^^ Corsica ^^

--- Diana Monroe ---

I darted awake with a cry of rage, and blinked, seeing my bedroom walls.

Father rushed in, his hands blazing, and blinked when he saw me clutching my chest, trying to get my breath back.

His hands faded, and then he sat next to me slowly. "A dream, then." He said calmly.

"Yes." I cleared my throat.

"Was it a true dream?" He asked.

"Yes."

He hummed softly. "I see. Do you wish to share it? Was it about us?"

"Yes and no... it was about me... or... what used to be me? It's hard to understand..." I groaned.

He chuckled. "True Dreams are always hard to understand. Tell it to me." He got comfortable next to me, and I laid on his chest.

"I was on a glass sea... shards of glass and sand made of silver metal moved like the ocean, with waves and crests and troughs... my ship was undamaged, though, and I was almost happy. Then something came out of the water, something I called 'Veles', and I challenged it with my ship. It took me off the boat, and I pulled out a golden apple, then ate it. Then I woke up. Why would a golden Apple kill someone? I thought they were good?" I asked.

He hummed. "Veles... that's the name of Jormungand's Predecessor... you dreamed you were Perun, the first Storm God of the Norse. He was also King, like Odin, before Odin, Borr, or Thror. An old, and very powerful god, but a dead one. The Apple you saw was his most powerful weapon. It was like the nuclear deterrent of the Ancient Gods." He explained calmly.

"I see... great, my previous incarnation died in a suicide bombing." I said dryly.

He laughed. "Something like that. But he did manage to kill Veles, so that's good."

I shrugged. "What about my ship and sailors? I'm a little sad that they died to. Seems like an awful waste just to kill one monster."

He chuckled. "I'm sure it all worked out. Anyway-... what is that?" He hesitantly touched the brand on my right palm, in the shape of the tattoo I just now noticed had graced the god's left hand.

"A brand? He had one just like it on his left hand." I hummed.

"Oh no..." he breathed.

"What?" I raised an eyebrow.

He darted off the bed, his entire body blazing, and stared around the room, his now-golden eyes taking in every shadow. "Come out of the shadows, Meddler, so I can send you back from whence you came..." he snarled savagely.

A small woman with white hair, red eyes, elfin ears, and a set of thick bulls horns on her head stepped from the shadows, and bowed cordially. "No need for that, sir." She turned and bowed to me. "Hello, Madam Monroe. You have been Chosen,-nay, Selected-, for the Fated Game. Would you like to hear more, in a more peaceful location?"

I stood slowly. "My kitchen, in fifteen minutes, should be sufficient."

She bowed again. "Of course." She then stepped into a shadow, and was gone.

I grabbed clean clothes, and showered quickly to get the sweat off of me, then dressed in jeans, a black shirt, and a leather jacket, placing my knives all around my body.

Father slowly stopped burning, and we sat in the kitchen. "Why did you call her Meddler, and how do you know her?" I asked clearly.

He stiffened. "I will not answer those questions."

"If I'm going to take part in a game, I want the rules." I said simply, staring at his eyes as they turned from gold to green.

He growled softly, something I was unaccustomed to. "Fine... her name is Corsica, I believe, and this isn't her Realm anymore. She shouldn't be here, much less asking you to take part in that-" he visibly restrained his tongue. "... Game."

I raised an eyebrow. "I see. So you've met?"

"I met your mother in the Fated Game, 20 years ago." He sighed. "Corsica recruited both of us. She likely thinks it's a favor to me, to be the one who indoctrinates you with the rules and regulations of the Game."

"I see... and what's the point of this Game? The Prize?"

"... I'm not allowed to say. Neither is she. If you ask, she'll divert the topic. You're not allowed to know until the finals." He sighed.

"What's the punishment for you telling me?" I asked.

He shivered in response.

"Okay then... what about this Corsica. Why do you hate her?"

"I don't hate her. I just don't want her near you. I don't want you in this Game... but with the memories of Perun, I'm sure you were Fated to be in the Game." He sighed, rubbing his face wearily.

The woman stepped from a shadow, and a tall, thin man followed, arguing soundlessly with her.

She silenced him with a glare, and then smiled at me. "Madam Monroe. I am Corsica, the Ex-Recruiter of the first Realm. You have been selected to participate in the Fated Game, if you accept the invitation."

I blinked slowly. "Alright... can I ask questions, first?"

"Of course. Though, as your father has told you, I cannot reveal to you the prize, the final result, I can reveal any and all other details, should you ask correctly." She grinned mischievously.

I nodded. "Alright... what are the downsides of being the successor of Perun?"

She blinked, and then hummed. "He was a very savage god, not very good with strategy, but inversely excellent in terms of Raw Power. Very few gods will ever boast such destructive abilities as he."

"Okay, so I'm a Tank."

She smiled. "Correct."

"And what are the other contestants gods from this realm?"

"Odin, Romulus, Horus, and Huitzilopochtli." She answered precisely.

"Hugs-a-lotta-pooches?"

"Huitzilopochtli. The Aztecan War and Sun god. He, like you, is quite powerful, though strategy was his downfall in the end..." she nodded. Then she paused. "And on the topic of your advantages, Perun Killed his Adversary... I hadn't thought of that."

I raised an eyebrow, but Father gasped, then grinned savagely. "Ooh, that's something..." he nodded.

I looked at him. "Huh?"

"In the Second Round, you have to fight the adversary of your Predecessor. You win, you go to the finals. You don't have an Adversary, because you died together." He explained.

