's. They were standing maybe 20 feet down the alley behind the fabric vendor, staring at her. Despite herself, and much to her surprise, she felt a few solitary tears run down her cheeks. She shook her head, ever so slightly at them.

Hearth simply nodded, and almost molded into the air, fading and disappearing.

Alva's breath picked up, her fists curling into balls so tight she could almost feel the blood leaving her knuckles as more tears streamed down her face.

The decision was made.

She moved fast, she always had. She'd needed to move fast to escape wolves and Roman soldiers alike. Three steps forward, pushing people aside until she was less than a foot away from one of the 6 guards standing to the side of slaves, 3 on each side. She took immediate stock of his gear: one spear, a gladius for back up, a scutum shield, and light armor not fit for war, but certainly fit for the task at hand.

Then the fourth step.

The soldier barely had time to shout before Alva reached behind his guard, slipping his gladius sword from its sheath with practiced, lightning-speed efficiency. He'd finally gotten the shout out of his threat by the time Alva drove the sword up through the man's chin, and out the other side of his skull.

It would've taken maybe 10 seconds for the shock of the situation to settle over everyone present, but Alva wouldn't let it. She let the man currently impaled on the sword fall to the ground, snatching up his spear as he did and lobbing it at the head guard to the front of the slaves. It threaded the needle perfectly between their heads, sticking itself through his neck.

He didn't have time to register his own death before he collapsed to the ground, and the scene exploded.

Immediately, the two guards to either side of Alva were on her, spears out, intending to keep distance between her and them and flank her. She didn't spare much attention to the panicking townsfolk, rushing away from the scene, as she ducked under the spear of the soldier to her left, reaching up to grab it before wrenching it from his hands.

Her vastly superior strength surprised the man, providing Alva with just the right opportunity to use the but end of the spear, still facing the man, to throw his shield open. The next moment, she'd slipped her sword through the gaps in his armor, holding him steady as it pierced his heart. The last thing he'd see would be the fury on her face, as she leaned down to whisper in his ear.

"Scum," She said quietly, barely above a whisper, before she let him drop to the ground off her sword.

She stepped to the side afterwards, narrowly avoiding the spear of the guard behind her before she caught the spear in her armpit, shifting her stolen gladius to her left hand before smashing the end of the spear off, making it useless.

The guard tried to draw his sword, but he only managed to grab it's hilt before Alva had driven her own into his thigh, bringing him to a knee, where she drew her hunting knife and drove it into his neck, ripping it out a moment after as the man fell to his side, a look of utter shock painted on his face.

Just as the other guards made it through the rushing crowd, which had mostly dissipated by now, to her, their spears out, she looked at the slaves, and they looked back with shock, and in a few of them, hope.

She yelled bluntly, "Run!"

As the word left her mouth, the chains holding each slave seemed to dissolve before their very eyes, turning to dust on the wind, something Alva herself definitely didn't have the capacity to do.

She guessed Hearth hadn't quite left the scene just yet.

Even with her skills and the abilities granted to her, Alva knew she wouldn't be able to take down the guard regiment of an entire town. She waited, just a few seconds for the now freed slaves to start running towards the edge of town, before she turned, sidestepping the spear of the guard to her right, and jumped, landing on the top edge of his shield where she vaulted over him, chasing after the escapees and gaining on them quickly.

Alva's nerves finally started to calm down once they made it to the edge of town, wooden and stone construction giving way to grass and bushes; cobbled road giving way to dirt path.

"Alva!" She recognized Hearth's voice calling her off to her left.

She turned, and couldn't be more surprised to see them leading a gray horse over to her.

"Where did you-" She began to say,

Hearth raised a hand to cut her off, "Don't ask questions right now, you know you don't have the time. I couldn't bring horses for everyone, but this should be enough for them if you're the one riding, now go,"

Alva didn't need any more convincing, and as she mounted, and turned her new steed towards the people she freed, she felt Hearth grab her hand.

It was strangely warm, warmer than a human hand should be, and warmer than she expected given their extremely pale skin.

