Island of the Sun
On a floating island far from Valhalla Arena, a young, handsome god was relaxing in a large hot spring. His strawberry locks were wrapped up in a clean, white towel while the rest of his body was submerged in the relaxing, warm waters. Several handmaidens kept him company in the spring, wiping down his body while in awe of his visage.
Apollo
(Greek Pantheon)
Apollo, the sun god of Greece, normally enjoyed such pleasures. After all, his beauty was without equal! However, the air became heavy and silent as he watched the match from a projection over his pool. The image of the fire ring and the monstrous figure rising from the center of the inferno captured his attention.
"Lord Apollo, are you okay?" One of the maidens asked. The others were growing concerned that the normally chipper god had become melancholic.
"My dears, do you see what's happening on the screen?" Apollo asked softly.
The maidens were ignoring the battle to focus on Apollo, but once they saw the projection, fear and dread overtook them. "…What is that?" Another asked as the chill of fear overtook her.
"That…is a once-beautiful creature that became ugly beyond compare. That…is Dionysus' true appearance."
"What!? How is that Dionysus!? We were at one of his parties last week! He was so kind and funny!" A third asked behind the handsome god.
"That's who he wants to be and who he thinks he is…but the truth he hides from is far grander than our favorite party animal." The maidens were confused. The chaos before them was grand?
"Seems like I need to fill you in. Please let my melodious voice carry you back…eons ago. There's an old legend amongst the Greeks that few dare speak of. During the Titanomachy Tournament, Zeus led his family in opposition to his father, Cronus, the leader of the Titans. While initially a tournament to establish the ruler of the Cosmos, Zeus' victory over Cronus led to a breakdown in the competition. The tournament changed into an all-out war that spread across the Milky Way. The titans and the gods both suffered heavy losses, but one event turned the tide."
"What happened?"
Apollo inhaled, exhaled, and hung his head. His eyes turned pensive at the memory. "On a moon named Thyone, a tragedy occurred. Dionysus' forces were overwhelmed, and he was captured. The titans wanted to use him as a hostage, but they let their resentment of Zeus get the better of them…"
Thyone, Ages Past
Far out into the cosmos, one of many small moons that circled Jupiter would become the stage for this tragedy. Dionysus, now alone, was chained to a jutting rock and at the mercy of his captors. His body was covered in bruises, cuts, and burns. His left eye was swollen shut from an earlier strike from the leader of his captors.
Some yards away, the band of titans clad in ancient armor were partying in honor of their first victory in ages against the gods.
"Can you believe it!?" One shouted. "Those dumbasses didn't even see us coming!"
"I can…especially with that party-boy over there leading them." Another responded.
Dionysus could hear them and knew they wanted him to hear. His inexperience at war leads his forces into a slaughter. No preparation, no scouting, just jumping in at the first sign of the enemy…right into a pincer attack.
One of the titans, a tall, built one with blank white eyes that matched his hair and beard, began to stroll over to Dionysus.
"Sir? Where are you going?" One titan asked.
"I'm going to give our guest some company. He's all alone over there and I don't believe it's right to leave him out." Their commander responded in a deep, booming voice.
Hyperion
(Titan)
He stopped just two feet from the young god, his body lax, but his hate-filled gaze bore into Dionysus, who could not bring himself to make eye contact. "Tell me," Hyperion spoke with a deep voice, "What do you feel at the moment. I'm sure you can hear them. Is it rage? Shame? Regret?" His tone grew louder with each word. "I understand well. Everything you're feeling right now?" Hyperion's right hand began to glow and radiate heat. Straightening out his fingers, Hyperion swiftly stabbed it into the joint connecting Dionysus' left arm to his body, severing it and burning the open wound. Dionysus screamed in unbridled pain. "That's nothing compared to watching my brother get sucker-punched by that upstart Zeus. Worse?" Hyperion quickly stabbed his hand into the joints connecting Dionysus' right arm and both legs, severing them and searing the wounds. Dionysus could not contain his pain. His screams fell on deaf ears. "He sends you."
"Please don't do this!" Dionysus screamed at the top of his lungs, full of pain and misery. Tears began streaming down his face. "Please!"
