The Wild Hunt III

Given the severity of the circumstances regarding the, although unclear if supernatural, death of a relative, Irwin thought it wise to at least gather further intelligence about the demise of other Greythornes living in the new world.

As such, Irwin had taken it upon himself to call his vessel's father, Archibald Greythorne. The last time he had talked to the man, they had traversed past the Indian subcontinent and had made their way to Central Asia. Apparently, a few Austrian friends of his had made the third-world countries their base of operation.

"No luck?" Garth asked, popping a handful of skittle in his mouth.

"Nope. When I need him, he doesn't answer, but when I'm in the damn shower…" Irwin groaned, placing down his phone after having called continuously for the past hour.

"We're out of ice!" Yelled out Gordon as he sat on the room's balcony overlooking the vast skyline of the sleepless city. "Damn, Rich. There are some fine bombshells near the pool. You ought to put us in more hotels like these."

Irwin snickered at Gordon's drunk antics. "I'm gonna get the ice. Garth, make sure he doesn't jump into the pool below."

"Hey, I'm just one man!" Garth protested futilely.

Leaving the cool air of the room, Irwin traversed the beige hallway, patterned with Mandela flowers and yellow rustic paint. He chuckled at the thought of the noughties' fashion; the uncut jeans, low crop top, and…

"Fucking Justin Timberlake's afro!" He muttered, shuddering at the cringe celebrity.

At last, he ended up on the ice machine next to a set of French windows that overlooked the skyscrapers and the famous rectangular park that made this its home. It was quite a spectacular view, being so high up in the sky.

He thought of a story, a fable to be exact. Of the wonders of high heaven, and the danger of building structures this high. A blasphemy of the highest order.

"Sometimes it feels like … men aren't supposed to build this high." 

"I had once decreed; Men aren't supposed to build this high."

He was startled by his garbled echo, like a clap of thunder in the empty halls. For a second, he felt silly, having been scared of a mere acoustic reflection, but soon, footfalls resounded behind him. And his echo spoke once more.

"Then again, I expected disobedience in my absence."

With trepidation and vigilance, he hastily faced the voice, leaping away with his back against the doors of the elevator.

With a vicious grin and Ray-ban shades with the tag still on the bridge, a large hefty man towered over the halls of the hotel. His clothing colorfully contrasts those of the walls that barely fit his muscular body. Black leather boots, black pants, black belt with an insignia of a crow, and black fingerless gloves, the man could have been a goth if not for the dark well-worn leather jacket sprinkled with battle cuts and bone spikes that hung over his bare hirsute chest.

The man had shoulder-length jet-black hair, an eyepatch covering his right eye, and a glimmering sword at the back of his leather jacket. His long bushy beard stood still as a monolith.

A name sewed over his position appeared on the left side of his leather jacket, as if protecting his heart. It read:

Woden

–President–

Seeing the name, Irwin could not help but curse his rotten luck. "Motherfucker!" He rubbed his temple before placing another hand in front of him. "Look, I didn't do shit to you, Odin. Why are you here?"

Woden smiled. His teeth, if not missing, were rotten and yellowed. "Face judgment, like your kin before you!"

His voice peeled like thunder, his tone domineering and brook no argument as if he were a judge of all. He was, at least, in his realm.

"This is not your realm, Odin. Begone, for there are forces more powerful than you that are invested in my survival." He warned. A bluff if there was one.

"You scare me not, witch blood." Woden strode closer, his body looming ever so bigger as he drew nearer. "800 years… I will have my revenge."

The surrounding space was limited, the two of them, if they were to fight, and they would, would be constricted to minute movements and a fistfight. A fact he ought to take advantage of, given that he was currently armless.

Seeing that he was fighting a pagan god, Irwin thought it best to make the first move.

He pressed the down button on the elevator whilst grabbing the bag of ice and began pelting it at the son of Borr. To buy time, of course, and it wouldn't hurt to see such a famous god get angry at ice.

