How To Train Your Raven - Complete Story Thread

[The BombTrax]

Hi All,

This thread is a CD project I worked on while I was running Valor Pro Wrestling just for shits and giggles that tells a little of the back story for the current story arch I'm trying to tell here in CD, Devil Is In The Details.  This has nothing particularly to do with IPW, or their wrestling careers in general, but does give some context to what they are doing now CD.  

This collects the complete collection of the 'How To Train Your Raven' story arch, Featuring Press, Youth, Munin, and Samedi written in July of 2019 to September of 2019.

Hope you enjoy, and if you don't choose to read I completely understand.  

[The BombTrax]

---

THE SWAMP THING
BAYOU COUNTRY, LOUISIANA

It’s a dank humid night in the Louisiana Bayou, but most nights are this time of year. Heat lightening can be seen streaking across the sky to the near south, and with every flash yellow eyes peer out from all the hidey holes that exist in the swamp. The insects almost seem to sing a chorus along with the bass of the frogs, and from time to time the sudden slosh of something big moving in the water causes everything to stop like a CD skip on a compact disc player, but only for a moment.

A 1982 Red Chevrolet Blazer with white trim sits parked dead center of the dirt road that was pushed up out of the swamp sometime in the thirties to bisect this portion of the Bayou.  It has deep mud lines thrown up it’s sides and has seen its better days, but still somehow gets the job done. It seems out of place in this unforgiving setting, a reminder that there are some areas of nature that aren’t an invitation to man.

Suddenly, somewhere out in the darkness, there is a roar followed by the sound of an impact. A whistling sound breaks through the symphony of the swamp, and with a meteor like crash something, or someone, blasts clear through the roof of the Blazer, bisecting the vehicle in half and only being stopped by the frame. Leg’s protrude from where the front door and back door once met, now bent inwards on themselves to make room for this new mass.

Press starts to lift forward, but then falls back into the now ruined vinyl roof resting on seat cushions and sighs heavily. He’s covered in muck, blood, and dirty water drips all around him. In either hand are the ends of the shotgun he was carrying, cloven clean in half by something with powerful jaws. He shakes his head in disdain as he tosses the two ends to the side to join the rest of the wreckage, huffing as he grips the battered doors and pulls himself into a seated position.

That pisses him off. That was his favorite shotgun.

His back and shoulders ache as his feet touch solid ground again, and just as they do he catches glimpse of the tree pushing out of the murky water in front of him beginning to shake. Suddenly they split completely apart, and a creature steps between them that very much resembles the comic book ‘Swamp Thing’. Its skin is like bark, it’s eyes glowing green as the moss that covers everything in this area of the world, and it’s arms and legs are like tree limbs with roots at their ends for fingers and toes. 

It roars in Press’ direction from a huge open maw with jagged teeth protruding up like the ends of broken stumps. The God Touched can feel the heat emanating from its breath, and seconds later the spores found within it produce a wracking cough.

The beast trudges forwards through the water, a singular path towards the compromised man. Press tries to regain some level of composure, but the spores do their job, keeping him unable to focus or react.

Just as the giant beast, nearly twelve feet tall and half as big around, reaches the edge of the muddy road it already has both tree trunk like arms lifted over head for an attack. He brings both tree-arms down at the same time to crush it’s enemy, roaring loudly all the while.

A bright flash of purple burn’s his eyes as he continues to cough, but he can hear the beasts roar change from rage to one of confusion. When his eyes finally come back into focus, he sees that the purple is some sort of forcefield, and the monster has been knocked back a step staring at it’s own singed hands.

Off to the side Samedi, the owner of The Emporium on Bourbon Street by day, Voodoo Shaman at night, steps up beside the Blazer, the top of his misshapen staff burning a purple even brighter than the field separating them from the monster.

With the Swamp Thing temporarily distracted, the priest spares the big man a glance. “You planning on doing someting to dat ting, or are we gonna do dis dance all night!”

He says the last while tossing a flask into Press’ lap, and the big man quickly uncorks it between a coughing fit and takes a deep swig. Immediately the wracking cough comes to a stop, and Press can feel new energy coming back into his muscles and bones. He wipes his mouth while corking the flask back and looks up at Samedi in a disgruntled fashion.

“Thing broke my fucking shotgun…oh yeah, where’s the kid?”