"You're crying now!? Zeus thought so low of me that he expected you to kill me? I expected Hades, Poseidon, or even Apollo. Yet, he sends you." Hyperion looked at the results of his rage. "An out-of-his-depth loser who couldn't muster a single kill before dying."
Hyperion cut the ropes holding Dionysus to the rock. Dionysus hit the ground with a thud, his head hitting the ground with his swollen eye. Hyperion grabbed Dionysus by his hair with his left hand and lifted him to eye level. Dionysus could barely see the sheer disappointment and anger in Hyperion's face. He then readied his burning hand, aiming it straight at Dionysus' throat. "To add insult to injury? I'm sending those limbs of yours one at a time to your father. I'll add notes stating you're still alive, and I will give you up in return for my imprisoned brothers and sisters. I wonder, though, do you think he cares enough about you that he'll meet my demands? Guess you'll never know."
Hyperion stabbed his hand straight at Dionysus' neck…only for his fingers to bend and break upon the god's neck. He did not scream. The pain shot through his arm up to his head, but he did not scream or drop Dionysus. Fear did not fade from Dionysus' face, but regret began to slowly set in. "I warned you," Dionysus said. Flesh and bone erupted from the stumps of Dionysus' old limbs. The amalgamations quickly formed into new limbs, but the skin was dull gray and metallic. Dionysus did not hesitate; regaining use of his limbs, Dionysus grabbed Hyperion's stretched-out burning arm, clasping his bicep and crushing it in his grip. Hyperion roared in pain, but before he could make another move, Dionysus clenched his right fist and threw a punch, and blew Hyperion's head off his shoulders. The remains flew over to his men, who looked from the remains of their deceased leader over to Dionysus.
"I warned him."
Sometime later…
"Do you see him yet?" Ares asked. He and Hermes had been searching across Thyone for Dionysus and his forces. They managed to find the site of a one-sided battle with Hyperion's forces, and while they accounted for Dionysus' men, he was missing.
"I don't, I'm afraid," Hermes responded.
The two departed from the battlefield and continued their search. The two knew their brother well, a well-meaning god who could talk his way out of trouble when he got himself in over his head. This time was different, and the two could not shake the feeling Dionysus was beyond saving. Before long, they found the Titans' campsite, and they made an unspoken promise to each other. Other than Zeus and his brothers, no one would know the full scope of what they saw. No one else would see or know the true scope of destruction and desecration they bore witness to. No titan was left alive. Their tents, weapons, armor, and any resource they possessed were destroyed. All their bodies were eviscerated beyond recognition. At the center of the slaughter's aftermath amidst painful silence was Dionysus, sitting on a rock with his head hung low. His limbs still had their metallic skin, but his body was now coated in dried blood. "Dionysus!" Ares yelled. Dionysus shook and looked up to see his brothers. He was sleeping. Ares thought. The two walked slowly to their brother, being careful to avoid stepping on the dead. The two reached him before long and looked him over. "What happened to you?"
"I warned them," Dionysus muttered.
"You warned them?"
"…I warned them." Dionysus couldn't hold back any longer. The tears flew and he wept, crumbling towards the ground. Ares managed to catch him and held his brother.
"It happened again, didn't it, Hermes?" Ares asked. Hermes surveyed the damage around them. He then looked at Dionysus and confirmed it.
"Yes…sad to say."
Word soon spread amongst the gods and titans. The legend of a monstrous warrior amongst the Olympians who could turn the tide of any battle, distilled into a single phrase. 'As long as Zagreus lives, the Olympians will never lose.'
"However, no one initially knew outside of the Top Three, Ares, Hermes, or me that Dionysus and Zagreus were the same person. That way, the legend would remain after Dionysus refused to fight anymore. Were it not for that monstrous power, Dionysus would not be here." Apollo continued. "Sadly, the truth got out, and the reality that he fears that very power turned him into a coward unable to see the true beauty of his strength, even if it destroyed the most dangerous Titan standing against Zeus."
"Why?" One of the maidens asked.
Apollo then stood up, baring his glorious form for the world to see, and to the silent delight of his handmaidens. "Know thyself," Apollo responded. "To grow and become beautiful, one must know one's true self; faults and all. Then seek to overcome them! However, Dionysus is unwilling to recognize that power, Zagreus, is indeed a part of him and must be accepted. It is his power, but he would rather treat it as some vile creature taking control and give it a different name. If he will not…then Zagreus will kill him before his opponent will."