She looked at them, seeing the barest hint of their eyes through the shadow obscuring their face before they spoke, "Thank you, Alva,"

Surprise painted her few for all of a few seconds, before grim determination replaced it. She nodded, and they let go as she spurred the horse on, galloping after the escapees.

As she very quickly met the center of the group as they ran, Alva looked behind her, to see the small detachment of soldiers stationed at the town racing after her, just at the town's edge. She was very thankful the town didn't have the money for horses, then. She watched, deciding to stop and let the group go ahead of her so she could secure their escape, as Hearth materialized a ways away in front of the soldiers, between them and Alva.

Their laughter seemed to carry on the wind, which pulled the hood of their cloak back just enough to see the barest hint of blazing red hair, before their hands were alight above their head with the brightest flame Alva had ever seen. In the next instant, Hearth slammed their hands into the dirt, and the immediate next moment saw the small church of the town erupt in a pillar of flame.

Their hands still ablaze, Hearth whipped them in a semicircle in front of themself, making a wall of fire between Hearth and the soldiers. The men stopped in their tracks, turning back to the town to watch in horror as the cross atop the church crumbled and fell, succumbing under its own weight to crash through the roof of the structure.

Alva didn't waste anymore time, turning to catch up with the group, as Hearth's laughter continued to echo in the wind.

Part 2

Silence. Silence, save the crunching of leaves and pine needles, and the clip-clops and occasional neighing of her horse. The people she'd rescued didn't speak, and she didn't blame them. Shock, confusion, fear; all were spectacular motivators to keep one's mouth shut. She didn't need them to speak, though she certainly would've liked the company.

"So, where exactly are you taking us," A voice said beside her, giving her that company,

She turned to see a tall man, with dark skin, his body cut like that of a cat's.

She took a breath, "To my cabin. It's probably the safest place right now,"

"A single cabin? For 20 people? That's hardly reasonable," He responded,

Alva nodded, "Right. But I'd sooner have you hungry, and sleeping in tents, than dead, and I'm sure you feel the same,"

The man nodded, "I'll agree to that. What's your name?"

"Alva. Yours?" She said,

He smiled, "Musa Roark,"

She threw up an eyebrow, "Moses, the Red Hero?"

He looked pleasantly surprised, "You've read the Quran?"

She nodded, "I've read many books, including religious ones. The Bible, the Tanakh, the Quran, the Vedas, and more,"

"How did you come across such texts out here in the woods?" He asked,

"I had help," She replied, quietly,

"The same way you had help killing those soldiers? No one woman should be able to slaughter 4 men in so short a time, let alone escape the other 3 with such ease," He said,

She glanced over at him, seeing the knowing smirk on his face.

"What is it to you?" She said,

"Well, I have a vested interest in knowing the skill sets of the person saving me, and I also like to know if someone is a... fellow practitioner," He said, his smile growing wider,

It was then he reached into his shirt, and pulled out a pendant. It was wooden, likely carved, she could tell, and in the crude, but still recognizable shape of a hammer. No, not a hammer, the hammer. Mjolnir.

It was her turn to look surprised, "Forgive my asking, I mean no offense, but where are you from? You have no accent, too,"

He gave her a grin that made her roll her eyes, "What an excellent way to dodge my question! My mother is from North Africa, my father from Scandiae, as I'm guessing you yourself are as well. My mother decided to go with him to Norway, and I was born there,"

"And so you follow your father's Gods?" She asked,

"My mother's too," He said, "She decided to worship them alongside Allah, out of respect for my father,"

"And you do the same?" She asked,

He responded, "My perspective... differs somewhat,"

She nodded, and decided not to press the matter.

"To answer your question," She began, as her cabin came into view through the treeline, "Yes, I receive help from the Gods. They chose me for some... purpose. This, actually,"

She gestured to the group, and began dismounting as they came to a stop at her home.

"They chose you to save a random group of slaves?" Musa said, cocking his head,

"No, no... saving the future," She responded,

"You speak as if you're the only one," He said,

She began, "That's because I am-"

Musa cut her off, "No, you're not. Not even close. To the west, on the Isle of the Faeries, near Dublin, there's a Celtic warrior woman who displays many of the talents you did earlier today. The general responsible for my capture did too. I do... as well,"

He opened his palm to her, showing a rune tattooed onto his kin, glowing faintly, almost imperceptibly.