As if on cue a high pitched war cry goes up into the night sky, and the Swamp Thing looks in that direction just in time to catch a Leaping Jump Kick by a younger man dressed in black jeans, a black wife beater, and a pair of half-calf leather cowboy boots. One of those boots strikes the creature square in it’s face, maybe…if that is its face (?), and it falls back a step in surprise. 

As soon as Youth, Press’ partner in crime and the yin to his yang, is centered, he moves into the creature’s space, firing off piston like lefts and rights directly into its center mass. The entire scene looks comical, and Press can just imagine Youth in a karate Gi, practicing his skills at Cobra Kai.

The comedy quickly comes to an end, however, when the creature takes one if it’s trunk like arms and swipes it in front of itself, clipping the retreating Youth on his shoulder and sending him spinning like a top before striking the ground. With a roar it steps forwards, raising it’s massive leg and hovering it right over the young man’s skull.

Press mutters curses as he grips the sides of the Blazer and thrusts himself forwards into a trot, passing through the purple field which dissipates when he does. Just as the creature begins to bring his leg down to finish the job, Press launches himself into a dive that catches the creature in the midsection like a spear.

The two behemoths tumble into the drink, sending splashes every which a way as the water churns and froths. After a moment the water finally comes to a calm, and Samedi peers into the dark liquid in concern as he helps Youth up to his feet. Both men search for any sign of their compatriot, when suddenly bubbles come rushing up to the surface followed by Press’ head. 

The big man heaves himself back up and out onto the mud road, spitting and sputtering swamp water out onto the ground. Both men grab him on either side and help him to his feet before all three turn to look back at the water.

Just then a tree trunk like arm springs forth from the swampy refuge to strike Press right under the chin like an uppercut. The blow sends him sailing backwards as the hulking creature pushes the rest of itself back up on the shore, his unnatural green eyes burning even hotter than before. Youth’s right hand flashes down to a SIG Pro semi-automatic pistol hanging from his hip and yanks it free, firing six shots into the body of the Swamp Thing just before it manages to knock the gun to the side. Bullets plop across the water as the gun still fires despite not having a target, while green ooze flows freely out of the monster where it was hit.

With a roar it plants its other root-like hand into Youth’s chest, lifting him up above his head as if he weighed nothing. Before he can follow up from this movement, Samedi swings his staff while speaking a word of power, striking the creature low on its trunk.  When the wood meets wood there is a neon yellow flash, and the monster lets out more of a scream than a roar, dropping Youth to splash down into the water behind it. When Samedi pulls his staff back, there is a withering blight that appears to be crawling through the spot where he struck the creature.

Press, who has managed to get back to his feet, watches as the blight carves out a hole in the center of the Swamp Thing, and he calls out a warning while reaching into his vest pocket and producing a grenade.

“Bones! Hit the deck!”

Samedi chances a glance back to see what’s happening, and his eyes go wide when he sees the big man pull the pin and pitch the grenade right for the thing. The priest dives to the side as the grenade lands perfectly in the blight created hole, but instead of blasting, it ignites, the entire area of the wound going up in fire. The flame seems to take on a mind of its own inside the creature, crawling and licking through its interior until it is completely engulfed, letting out an open mawed bellow that ends with flames shooting from its mouth.

The ground beneath them rumbles just before the Swamp Thing explodes, sending flaming splinters in every direction and sprays the area in green liquid. The only remaining part of the monster, it’s tree trunk legs, slowly slump down into the water to float away.

Press breathes a sigh of relief while Samedi wipes his brow. Youth stands up, covered in the green mess, tendrils of wood hanging from his hair, and altogether disheveled. He stares down at himself in shock, and then looks past the priest to his partner with an annoyed expression.

“Dude….what the fuck?”

---

THE CAR
HIGHWAY 1

The three men walk down the mud road for two miles enveloped by the sounds of the Bayou. None of them speak as they go, each one processing exactly what they had encountered and the part that they played in it. The Blazer was a mess, and Sam said it would be better just to push it into the swamp rather than try and salvage anything from it, so that’s what they did. He made sure to grab his bag of spell components from the back hatch before it disappeared into the murky water.

By the time they reached the paved road it was well into the morning, and clouds had started to form overhead along with a thick fog that rolled in from across the water. Press made his way directly for a patch of what looked like overgrown foliage, but when he peeled the shrubbery back revealed his Classic White 1966 Pontiac Tempest.