Valhalla Arena
Returning to the blaze within Valhalla, Hohenheim managed to catch sight of his opponent as the bellowing roar snuffed out the remaining flames. The statue of Zeus continued its call as the rubble-covered floor continued to crackle with electricity. Such a form, Hohenheim thought, could only be found in nightmares or fits of hysteria.
Dionysus' skin turned black and metallic, his clothes barely hanging on. His fingers and toes lost their nails and ended in sharpened points, while a silver, metallic ridge enveloped his nose and the lower half of his face. His eyes retained their deep purple hue, but his hair bleached into pure white. The wounds from their battle remained, however, but if they affected Dionysus, it did not show.
Orphic Dionysus: Zagreus Aiónios
The Immortal Juggernaut
"So that's what you truly look like. Got to say it's impressive!" Hohenheim yelled. Dionysus leered at his opponent, staring into Hohenheim's eyes hidden by his mask. "Mist, my diagnosis is complete. At best, we've got maybe one or two attacks left before we run out of options. I doubt we can use anything other than Contingency W," Hohenheim whispered to his partner.
"Confirm. His adaptive ability is limiting our options, but I can see the damage is still there." Mist said.
"Exactly, he's not recovering; he's just delaying the end. That means we still have a chance. Ready?"
"Let's get him." Hohenheim began sprinting across the rubble, resuming his plan to keep his distance. Dionysus crouched down and stomped his left foot into the ground, kicking up sections of the floor and propelling himself like a cannonball. He then slammed into a pile of rubble in front of Hohenheim, catching him off guard. He stomped his foot again, launching into the air straight at Hohenheim, and threw a right cross as he flew.
"Undying Right!" Dionysus roared. Hohenheim leaned back just in time to dodge the attack as Dionysus flew past him and soared through the air. Dionysus adjusted mid-fall and slammed his feet into the ground to fly back at Hohenheim.
"Mist! Full adrenaline! Now!" Hohenheim yelled. He knew he was going past the safe levels, but the realization that the power gap just grew exponentially forced his hand. The machine under his cloak injected more adrenaline into his system. His heart rate skyrocketed, and time started to slow down around him. He was now at the breaking point; any more would likely cause cardiac arrest and give Dionysus the win, and humanity's first loss. He couldn't tolerate that. "If you're going down the path towards death to achieve victory, then so shall I!"
"What is going on?! He's Zagreus!?" Göll screamed while looking at her sister in abject terror.
"I'm afraid so," Brunhilde said. "I thought Hohenheim would be able to kill him before his power reached that point, but I was wrong…"
"Wait, does that mean Dr. Hohenheim and Mist will lose?" Brunhilde crossed her arms and smirked.
"Not at all. Those two are the best on our side when it comes to adaptation. Plus, time is on their side." Göll looked puzzled until the answer hit her.
"Dionysus' wounds didn't heal. That means…everything they've done up to now is still affecting him!"
"They've likely already figured that out, too. However, Zagreus' power is unrivaled except by the likes of Zeus, Poseidon, or Hades. We need to trust them, Göll, and hope they'll win."
"Okay…" Göll continued to watch the battle, not sharing her sister's confidence.
Down in the arena, Hohenheim continued his sprint across the destroyed columns, Dionysus hot on his trail. Suddenly, Dionysus stopped but kept his eyes locked on Hohenheim. Quickly, Dionysus grabbed some debris and piled it in his left hand. Stepping forward with his left foot and throwing back his right hand, he pitched a small rock straight ahead of Hohenheim. His attack was dead-on; the rock smashed into Hohenheim's left leg and took it out from under him. Hohenheim tumbled off the debris, his leg now searing with pain under his pants from where the rock struck him. "Damn it!" Hohenheim yelled. He looked down at his leg and saw a chunk of his calf and some of his pant leg was missing. He then rolled away back onto some debris, barely avoiding Dionysus' diving stomp.
"Undying Press!" Dionysus roared.
RED LIGHT!
Electricity crackled across the arena floor, but neither fighter was affected. Dionysus paused for a minute and stared Hohenheim in the eye. Hohenheim met his gaze and refused to look away. "So that's what it is…" Hohenheim grunted, lifting himself on his good foot with his cane for support.
