Meanwhile, Ana finally awoke in a forest. The Irish goddess sat on the ground and saw the Norse gods sitting nearby, their heads lowered.
“Where… where is Epona?” Ana asked.
The Norse gods looked at her and lowered their heads even further.
Ana stood up and began searching for Epona, but what she saw was Loki repeatedly pouring ambrosia into the now lifeless body of Epona. The dark god had placed the two halves of her body together, yet even so, Epona did not react. The damage had been too great. Her body had died.
The Irish goddess looked into the lifeless eyes of her friend and felt the world grow hazy. Ana nearly collapsed again, but she forced herself to remain standing. She quickly ran toward her friend’s corpse and began shaking it desperately.
“Epona! Epona! What the hell am I supposed to tell Rodrigo?!” the goddess screamed, but there was no response.
“She died, Ana. Stop insisting,” Loki said somberly.
“Who do you think you are?”
Ana began remembering the day she first met Epona.
The horse goddess was riding a white steed, wearing her totema.
“I am Epona. I work for Britannia,” Epona said with a serious tone.
“What is a Britannian doing setting her filthy feet in Ireland?” Ana shouted as she drew a sword from behind her back.
“What the fuck am I doing? This is a fuckin' invasion. It is time Christ entered the life of this shitty island,” replied the Celtic goddess as she dismounted her horse and took a combat stance.
Although that encounter had happened more than six hundred years ago, the appearances of the goddesses were similar—though not identical.
Ana wore her hair falling forward, poorly combed, covering part of her face. She wore dark mascara around her eyes and painted her lips and nails black. Her clothes were equally dark: a long black dress.
Epona, on the other hand, wore her hair long and tied at the end with a golden ribbon, leaving a small braid at the tip. She wore a simple green blouse and a long white dress.
The two goddesses fought that entire day, trying to kill each other. It was not the only time they met.
“We have fought several times,” Ana said one day.
“I don’t keep track of unimportant things, crow-face,” Epona replied.
Both goddesses were sitting on a hill in Ireland, covered in wounds. The sky was blue and there were few clouds. Those hills usually served as entrances to the land of the Tuatha Dé Danann; Ana had protected that entrance from Epona’s attack.
“Bah. Honestly, I prefer this to returning to my kingdom,” Ana said.
Epona began laughing.
“Let me guess,” the Celtic goddess finally said, “you also don’t give a fuckin' damn about the bullshit of your kingdom?”
“Pretty much. There’s an old man there who keeps harassing me and it disgusts me,” Ana replied with an irritated face.
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“And that’s why you dress like a whore from hell?” Epona said, laughing at the exhausted face of the goddess.
“I am a goddess of war! This is meant to make me look terrifying!” Ana shouted.
“You look more like a fuckin' corpse,” Epona continued, laughing at her appearance.
“Bah! What would a horse goddess like you know?” Ana replied grumpily.
“I know that if you combed your hair properly, you would be more attractive. It’s a shame your blue eyes cannot be seen beneath that shitty appearance,” Epona replied as she stood up.
Ana blushed.
“You think I’m pretty?” Ana asked.
“Haven’t you looked at yourself in a fuckin' mirror, asshole?” Epona replied, before falling silent.
“Well… not with that walking-dead look you’ve got, obviously,” she added.
Ana blushed again and a faint smile appeared on her pale face.
“Well, it’s time for me to go. I’ll tell my brothers that the fuckin' crow woman stopped me again,” Epona said as her white horse came running toward her and she mounted it.
“Epona,” Ana said nervously. “Would you… maybe like to drink a beer with me someday?”
Epona began laughing again.
“Crow, we are enemies. Our kingdoms are at war. Even if we don’t care about them, we must keep certain appearances. You know… the fucking rotten society,” Epona replied.
“Yes… I suppose that’s how it must be,” Ana answered melancholically.
“Hey, but if Ireland ever becomes Christian or Britannia turns pagan again, I’ll gladly accept that beer,” Epona said with a smile.
The memories Ana had shared with Epona passed through her mind while she still refused to say goodbye to her friend. The goddess cried uncontrollably as she continued shaking the corpse.
Meanwhile, the Haida gods had miraculously managed to survive the great electrical explosion, but the attack had helped them defeat Anat’s malakim guard.
Dzelarhons then declared the victory of the Haida gods.
“We have saved our people from the foreign threat!” the goddess shouted. “And even if everything has been destroyed, we will always be able to rebuild it!”
The other gods raised their weapons and celebrated their victory.
Suddenly, among the ruins, a malak emerged and fled as best he could.
“Great Dzelarhons, one of those foreign gods is escaping!” shouted one of the Haida gods—the same one who had served as interpreter for the Norse gods during the Potlatch.
“We have no time for cowards,” the Haida goddess said while gripping her weapon again.
“Only one remains. The strongest.”
Anat stood before Thor and Menrva, majestically displaying her totema. She wore golden armor with a demonic face upon her chest, an Egyptian feathered crown, and a massive purple cape. Her smile was sinister, filled with hatred and the desire to kill Thor and Menrva.
“Thor… can you fight her?” Menrva asked nervously.
“Reckon I couldn’t even mess up her hair,” Thor replied nervously as both of them felt the divine power of the goddess.
The sea surrounding the island was restless, and the smoke from the previous explosion swirled in the sky around her. Even without access to all her power, Anat was still powerful enough to cause environmental disturbances.
Then the fleeing malak landed behind the goddess.
“Lady Anat! Your entire personal guard has fallen! We need your help!” the malak shouted anxiously. “Please come with me!”
“All of you malakim are nothing but useless trash,” Anat said angrily without even turning to look at him.
“If all of you die, I will simply replace you with other malakim. That is how worthless you are,” she added with contempt.
Suddenly, before everyone’s astonished eyes, Anat’s shoulder exploded and a wave of blood burst from the wound.
“I told you to come with me,” the malak insisted.
Menrva and Thor’s eyes widened in shock.
Loki and the other Norse gods also realized what was happening.
“Is that him?” Tyr asked excitedly.
“I told you he would come!” Loki shouted to Freyja, while the goddess watched with equal excitement.
Anat’s wound healed quickly, but she was forced to turn around.
Before her stood an elderly man with a patch over his right eye and an extremely long beard.
His helmet was golden and bore an eagle upon it. On his shoulder armor two raven sculptures were carved, and he wore a great green cloak with golden patterns. Two wolves walked beside him, while two ravens circled above—though they were merely illusions created by his divine power. The man held his spear aimed at Anat: a spear made of pure gold.
“As you surely know, Anat,” the man said calmly, “my spear, Gungnir, never misses its mark.”
Anat looked at him with furious eyes.
“Fa… Father Odin!” Thor shouted with excitement, tears nearly forming in his eyes.
“Save the crying for the weak, Thor,” Odin said with a stern expression. “Now step aside. I shall deal with this cheap whore of Lel myself.”