This thing would need a good wash he thought as he opens the door and slips into the driver’s seat. Youth was doing the same on the other side, but he pauses to pull the passenger seat forward so that Sam could get into the back. When the priest doesn’t immediately follow, he turns to find that his companion was staring off further down the road, eyes glazed over and distant. 

Youth follows his gaze to the same area and spots a murder of crows fluttering and hopping along the pavement. The wind slightly shifts, pushing his still damp long hair into his face, and when he moves it to the side with his free hand he watches as the crows all take off as one. He’s stuck in amazement as their flight pattern seems to create the image of a giant raven that quickly dissolves as the birds go off in separate directions.

There is a low grumble under Samedi’s breath as he turns and slips past Youth into the backseat. The younger man watches the spot where the crows had been for another moment, and then follows suit.

As Press fires up the engine, he looks at his partner on his right, and then up into the rear-view at the priest. Their grim expressions give him pause just as he’s about to put the car into gear.

“You alright, Sam?”

The shaman casts a bloodshot eye into the mirror, and his expression seems to turn terse at being questioned. “We need to get back to the bar…”

Seeing that there was going to be no further answers, Press shrugs, pushes the shifter into first, and heads out onto the open road.

---

THE EMPORIUM

NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

The Pontiac pulls into one of the spaces just in front of The Emporium just as the first rays of morning light pushes its way up past the horizon. The three men drag themselves from the car, but Samedi seems more energized. More purposed. 

He quickly steps up to the front door of the bar with his keys only to find that the door is already ajar. He sends a strange look back to the two men as they approach, a mixture of dread, panic, and excitement just before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

Youth looks over his shoulder at Press whose face goes grim, and he shrugs before following Samedi inside. 

The Big Man stares at the open portal and the scent of lilac and honey is carried faintly on the breeze, and aroma that seems familiar to him, but is just outside of his minds eye. Finally, with a huff, he trudges forwards into the doorway and damn near plows over Youth and Sam.

He’s about to start a complaint when he pauses, looking at their shocked expressions, and following their gaze to across the room at the female sitting at the bar. She’s a slip of a thing, really. About five foot four, slender exposed shoulders save for the spaghetti straps that help hold up a black dress. Smooth legs peak out from under the short hem, the right crossed over the other so that the toe of her spiked heel can tap in the air. Her skin is bronzed, almond shaped eyes slightly large for her face, and when she reaches up manicured nails to rake her raven black hair out of her face, she exposes the twinkle within them.

Red lips part from glistening white teeth, and Lady Munin says in a throaty voice, “Took you boys long enough…”

Youth beams a grin in her direction just before rushing headlong right at her, knocking the woman right off the stool and sweeping her up in a hug. Despite her usually cool demeanor, the woman can’t help but laugh, and when she does it sounds like tinkling bells in Press’ ears.

Youth sets her down, continuing to grin stupidly, and she puts her hands on his shoulders to give them a little separation.

“It’s good to see you, Nin.” He says earnestly, and she finds her smile starting to match his own as the two share that moment of old friends becoming reacquainted. 

She gently nudges him to the side and he turns that grin back towards his partner, but what he sees there causes his face to go slack. Samedi looks over his shoulder at the big man, knowing eyes searching Press’ face for some indication of intent and doing his best to impart a calming message into his skull. Finally, he looks back to Lady Munin, and casts her a skeletal grin before ambling over to greet her with his own hug.

“It’s been some time, my Lady…”

“That it has, Sam.” She replies, clutching the older man close to her for long moments before pushing him back to peer into his eyes. The two become somber for a moment, and then they both laugh, embracing once more like best friends.

Once their moment has passed, Sam gives her a raised eyebrow before stepping out of the way so that she has a clear path towards the big man.

Munin and Press stare across the room at one another with neutral expression for long moments, the tension in the room rising to palpable levels. Neither offers to take the first step towards the other. Neither knew what the other was thinking, going to do, or even feeling. All that was clear that there was something passing between them, something unspoken, something unheard. Something primal.

The seconds tic by on the old wall clock hanging beside the steps leading up to the next floor, and it chimes to signify that dawn had come. The noise seems to wake the two up from their silence, and Press folds his arms over his chest as he regards the woman.

“What do you want?”

Munin licks her lips at the same time her nose curls, as if she had just taken in an odor that was unpleasant, and her eyes sparkle just as she speaks.

“I need your help. I want to get back into the ring...”

Samedi rolls his eyes and whistles. Youth lets out a overly dramatic gasp. Press’ eyes narrow to the point of slits. And somewhere out in the heavens, the crow caws.