"What is?"
"That look in your eyes. That's the look of a man who can't stand the sight of himself. Don't worry. I'll help you deal with it."
"On one good leg? Don't mock me."
"I never mock a patient." Hohenheim crouched down, the pain overwhelming his senses despite his efforts to numb it. "Come at me."
"GLADLY." Dionysus roared, kicking off the ground again, but with less force than before. He dashed straight at Hohenheim.
Paros, Circa 1538 A.D.
One evening, many centuries ago, during the Third Ottoman-Venetian War, Hohenheim was busy at work treating injured soldiers. The effort of this war was to gain control of lands around the Aegean, Ionian, and Adriatic Seas that the Ottoman Empire wanted to seize. The war was not going their way. Many of their efforts were in vain; Admiral Hayreddin Barbarossa of the Ottomans was winning major battles and taking land, including the islands of Andros, Naxos, Paros, and Santorini.
Hohenheim at the time was an army medic serving in the Venetian Army at the time. At one of the homes alongside the waterfront, he was busy at work administering to injured soldiers. One of the soldiers had suffered severe burns and lacerations to his chest. The medic working on him began to cover his chest in feathers and cow dung. Before he could finish, the doctor was pulled away from him by an irate Hohenheim.
"What in the hell are you doing!?" Hohenheim yelled.
"I-I was covering his wounds to protect them!" The young doctor responded.
"You damn idiot, that'll cause infections and kill this man when the damn Ottomans failed! Are you trying to tell them their job for them!?"
"But the doctors told us to-"
"I will put you in one of these beds next to these soldiers in worse condition if you keep doing this, and to hell with what the other doctors said! Get that gunk off him and clean his wounds. Do not put anything on them and keep those wounds clean."
The young medic did as he was told. Hohenheim continued his work to care for the injured soldiers, with some better off than their current patient. One patient, a young soldier, slumped over in a chair, barely moved when Hohenheim stopped in front of him. Hohenheim bent down to eye level with a young man and saw no life in the young man. "Boy, you still with me?" Hohenheim asked softly. The young soldier said nothing. Hohenheim placed his hand on the soldier's shoulder. "Young man, are you with me?"
"I can't believe it…" The young soldier responded in a whisper.
"Believe what? That we're losing? Going to have to get used to that…however, you're alive and that's what matters." The soldier jerked up and looked him dead in the eyes. Sorrow filled every corner of his youthful face.
"What's the point of being alive after losing? We lost again…we just keep losing…" Tears began to fill his eyes.
"That was rude of me to say. I'm sorry." Hohenheim responded softly. "Was this your first battle?"
"Yes…it's my first."
"It's going to get harder…. I'm sorry I never caught your name."
"George."
"Thank you, George. You made it through today. It was a hard, violent, loud, and seemingly endless day. However, you're here and you now have something you didn't have before."
"What?"
"Another chance to do something. Do you know where your friends are?" George shook his head. "Do you know where your Division…or Platoon is?" George shook his head. Hohenheim was slightly embarrassed that he couldn't recall the proper name.
"…I'm the only survivor." Hohenheim took a deep breath. He wrapped his arms around the young soldier.
"I'm sorry. That's…just awful." He could feel George crumble in his arms, weeping. Hohenheim had no idea what George experienced that day, but it rocked him to the core.
The following day, George was gone. Hohenheim didn't know where he went, and wanted to search for him, but his other patients required his attention. As the day went on, supplies began to run low. The patients were recovering, and the other medics were busy following his instructions. "Gents, we're running low on material. I'm heading out to get more. Do not let anyone out of bed, or so help me you'll be joining them!" He said, laughing. The others laughed as he departed the house.