She shook her head, and made for the door of her cabin to fetch whatever she could find so the people could have shelter, and food.

"I suppose that makes sense," She said with a sigh,

"You're not surprised?" He asked,

She shook her head, "Not really. I only believed I was the only one because I'd never met others like me,"

He grinned again, the same way he had before, "I suspect you haven't met many others at all,"

She deadpanned, deciding not to dignify his teasing with a response, as she gathered up various pelts, bread, dried meats and fruits; anything she could spare, really. Those she'd rescued had already gathered outside her door, and she began to lay out all of the supplies she'd grabbed.

As Musa reached for some of it, helping her lay it all out, Alva spoke, "As I'm sure you overheard, my name is Alva. You are free to help yourself to anything here. Make tents, sleeping bags... a meal. If you can't make enough tents for everyone, you're free to sleep inside, I take no issue with that. I'll try to start up a stew for everyone. Eat, and rest. You are safe, and free for the night. As for why I did this..." She paused, "I felt like it was the right thing to do,"

As the group began to separate out the supplies, and started the process of setting up an encampment, she entered into her cabin with a sigh, with Musa behind her. When she looked up, she almost jumped at the sight of Hearth, once again sitting at her table.

"I just cannot catch a break, can I?" She groaned,

Again, she could feel the infant God smile, "Not for awhile, no,"

Musa crossed his arms, and cocked his head, "You're a God?"

Alva raised an eyebrow, "You can tell that?"

"Their presence is different from Valkyries or angels. I've felt it before," He responded,

Hearth gave an overly theatrical bow, "Indeed! A new God, one Odin has been building recently. I was sent primarily to help our mutual friend here get back on her feet,"

Alva grunted at the word "friend", as she placed a pot in the fire of her crude fireplace.

"Oh come now, Alva. I helped you escape. Doesn't that make us friends?" Hearth said, smirking,

"How long did it take for Thor and Sif and all the others to get used to your sarcasm in Asgard?" Alva replied,

Hearth chuckled a little, and shoved their thumb in the air at her, to which she grinned, "Up yours too, fledgling God,"

Musa spoke up, "So, you were the one who conjured the flames which helped us escape?"

"I am! You're very welcome, Musa," They answered,

Musa nodded, and said nothing, searching through Alva's cabinets and bags for root vegetables, meat, spices, anything that could be used to make a stew. He found a few wild onions, some potatoes, and some dried meat. As he slipped out his personal knife, and began to chop the vegetables, Alva sat at the table, waiting.

Musa looked at her, "They'll come for you, for us,"

"They'll fail," She said,

"You can't fight everyone, Alva," He said,

"You can bet I'm going to try," She said, as she looked him in the eyes,

Musa gave her a sympathetic look, and continued cutting.

Alva looked over at Hearth, "Musa mentioned there were others like me. He said he was one. He also mentioned a Celtic woman to the west, and the general who captured him. They serve the Gods?"

Hearth threw up an eyebrow they couldn't see, "Did you believe we were the only existing pantheon?"

Alva paused, "No... I've only ever seen proof of the Aesir and Vanir, and of Yahweh. But, I did always reason there were other Gods, I merely believed I was alone,"

Musa began sliding the chopped vegetables into the pot, "You're very pessimistic, Alva,"

She deadpanned, "Your commentary is riveting Musa,"

"He is right, though," Hearth interjected, "You need to be at least a little optimistic,"

Alva groaned, and stood up, "You and yours have been contacting me since I was young, telling me nothing but how the future of the world and my people are doomed! Of course I'm pessimistic! How in the realms could I not be?"

Both Musa and Hearth looked at her, surprised at even that small of an outburst. She just sighed again, moved toward the door.

"I'm sorry. I'll be back shortly, I just need to clear my thoughts," She said, before opening the door, and stepping out into the cool dusk air.