---

…. To Be Continued!

[The BombTrax]

---

PURE AMUSEMENT ARENA
PURITY, LOUISIANA
EARLY AUGUST...

When they first stepped into the ring together there was a little ring rust.  She hadn't been an active competitor in over five years but she had kept herself in good shape.  After being back among The BombTrax she fell into a rhythm, a place she had once felt at home in but now was a visitor.  Little by little, however, the motions and actions became more and more familiar, and after a full month and a half of training everyday with the two men she was now back to being a credible threat.  She was never going to be a powerhouse, but she had her own type of strength.  Quick as a snake, reflexive as a cat, wily like a fox, she could deftly avoid danger, and if it did find her, she could wriggle her way out of it.  Her only real weakness was blunt force trauma, which she found out quite readily from the start.

She had been working with Youth most days in the beginning, getting her speed back up, getting used to taking the lumps that come along with striking the mat.  After awhile she pointed out that she would eventually need training from Press as well.  Not all of her opponents would be as lithe as The Flash and she wanted the whole of their experience.  Press, being six foot eleven and tipping the scales at three-hundred-and-sixty-five pounds and her being five foot three and one-hundred-twenty-five pounds didn't sit well with the big man.  Youth, on the other hand, agreed with Munin, and between the two of them and the occasional goading by Samedi when he was at the sessions, he finally agreed.

After that they were in the ring most of the time together.  Press would push her hard during their workouts on the various equipment left over from the days when PAW was a regular promotion in the now abandoned amusement park.  Munin took the workouts in stride, though she could feel the surge of competition returning to her body.  She wasn't just working out to keep off the pounds.  She was getting into fighting shape, and there was a distinct difference.  When it came to the sparring, at first, Press held back and she knew it.  She called him out on it and so did Youth.  This time peer pressure didn't seem to make that much of a difference, as he just couldn't bring himself to really put the woman in any danger.  It was an admirable sentiment, but it didn't help her here.  She knew she was going to have to push the point, which probably meant pressing the big man's buttons.

After a week of the continued 'safe' routine, Munin and Press were in the ring together when she deftly side stepped a half attempt by him at a lariat, and drove her boot into the side of his knee that twisted it enough to drop him to it.  Now at eye level, she fell back a step and hammered him with multiple shoot kicks that seemed to have little effect but were doing their job in annoying him.  He slowly rose and put his meaty hand out to bat her leg away while using the other to give her an unceremonious shove.  It wasn't enough to knock her down, but forceful enough to send the message that enough was enough.  Only this time, this day, Munin refused the message.  Instead she pressed back in on the attack, one-two combinations to his midsection, which admittedly didn't budge against her strikes.  But this was just a distraction for what came next, which was a step to his hip up into an uppercut that came so suddenly and abruptly that it broke his defenses and sent him staggering back with a bloody nose.  

She had planned on pressing the attack further, but the fist that came sailing at her in response knocked her clear across the ring to land in a heap.  When she managed to look up from the mat through her dark hair which had come clear out of it's pony tail to cascade in front of her face, she saw the look of shock, dismay, and apology on Press' face.  She knew if she left him in that frame of mind she'd never get what she wanted out of him, so she forced herself up, despite seeing black dots at the corner of her eyes, and motioned she was ready for more.  The Big Man's emotions fell as he watched the display, and from that moment forward he never held back on her again.

But in this moment, she was starting to regret that decision.  The summer sun had been shining nearly non-stop all summer, heating up the Pure Amusement Arena in the center of the abandoned park.  Heat was visibly rising off the pavement outside, but in here the air was a stifling mix of dust and sweat.  Add in the calisthenics of sparring with the trauma that happened when you got hit or spiked off the mat, and Munin was damn near hating every decision she had ever made up to this point.  A bead of sweat went astray from her hairline and cut dead center of her eyes to drip off the end of her nose, and she ran her taped fist across her forehead to try and prevent anymore from getting into her eyes.  She stared across the ring at a monster made of bulge and muscle and the knowledge of how to use all of it to hurt you.  On top of all that, he was deceptively fast in his own right, though it looked more like a locomotive building up speed than the zero to sixty his partner could elicit.

He stared across the ring at her, cracking his knuckles, nursing a busted lip from a roundhouse kick he had accepted earlier.  It had given him the chance to get hold of her, and despite her efforts she couldn't stop him from sending her slamming into the canvas.  She had come up as quick as she could to avoid the leg he tried to drop across her throat moments later, and now they were in a stand off on opposite sides of the ring.