As if responding to his thoughts, Woden paid the crystal fragments no heed and rushed forward. Like a raging bull in Pamplona, he gave no quarter for his enemy to dodge, not that he could, and bore all his weight and force onto his opponent's torso.

Irwin's body felt the agony of a broken man. His heart began pumping as fast as it could, just so he wouldn't lose consciousness.

The metallic frame of the elevator bent inwards, unable to bear both Irwin's and Woden's body.

With his dashing hopes down, Irwin grabbed onto Woden's bigger frame, latching himself on his thick neck and shoulder. Having a firm grip upon Woden, Irwin launched multiple knee strikes wherever he could on the former's torso.

Woden did not take this kindly, his left hand placing powerful kidney shots while right wrestling out Irwin's tight grip.

The two conjoined warriors moved back and forth within the, not at all, spacious hall landing, when Woden saw the French windows and admired its installation.

In fact, he wanted one in the halls of Asgard and to have a carriage of windows for Sleipner. But a better thought struck his mind, carrying Irwin like a toddler in a tantrum. He rushed forward and slammed his foe into the glass window.

The windows, expectantly, broke outwards from the sheer power behind the crash. Having lost his footing by the unexpected fragility of the glass, Woden essentially defenestrated himself out of the hotel.

Noticing them falling out of the sky, Irwin loosen his grip on Woden's neck, lined his feet together and gave the Allfather a powerful kick, using the force to launch himself away from his opponent.

The end of the freefall did not take long for Irwin. Having moved away from his original position had caused his fall to break into the balcony pool not 5 stories away from his floor.

Water filled his lungs, the sudden pressure nearly popping his ears as the weight of his body slapped into the surface of the pool. As the pain passed, the sterilizing effect of the cold water refreshed Irwin's body as he swam out of the pool.

As he broke the surface, the echoes of surprise and murmurs of relief filled his water-clogged ears. 

"Oh, my god!"

"Fuck, he's alive."

"Did he try to kill himself?"

"The other guy's gone!"

Catching his breath at the edge of the pool, Irwin could not help but curse whomever screwed over Woden eight hundred years ago.

To think that he would have to suffer the wrath of this version of the king of gods. "Draugadróttinn." He muttered with a shaky grin, remembering his vessel's colorful middle years.

"Hey, Richard!" Yelled Gordon, high up above the balcony. "You alright?"

Irwin gave a boisterous laugh, startling the concerned pool-goers, and gave a big thumbs-up.

Soon, Irwin was helped by the hotel staff up to his own room, after waving away the ambulance and signing a few waivers regarding the hotel's responsibility for his accident. They stopped bothering him after Irwin said that he'll pay for the damages.

Gordon and Garth let him rest for a while, seeing the slowly closing wounds on his shoulder and back, opting to enjoy their time in the hotel instead of playing nurse. It was mostly Gordon's idea.

Two hours later. Irwin had rested well, his wounds, though still visible, had closed-up, merely needing to wash the blood away.

And he did so, sinking deep into the warm, bubbly bathtub.

Although Irwin had yet to personally enjoy the amenities brought to him by his new and improved socio-financial status; other than the first-class airplane tickets, the luxury cars, luxury food, luxury hotel, tons of ammo and weapons, and the forty-million-dollar investment by Archibald, what he learnt from his time in the Hilton was that all luxury, no matter how high he was in the sky, boils down to relaxation.

And, right now, this bubble heaven is the ultimate relaxation.

After his little siesta, he called for the two hunters. Garth entered right away, halting his viewing of The Pink Panther; Gordon, on the other hand, took another hour before returning with a loose shirt and red lipstick on his neck.

Irwin told them all about the events that had transpired. His conjecture regarding his assailant and his plans for the next half an hour. After doing so, he began taking questions from his audience.

"Odin?" Garth asked, disbelieving of the whole situation.

"What the fuck!" Gordon's was not really a question.

Irwin chuckled, but proceeded nonetheless. "Since you're all so understanding, let's continue: Woden is after the Greythornes. We already confirm one kill. We need to find out why he's targeting Greythornes and if there are other Greythornes in the vicinity."