The path from the house to the supply area was littered with the dead, destroyed carriages, crates, broken swords and guns, and the occasional dog or rat. Hohenheim was used to the carnage despite his best efforts to act otherwise, and he made his way through the wreckage. As a habit on these excursions, he would do his best to scan the area for any potential survivors. He was seldom lucky, but it never stopped him. As he looked around, he began to look up at the buildings around him…and saw George standing on the roof's edge of a three-story building. He could still make out his face, and saw the empty look still in his eyes. His heart sank. "George, what are you doing up there? Getting a good look around the city?" George didn't respond. Hohenheim looked and saw that the building door was open. He quickly walked in and searched for the stairwell. "George, we can look together!" Hohenheim shouted. "The city's in rough shape, but there's still a lot of nice views! We can probably see the entire beach from up there!" Hohenheim found the stairs, and panic set in. George was not responding. "We can probably find some food and talk! You have family waiting at home for you! Do you have any favorites you might like!? I'd like to know, George, if you'd please tell me!" Hohenheim finally made it to the door, but stopped. He couldn't open it. The fear and despair of what he might see held him back. Damn it, this can't happen! Hohenheim thought and raged. Open the damn door! He braced himself and opened the door to the roof.
George stood there away from the edge and faced him, tears streaming down his face. "I like cheese and potatoes…my mom makes stew with them sometimes…dad doesn't always like it but he…" he fell to his knees "…he tolerated it when I asked for it."
"You damn, stupid boy." Hohenheim ran to him, grabbed him, and took him downstairs. The two sat in the empty foyer, and George confessed his entire Division was decimated by the Ottomans. He was the sole survivor because he ran. The shame of it was too much for him, and he felt he had to redeem himself. He began attacking random soldiers out on patrols of the area, killing nine Ottoman soldiers. They never found him, but the shame never left him. "Your first major battle, and this is what became of it."
"We were told we'd be fighting to liberate lands and rebuild the Republic. We knew dying and killing were part of it…but being told that and doing it are too different. I wasn't ready…"
"You now know what you're capable of. It's terrifying, isn't it?"
"What?"
"We all get told that. The fighting, the killing, and potentially dying. We're all told that, but the truth is we're never really ready for it. At least not at first. Some people get used to it...some don't. I did. Saw a lot of people die in battle...and in that same building we were working out of. God-awful medical practices. Couldn't tell you how many people we lost due to infections caused by our own doctors and shoddy ideas!"
"How?"
"It's our ignorance. We don't know enough about ourselves and the world around us. You didn't know you could do what you did, and the doctors back at the house didn't know how to properly treat people. It does us more harm than good, especially when we learn harsh truths, especially the ones war brings out of us. George, you're a killer. More than that, you're a soldier, like I'm a doctor. We have to face those awful truths, see those harsh parts of our very souls, and make peace with them or they'll poison our minds and souls beyond saving...and we'll harm others along the way."
"I don't know if I can."
"Good!" Hohenheim said as he sat up and dusted himself off.
"Good?"
"You don't know, but you can learn. If you're willing to work with me and help those other soldiers, then I'll learn alongside you." Hohenheim reached out his hand. "Want to try?" George looked at Hohenheim's outstretched hand. He hesitated, but took it and gripped it hard. "Let's go."
Valhalla Arena
"Undying Left!" Dionysus predicted Hohenheim would move to his right, making it easier for Dionysus to strike him with his jab to set up for his crushing right.
What he failed to realize was that Hohenheim may not be a fighter, but he saw war. He knew how to fight through pain and act if it meant winning. Hohenheim rolled over his injured leg to the left, gaining some distance from Dionysus as he barreled through the debris. He then quickly pulled one of the two remaining cartridges from his belt and loaded it into his staff. Dionysus quickly slammed his heel into the ground, bringing him to a complete stop, and turned to face his opponent. As he turned, a large glob of clear liquid flew in his direction. Just before it made contact, Dionysus instinctively covered the left side of his face and torso with his left arm. He screamed as his skin began to sizzle and burn from where the liquid made contact. The metallic skin was slowly melting off his left arm, and bone was starting to show. Some drops managed to reach his face and his ribs, burning away flesh. "Contingency W; Undine's Sorrow!"
The Universal Solvent, one of Alchemy's greatest goals. A chemical substance able to break down material into its basic components without destroying them...on inorganic material. A grand dream held by many Alchemists throughout the years, including Hohenheim. He hoped to use this, among many other things, to heal and strengthen the body. After he arrived in Heaven, he gained access to knowledge and material beyond his dreams! After years of study, he could finally create it! Sadly, the moment he finally crafted it, Ragnarök occurred. So now, he must use the one thing he sought after so long for…to kill a patient who desperately needs his help. He did not know how it would act on a living being, but now that he knew, he could never allow anyone else to ever use it.