"So if I get to the Semi's, I'm auto-Passed to the Finals." I reasoned.

"Correct." He grinned.

"Alright... cool. So what are the Weaknesses of Odin, Horus, Romulus, and... Hux?" I asked.

"Horus? He's extremely arrogant. He literally doesn't believe others possess the ability to harm him." She said dryly. "Romulus, he's good, the father of Rome. Excellent tactician, but not very powerful, as gods of war go. He lost his position to Bellona as soon as he got it, and she killed him. And I already told you Huitzilopochtli's weaknesses."

"And Odin?"

"Odin? He has none, except unpredictability. He can see the future, the past, and the present, along with the ability to freeze time itself in order to strategize, though his mortal form can't move while doing so, so there's no worries there." She shrugged.

I blinked. "Ouch... OP, much?"

"Yes. I do so love when two Odin's Meet in the Finals. That's a fight to remember." She grinned.

Father nodded. "I remember Odin and the Hindi Goddess, -Parshafti, I think,- fighting in the finals. That was terrifying."

I nodded. "Okay... so there can be more than one of each god?"

"Oh absolutely. There's roughly 4,000 contestants. From one category, there's maybe 200 gods to chose from. This year happens to be the Gods of War." She nodded.

The man next to her spoke, glaring at her. "I'm Chriontine, by the way, the actual Recruiter for this Realm."

I raised an eyebrow. "She's working your turf, huh?"

He nodded morosely. "And she's older than me, so I can only complain about it. It's rather annoying."

I chuckled. "Alright... so, what's the point? Why would I compete if I don't know what the prize is?" I asked. "Is there a risk of death or injury? What type of game are we talking? Tournament Mode Godly MMA?" I grinned.

Corsica raised her hands. "Whoa, nelly. Hold up. Okay. Well, the reason most people compete is because the gods inside them want them to. It's the only time the Dead Gods get to exert themselves."

"Dead Gods are Conscious?" I asked dryly.

"In a Metaphysical way. They have lost their ability to interact with the world in any way except through an Avatar. You." She nodded at my brand.

"Ok..."

"And no, there's no risk of permanent death, though non-fatal injuries will persist until you are disqualified. And your guess is rather spot on, though MMA is more of a narrow idea. Think more, Modern Warfare, with Godly Powers and Ancient Weapons." She grinned.

I snorted. "Great... alright... so there's no real risk of getting myself killed, but it's a way for the god who's hitchhiking on my soul to get his exercise?" I asked dryly.

She shrugged. "That's one way of looking at it."

I hummed. "Is the prize worth it?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes." She said with absolute certainty.

I leaned back. "Can my dad come, to support me? Or just to stay with me?" I asked.

She hummed, and looked at the thin man, who nodded. "There's precedent. Families often come, nowadays. They cannot leave the Suites, of course, but they have more than enough to do, I'd say."

She smiled. "Good. I was hoping that rule hadn't changed. Then yes, Madam Monroe. Your father may come, so long as he swears not to tell you any secrets." She raised an eyebrow at him.

He crossed his heart with his middle finger sassily.

She snorted. "I deserve that, I suppose. Now come along." She held out a hand.

I gripped it to shake, and flinched when my body dissipated, forcing my consciousness to whip across the stars.
-
I opened my eyes slowly, and gasped at the room around me.

It looked somewhat like mine, except massively increased in size, and there was an entire wall covered in blades and hammers facing me. The ceiling was covered in a glowing star map, the same one from my room, but expanded.

The wall on my left was covered in maps, of different terrains that were foreign to me, with a door that was ajar, and led to a bathroom.

To my right was a table that looked not unlike a star trek-type hologram table, which I hoped was real.

The floor was a sweet-smelling Apple-Wood, which was odd, but fitting, I supposed.

I took a step forward, and paused. "Do I hear an ocean?"

Corsica smiled. "You do." She pointed at a door I'd ignored on the wall of blades.

I walked to it, opening it carefully, and gasped. Stretching as far as I could see, an ocean of Glass and Metal Sand stretched before me, though in the distance I could see another wall.

"What's with the Glass and Metal?" I asked Corsica.

"The Ancient Norse, from before the times of Thror, believed that the Far North Sea, or the Arctic, was made of Glass, because of the cold and icebergs that filled it, and foundered any ship that was foolish to sail it. Perun scoffed at such things, and sailed his ship into it without hesitation. It became a symbol of his Reign." She supplied the answer easily.

I looked around, and found ship from my dreams sitting at the end of a long dock, crewed by men with faces made of shadows.

"And those sailors...?" I asked slowly.

"The Inglorious souls of dead Sailors who were buried at sea. They owe their immortal lives to many gods. These, in particular, are yours." Corsica nodded.

One of them, a tall man wearing raggedy pirate rags and a spotless captains tricorn, waltzed up casually, and bowed, doffing his hat formally. "Lord Perun. I wish to speak for the crew, and say it is an honor to sail with you again. What is your Name, in this Life?" His voice was like smoke and silk, all at once. Vaporous, but smooth.

"Diana Monroe, sir. And yours?" I asked politely.

"I am known as Mr. Risk, milady Monroe." He bowed once more, and put his hat back on, covering most of his shadowy skull.

"I see... well, it will be an honor to sail with you, Mr. Risk. At the moment, I must explore my arrangements, but I will definitely sail with you soon." I grinned as the urge to guide the ship out of port hit my gut.

Corsica nodded and led me back inside as he trotted back to the ship.