(Oc Snippet) - Record of Ragnarok
The council hall buzzed with an electric tension as the Council of Valhalla convened, a gathering that felt reminiscent of their last momentous meeting when Hercules ascended to godhood years ago. Amidst the animated discussions, one figure sat apart, her presence a stark contrast to the surrounding activity—bored and yearning to return to her eternal duty.
This individual was no ordinary being, but the very manifestation of Death itself. Ageless and profound, she had existed since the very concept of mortality first flickered into existence. Across the expansive hall, her counterpart Life sat—two primordial forces once inseparable, now drifting apart like distant memories. While Life remained endlessly absorbed in creating new existence, Death had become the meticulous guide of souls, gently shepherding them through their transitions with unwavering compassion.
The divine pantheon held mixed sentiments about these fundamental forces. Many gods lavished praise upon Life, yet fewer extended the same reverence to Death. The various deities of life and death continued their intricate dance, working in silent harmony—seemingly unbothered by the curious fact that these cosmic incarnations appeared as mere teenagers.
Death's form was a study in contrasts: obsidian black hair cascading to her shoulders, its tips bone-white, framing eyes that could shift colors at will. She typically chose a dark blue hue flecked with starlike specks—a palette designed to soothe the souls she guided. Her attire spoke of historical epochs, and her legendary scythe remained focused, its point a testament to her precision.
Idly, her finger traced the ethereal form of a bird's soul perched delicately before her. "Why do they persist?" she murmured, a hint of weary amusement in her tone. "Their conclusions remain unchanged—humanity granted another year of existence."
Her contemplative moment belied a deeper complexity. Before this council meeting, both Brunnhilde and Goll had sought her counsel—an unusual occurrence that piqued her interest. To Goll, who held a special place in her immortal heart as the first being to truly captivate her, she had spoken with remarkable candor: 'I don't hate humankind. Yes, some souls have been so irredeemable that they've disgusted even me. But there's been such profound goodness too. Souls cannot lie to me, after all.'
The sound of a gavel echoed throughout the hall, signaling everyone to start quieting down. Death's eyes locked onto the center of the room where Hermes stood beside Zeus's throne-like chair—the leader of the gods, though to Death and Life, Zeus was still a child, mostly because he acted like one.
"Now then, everyone, 1,000 years have already passed since the last session," Zeus spoke, his voice old and frail yet commanding enough to silence the remaining murmurs. "Let us commence our meeting. The Council on the Fate of Mankind, attended by all the gods of the world."
Death rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. She already knew what this was going to be about—gods being repetitive, likely to choose the same path as always. But when she glanced at Life across the hall, something caught her attention. Life appeared unusually serious, as if something significant was at stake. Death sensed there were clues she hadn't yet fully pieced together.
"The question is," Zeus continued, "Do we allow mankind to continue to exist for the next 1,000 years, or do we bring their existence to an end? Gods and Goddesses, make your opinions known."
Two sticks materialized on either side of her chair—one marked with a red x to vote for humanity's destruction, the other a blue circle for continued existence. Unamused, Death casually tossed the red x away, expecting the other gods to ultimately choose the blue circle.
"Here's what I think," a voice announced from far to her left. Death turned, her eyes widening as she saw Shiva, the Indian God of Destruction, holding up two red x's. "They should be wiped out. I've watched them these last 1,000 years, and they have zero intention of reforming. Let's demolish the whole lot of them."
'Okay... while I can see his point of view, I probably shouldn't be surprised that Shiva wants to destroy them,' Death sighed internally. Perhaps he was just an outlier.
"Yes, you are quite right, Shiva," Aphrodite agreed, causing Death to whip her head around in surprise. Though she immediately looked away—Aphrodite's appearance was hardly worth prolonged attention.
"These past 1,000 years, the world has become increasingly unpleasant," Aphrodite continued. "The oceans are filled with trash and oil, the forests are dying out, and creatures continue to go extinct. You could even say mankind itself is a calamity that is annihilating all living things on the face of the earth."
Death cringed. The points were valid, but she knew the nuance they were missing. If they erased all of humanity, the truly good souls would vanish too—and she had guided countless souls who had expressed genuine remorse and who had shown the capacity for profound reflection and change.
The next red x was raised by the last person she expected: Life itself.
"At the time when I created humanity," Life declared, "I had hoped they would remain as peaceful as they were in the beginning. Now, all I see are parasites who have destroyed many of my own creations. I've had enough. They never should have been made."
Life glanced across the hall at Death, clearly expecting her to side with the other life gods. Instead, Death looked away, her disappointment palpable—missing the shock of fury building on Life's face.
One by one, other gods began agreeing with the first three, red x's rising again and again. Soon, that was all Death could see. A few gods remained silent, too afraid to vote, but she was the only one who raised the blue circle. With the votes stacked heavily against her, her protest felt futile.
"Wait!"
The shout was so loud and sudden that it caught Death completely off guard. She turned her head, her seat positioned near the stairs at the top of the hall, to see Brunnhilde and Goll standing in the doorway. The unexpected interruption froze Zeus mid-sentence, his gavel suspended in midair.
Brunnhilde stood with unwavering confidence, her presence commanding the attention of every divine being in the hall. In stark contrast, Goll trembled beside her, fear and nervousness radiating from his very being. Sensing Goll's discomfort, Death rose from her chair and moved to stand with them, her presence offering a subtle reassurance that seemed to calm the anxious Valkyrie.
"What are you thinking, Brunnhilde?" Death whispered, her tone a mix of curiosity and desperate hope. "Please let it be something that can change their decision."
Brunnhilde didn't respond verbally, but the mischievous glint in her eyes spoke volumes. Death recognized that look—it was the same one she'd seen during an earlier, private conversation. Something was brewing, a plan that had been carefully crafted in advance.
As the entire council watched in stunned silence, Brunnhilde squared her shoulders and addressed the gathered gods and goddesses. "With all due respect," she began, her voice clear and resolute, "I have an objection."