More like her? More like her fighting, even? A mixture of emotions filled Alva's mind as she sat, slumped against a tree, maybe 10 yards out from the encampment. As dusk had turned into twilight, she saw from a distance as the group she'd saved lit fires, sat down, and... talked. She could even see Musa occasionally distributing the soup she'd made before her particularly emotional exit. All of it made her smile.

She looked down at her hands. They were clean, and scarred. Some were from battles she'd had with people, or wildlife. Others were self-inflicted from testing new flint blades for sharpness. Sometimes, during the few times she was nude, she'd trace the scars on her arms, her stomach, her thighs, her back, and her chest. Cuts, stab wounds, whip lashes, all of them decorated her body. She wasn't alone in that, and she knew it.

A tear rolled down her cheek for the life she'd lived, and the life she didn't get, and then she stood up, deciding she'd had enough time separate from everyone. She went inside to grab a bowl, noticing Hearth was no longer there. As she came outside, her bowl filled with stew, she sat down amongst the group who began hounding her with questions.

"Who are you?"

"Why did you do this?"

"Are you a servant of the Gods?"

She answered all of them in earnest, surprising even herself. Even Musa tossed in the occasional query. As curiosity turned to humor, and humor to mirth, she found her muscles relaxing, her normally neutral expression lightening.

The group was interrupted by Musa slamming his cup into the log he sat on, a grin spread on his face as he stared at Alva.

"This fine night... calls for a prayer, don't you think? You know the runes, yes?" Musa said,

Alva's eyes rose in surprise, "I do. Do you?"

Musa merely snickered, and began to speak. Alva could feel the familiar hum of magic fill the air, and she, although cautiously, joined in.

Spoken runes were very similar to singing. It was beautiful, confusing, and energetic every single time, as their words drew on forces they didn't understand. Alva almost never used her knowledge of them in her day to day, but now... now felt appropriate. She let the energies flow through her, her voice, as she sang with Musa.

And then she stopped.

Musa carried on for a few seconds, before sputtering to a stop in confusion.

"Come on, Alva, you finally seemed happ-" He began to say,

Alva shushed him, and stood up quickly, looking around.

It took her a few seconds to catalogue everything: the flame was unnaturally higher, the wind whistled when it shouldn't have, and sparkles of gold dust flittered on the wind and in the smoke of their fire.

"Everyone move as a group away from here quickly. Now," She said hastily, moving to her cabin,

Musa shot up in confusion, along with the rest of the group, "What- why?"

She stared back, hoping he could see the worry in her eyes, "Just do it! Believe me, you'll see why very soon."

Counting down seconds in her head, she gave a silent thanks as she heard hurried footsteps behind her, and Musa occasionally barking directions. She grabbed her sword, and the spear she'd taken from the guard. She would need both.

Odin knows she'd need both.

She barely had enough time to step outside and close the door before night turned to day. Light filled the forest like a torrential flood, and the force of the event threw Alva back into the door of her cabin. She gave a shout of pain and shut her eyes. She'd sooner take it being too bright over them burning out of her skull.

When the light finally, mostly, subsided, and she was no longer pinned, she blinked her eyes open, spear and sword held tight in her white-knuckled hands. She looked up from her crouching position, and confirmed her fear.

An angel. Easily 8 feet tall, glowing with all the radiance of the sun, and with all the empty beauty of a dream about to become a nightmare. He held a spear in his right hand, and a large shield in his left. His wings, double his body length in span, batted softly at the air, as he settled fully on the ground, shifting slightly in his terribly regal and golden armor.

"Powers..." Alva grimaced,

"Alva-" The angel began,

She cut him off, "Don't you dare finish that name,"

He gave a sigh of annoyance as she stood up, and readied herself.

The angel spoke in a voice that rippled through reality, and made Alva feel at least slightly nauseous, "Most mortals... speak to me with more respect..."

She spat at his feet, "I have no respect for spineless servants of an evil God,"

He pointed his spear at her, "And your heathen creatures are so much better?"

