Ragnar

“She’s here.”

“Goddess preserve us.”

“Lady Death…”

“It’s the Ship of Bones.”

“Just like in the Book.”

The men muttered prayers and curses under their breath when a massive ship, made of the bones of some giant monster, flew in circles over the Field of Metherell before coming to a stop a few scant meters in front of the High Council.

I was three weeks shy of retirement when this whole apocalypse thing went down. The Council claimed it wasn’t Lady Death or the End of Days. They said that the Kraej had created a new sort of human weapon like the ELs, but far more powerful. This new type of enhanced life-form was a magician and the one responsible for all the mayhem.

They called every soldier and reservist here to the Field of Metherell for the showdown with her.

“She’s only human,” and “We just have to stop her when she arrives,” they said.

Well, I think the Council were talking out of their asses. The Nine Portents aren’t something that can be explained by mere magic.

“The Angel of the Goddess cast down the ninth scroll, and every man dreamt of the End of Days. And I saw a Ship of Bones flying, and she who sailed on it had eyes of black fire,” muttered my second-in-command, Erik.

Good man, Erik, but a trifle superstitious.

“Steady! Remember, our families are watching!” I said to my squad. All the TV crews and helicopters were covering this event, of course. “If this is the end, we might as well go out with a bang!”

“We’re fucked,” said Erik.

The others muttered their agreement, but that was just talk. The ones who were too cowardly to fight Lady Death were all in hiding. All of us here were fully prepared to die in the Last Battle. If the Book was anything to go by, there would be three challenges. If we won…

Who knows? Maybe the apocalypse could be delayed enough for me to retire in peace.

“Haha, so much for retirement.”

“He’ll never get to marry that widow now.”

“Shouldn’t have waited.”

I ignored the men’s gossip.

“Fuck, I see her!” said Erik.

“Holy hell!” All over the field, I heard similar exclamations of shock and horror. We’d all been issued field binoculars, but in my squad, only Erik and I had the most advanced high magnification ones.

I could clearly see a small woman and three large men descending from the ship. And yes, she appeared to have eyes of black flames. The three masked men were almost as big as us, and they were dressed in ridiculously over-the-top costumes.

“Fake?” asked Erik.

“Probably fake,” I lied.

Of course, none of us believed that for a second.

Then a voice as loud as thunder said, “Come forth, o brave men! Three challenges you must face ere the sea swallows the blessed land. Come forth, the first champion!”

We all watched with bated breath as the High Council and their guards withdrew, leaving a large open space vacant for the wrestling match.

“Little” Hvitserk, the youngest and biggest of the famous wrestling family of Vaxjo, strode forward to the cheers of the entire army. He was “little” only in comparison to his brothers, but he was my favorite because of his skill and kindness. The guy had adopted twelve children whose parents had been killed in the war.

“Go, Hvitserk!”

“Hvitserk, you’re my hero!”

“Hvitserk! Hvitserk! Hvitserk!”

I needed to save my voice for later, when it was our turn, otherwise I would’ve shouted myself hoarse like the others.

Hvitserk, who was large even for a wrestler, positively towered over the person who came to meet him.

“I think we might actually have a chance,” Erik shouted in my ear.

I nodded.

The two champions met in a cloud of dust, obscuring the details, but we all felt the ground shaking as they wrestled. The two of them were clearly earth magic adepts.

“Please win. Please win. Please win.” Someone nearby said a litany of prayers for Hvitserk. I was tempted to tell him off, but we were all on edge, and if praying helped him, I was willing to tolerate it.

Though we couldn’t see everything, we could tell that Hvitserk was getting the worst of it. His gigantic figure appeared here and there in the cloud of dust as his opponent tossed him about. Finally, there was a great crashing sound and, when the dust cleared, Hvitserk was lying on his back in the center of a gigantic crater. The rival champion was walking away, unhurt.

“I hope he’s okay,” I said to Erik as we watched paramedics rush over to the fallen wrestler.

A few minutes later, someone used a megaphone to announce that Hvitserk was being healed and was expected to recover soon. He hadn’t sustained any permanent damage.

Next up was the battle of magicians.

The enemy’s champion was some sort of weird-looking clown while the High Council dispatched the legendary magician Ywar the Terrible.

Ywar was getting on in years, and he hadn’t been deployed in the latest battles, but he was our most experienced and powerful battle magician. I suppose they picked youth and strength for our first champion, but a more seasoned veteran for the next one. Ywar and the enemy stopped walking towards each other when two magic circles appeared on the ground under their feet. The earth rumbled as two giant pillars of stone rose, carrying the two magicians high above us where they lost no time in starting their magical battle.

Energies clashed and thunder rumbled as a spectacular display of fire and lightning magic erupted overhead.

“Oh, Goddess,” I whispered.

The enemy magician’s fire spells were the strongest I’d ever seen, easily overwhelming Ywar’s fabled lightning attacks. Ywar’s shield spell broke without a sound and fire rushed in. I closed my eyes and said a prayer for the poor guy. One could only hope that he’d been turned to ash so fast that he hadn’t felt much pain.

To my surprise, when the fires died down the enemy champion flew towards Ywar’s pillar. The whole army let out a collective gasp of relief when he flew down the pillar with Ywar’s body and gestured to the waiting paramedics.

“He’s alive!” The megaphones repeated this over and over until Ywar disappeared from sight inside the medical tent.

“Boys, it’s our turn now!” said Erik.

“Excuse me, there are women here,” said Thora. She and Kraka were new. Women had always been discouraged from active combat, but this was the End of Days. Everyone was welcome to fight if they were willing.

“Boys and girls,” Erick corrected himself.

The final enemy champion strode forward, a shield shimmering over him. This time, the Eatuhean champion wasn’t a young wrestler or a veteran magician. It was all of us. One army vs one man.

“On the count of three!” blared from the megaphones. I gripped my rifle in my sweaty palms. “One. Two. Three!”

The waiting attack helicopters rained down bullets, rockets, and missiles down on the enemy. I had only taken one step forward when everything around me turned white and I lost consciousness.

LinMeili

This was Sariel's first proposed evil costume for Asteria, but it was rejected because "I'll catch a cold!"

Spoiler

[collapse]

• I organized the chapters into volumes. It's a new feature on RoyalRoad. I hope it's working okay.
• "The enemy’s champion was some sort of weird-looking clown..." - Sariel, the clown villain! His "villain costume" was a bit colorful. Are you scared of clowns? I know I am!
• The three duels: a wrestling match (Uriel), magic duel (Sariel), and the army vs Seraphiel. Asteria sneakiliy healed the losers since they might have died without her intervention. 
• Asteria wouldn't have bothered with all this, but these events were spelled out in a prophecy so she thought it would be best since it might help them accept that they lost.
• Remember to leave a review or rating!
• Please let me know if there are any errors.
• Thanks for reading.

 

---

• P.S. I started a new work, "Ever Victorious (A Modern Day LitRPG)," at my Patreon. I don't know when/if I will start posting since it's still in the early stages.
• P.P.S. It's about a male MC who received an epic quest to deliver bread "become the best." Penalty: death. Instructions unclear: what does "the best" mean? 
• P.P.P.S. I made the MC normal, but now I'm wondering if I should have added a crazy twist like other stories.
• P.P.P.P.S. My initial idea was to make him a crazy lecher exceedingly foul-mouthed, but that would be annoying to do write, so I dropped that bit of characterization.
• P.P.P.P.P.S. The first chapter is the death chapter, as is my tradition.
• P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Did you know you can infinitely add as many P's as you like in P.S.? Now we're at post-post-post-post-post-postscript.