Dionysus' screams echoed through the arena, sending chills down hundreds. Up in the luxury boxes, Zeus, Ares, and Hermes looked on.
"This is cruel…" Ares said, shuddering. "He's being tortured by that monster!"
"If you were in such a position against Dionysus, wouldn't you try anything you could to win?" Zeus said calmly. Ares stayed silent, but his face gave away his fear and disgust. His brother was down there and near death, and he could do nothing. He looked over to Hermes, hoping he would feel the same, but Hermes stood stoically by Zeus' side.
Is this what Ragnarök is supposed to be? Ares thought.
Hohenheim cocked his staff, releasing the cartridge. He quickly grabbed the last cartridge and reloaded it. He aimed and prepared his next shot. Dionysus saw he was not wasting time. He couldn't let Zagreus activate again and protect him. Dionysus gritted his teeth and held in his screams, and kept his melting arm in front of him. Now, with the proper amount of power, the proper level of focus, and the right form…Dionysus made one last dash. Hohenheim fired. "Contingency W; Undine's Sorrow!"
The blast of solvent hit straight where the first one did. Dionysus' left arm plopped right off onto the ground, but he did not stop. He extended the fingers on his right hand and lunged with his right arm extended. "Undying Lance!"
Hohenheim saw the attack coming... but his injuries prevented him from moving again; the pain was too much, and the adrenaline was failing him. With the last of his strength, he put the staff between him and Dionysus, hoping to block or parry. Dionysus' attack struck the staff….and snapped in two. Uninterrupted, Dionysus thrust his hand straight into Hohenheim's abdomen and out of his back. His lunge sent them both careening towards the statue, and Dionysus' hand pierced the statue.
GREEN LIGHT!
Dionysus looked up at his opponent. Hohenheim was breathing heavily, but kept up the screams. The doctor dropped the remains of his staff and tried in vain to free himself from Dionysus. He eventually stopped. With a bit of his remaining strength, he reached up and pulled off his mask. It was the first time Dionysus saw his soft features and eyes staring down at him, with barely any pain in them. His face was tinged with shock."I'm…sorry, Dionysus." Hohenheim uttered.
"What?"
"That look…it brought back...bad memories…and I wanted to help you…Guess I let that bad habit get the better of me-" Hohenheim coughed up blood, splattering it on Dionysus' arm.
"Wha?"Dionysus whispered. Hohenheim smiled.
"Doctor!" A familiar voice yelled from the crowd. Hohenheim could barely turn his head, but he managed to see George and the other doctors he worked with, as well as the soldiers he treated. All of them shed tears at the sight of their teacher and savior.
"That young man over there…couldn't find peace with the things he did," Hohenheim said. Cracks began to form around the spot where Dionysus' arm ran him through. "I don't know if it's the same for you…. but you have to forgive and accept yourself." He stared straight down at Dionysus. "Whatever you did is something that you now know you're capable of. Was it bad? Likely. Is it the real you? Maybe, but it's not the only part of you." He struggled to lift his left hand and put it on top of Dionysus' right. "You know yourself now better than you did before."
"Why? Why are you wasting your time with this?" Dionysus looked up at him. The same eyes that George had stared back at Hohenheim.
"Because I can." He answered, smiling. Mist appeared next to Hohenheim. Her body began to crack and crumble as well. "Mist, I'm sorry. I guess we have to hope the others will do better than us."
Mist chuckled softly. "Nothing to apologize for. I think…" She looked at Dionysus, "We did exactly what we needed to do."
"Couldn't have done it without you, Mist..."
"I know… but I'm happy we did it together."
The two turned bright green and shattered; their crystallized remains were caught by the wind and floated away. Dionysus watched as they flew; his attention never wavered. He looked down at his remaining arm, Hohenheim's blood still staining it.
Forgive and accept yourself. Dionysus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was a breath full of clean air. He then clenched his fist and raised it to the sky.
"Can…can I start?" Heimdall whispered. Dionysus heard him. Slowly, he nodded.
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Round 1 of Ragnarök is officially over! After a grueling match of power and poison, the first win goes to the Gods! The winner: DIONYSUS!
Hohenheim vs Dionysus
Victor: Dionysus
Match Length: 17 minutes 49 seconds
Deciding Move: Undying Lance
Humans 0 – 1 Gods