"At least they don't want to commit genocide,"

The angel scoffed, "The Lord will make this world a paradise, child, as it once was. You need only accept that fact to see the fruits of his labor,"

"You're not here to debate me, bird. And I'm certainly not interested in debating you either," Alva said,

He sighed again, and readied himself for her assault, "Then come, heathen,"

She barely had a moment to breathe, and move, before the angel's spear was implanted where her head was just a second ago. She ducked under his large stature, and despite his closeness to her, she didn't try to actually attack him. He was too fast, and would see that coming, so she rolled away, turning to face the angel as he rushed her once more. She stepped off to the side as quickly as she could, swinging her sword against his wings as he flew by.

He shouted in pain, making Alva's ears ring as he spun while he landed.

"How-" He began,

"Shut up," She said,

She wasn't nearly as fast as him, but she knew she was more cunning. The angel raised his shield, as she swung her sword, but the attack weakly bounced off the golden plating as she quickly reverse gripped her spear. Reaching it behind his shield to stab his hand, she then kicked off his shield to throw herself back before he could counter-attack.

He was fast, though, very fast. As his own spear darted out to cut her side, leaving a burning groove in the flesh, which she grasped with a shout, and a hiss. A single breath was all she got before he was on top of her again, throwing jabs at her from behind his massive shield. She parried each of the blows, her muscles screaming at her as she forced them to move as quickly as possible.

Her breath was already catching in her throat, as she sidestepped one jab and closed the frustrating distance between her and her opponent. She slipped her sword behind his shield, her spear against his other arm, and threw her own arms outward with all her strength. Her gamble paid off, as he grunted in frustration while his guard broke, and she drove her spear into his side through a gap in his armor she'd noticed while they talked.

He gasped, a sound which, like all the others he made, reverberated through her being, making her wince. His face, sculpted from marble in lifeless beauty, contorted in rage as he grabbed her by the neck. Fear pounded through Alva's veins as he squeezed, then grunted, and tossed her away. She rolled to a stop with her bones aching, and her breath ragged and hot. Alva grabbed at her neck, and coughed as she turned to the angel.

He was clutching at his side, looking at her with what she could only describe as... loathing. It took her only a moment to stand back up and rush forward. She wouldn't give him a second, if she could help it. He was confused, dazed; he wasn't used to this position, being genuinely wounded, and she used that. Her strikes became wild and frenzied, screaming out as he raised his shield against her. Slowly, she started to work past his guard, giving smaller wounds on his wrists, his ankles, trying to disorient him even more.

He did manage to cut her with his spear in a good few places, but it didn't do much for him. Her rage, her fury, her hatred; all her loss and isolation from the past decade and a half pried its way from her mind and flooded her nerves, her muscles, her bones. Even after the wood of her stolen spear splintered and shattered as he blocked one of her strikes, she grabbed that shield, and wrenched it from his hands. It hit the grass 10 feet away with a thud, and it was then that Alva's perception of time slowed.

The angel's spear shot forward. She sidestepped, then a half-step forward. Alva swung her sword up, and met flesh. The angel's wrist and hand fell. She caught the spear from his detached hand. She reverse gripped it. She drove it down. It moved through his armor like it wasn't there, and pierced his chest. It felt like it took five minutes.

It took maybe 10 seconds.

What followed was light. Blinding and terrible, she didn't have the opportunity to close her eyes. She heard shouting, wind, the splintering of wood and the cracking of trees, and then... nothing. Alva blinked, as her vision returned, and knowledge of her surroundings raced through her head, her thoughts too quick to catch. Night. Forest, Cold. Pain. People, behind and in front. Anger. Fading. Fading. Calm. Calm.

The people in front she made to be a priest, and a small group of soldiers. They'd brought the angel. That shouldn't have been possible. It didn't matter. It was dead.

Her body moved without her to stand up. She saw through three eyes, and spoke with three voices, but they weren't her words.

"I am the Hunter..." They all said, angelic spear gripped in her left hand, "I am the Harlequin. I was old and gray when El was first dreamt of in the desert,"

Fear; they were scared. The priest and his hollow men. Good. They should be scared of her, of them.

"I take this spear for her. It will be bound to her, and it will serve her. She will use it to pry apart your churches and crosses and I will feast on the knowledge in the corpse of your God. Fear her, as you fear me. It may very well do you some good," Her voice said,

Fluttering eyelids, and then darkness.