With a roar he charged right at her and for a moment she felt her feet frozen to the mat like concrete.  She had faced all manner of opponents in her lineage as a professional wrestler and stared down even bigger monsters outside of the ring, yet nothing could really prepare you for the man coming right at her and closing the gap fast!  About the same time she found her feet working again was the same time his right foot began to raise off the canvas, and she knew exactly what he was trying to do and exactly what it would do to her if he landed it.  His Sudden Stop running big boot had been used to set up his Press Release Powerbomb his entire run as the PAW Champion, and she had been the one to write the checks to cover the damage after he hit one.

Knowing her very fate might depend on it, Lady Munin dives forward, tucking her head in the process which allows her body to drop low so that she hits the mat with her shoulder and commits to a roll that puts her deftly under the boot that was aimed right at her head.  Press, being as large as he is, can't stop his momentum, so as he continues forward she rolls past and up to her feet behind him.  He does manage to lower the boot and come to a stop before striking the turnbuckle, and by the time she's charging back at him he's already spun to face her.  

But it's too late...

And he knows it.

Instead of going straight ahead she jukes to her right, then back to her left into a short jump that puts her on the second rope which allows her to springboard back the other way as she brings her knee to strike across his face.  It's enough impact to knock the big man off balance, and as she lands beside him, she whips hard back to her left and hops up to extend her elbow so that it strikes him square in the nose.  This time he falls back into the corner but bounces immediately back out, and Munin is already spinning back to her right, dropping low, and using her legs to tangle him up with a Drop Toe Hold that sends him stumbling down to the canvas onto his face.  She spins around to end up at the front end of his body while simutaniously getting hold of his arm and swings herself around until he's locked into a painful arm bar.

She realizes she probably looks like a Chihuahua trying to tackle a grizzly bear, but she doesn't care.  Instead, instinct kicks in, and she thrusts her pelvis into his elbow joint and tries to hyper-extend his arm.  He roars in defiance, getting his knee's under him and actually lifts her right off the canvas all in one motion.  "He's just too big," she thinks, even as she is flung around in the air while still essentially riding his arm.  

Youth can be heard snickering just outside the ring where he leans against the ring post with his arms crossed.  "Looks like Munin's the flame, and you're trying to put her out..."

"She's breaking my arm, you ass!" Press seethes as he continues to thrash around.

Munin's hair whips all around her, and for just a moment, she thinks "This is kind of fun.  Like one of the old amusement rides.." When she's suddenly lifted so that she's straight up in the air, and then driven right down to slam off the mat.

The sudden impact causes her to let loose of the hold but Press is winded after the exchange, and before he can move to get away from her she latches right back on for more of the same.  He roars again, this time a little weaker, as he searches for some way to get this Harpy off of him.  Munin lets out a roar of her own as she wrenches back, and though not quite as impressive, she's still proud of her self.  Press rolls suddenly up so that her shoulders are pressed into the mat with her knees digging into her chest, but still she has his arm compromised.  He comes to a point where they are nearly face to face, their eyes locking.  She is completely in the moment, pushing with all her might to get him off of her and still cause the arm damage, when she shockingly realizes there's something else in his eyes as he pierces down at her.  

Something that makes her feel disagreeable and oddly comfortable all at the same time.  She can feel some hidden part of her stir and begin to retreat in on itself, like a snake devouring its tail.  He's so close now, crushing weight on top of her, that she can smell his breath and it wreaks of cigarettes and whiskey, and though she could do without the cigarettes, it is also hot and humid just like Louisiana, and Lord how she loves Louisiana.  She can't figure out what that pounding is in her head until she realizes it's her heart, and it feels as if it's move into her throat while the place it should be continues to sink in on itself.

And just when it feels like she may submit herself, despite not being in a submission hold, she feels a large hand rest against her thigh and the thick fingers tap gently three times.  She releases her hold on the arm immediately and Press falls back to land on his back, his hand grabbing at the elbow joint as he lies on his side and kicks at the mat to try and block out the pain currently sending bolts of lightening up his shoulders.  Munin lets her head sink back into the hard canvas and stares up at the ceiling, thinking that if she were to open the park back up as a wrestling museum she would have to get someone to fix those rafters.

On the outside Youth watches both of his friends lie on the mat and lets out a low whistle that neither of them acknowledge.  After that he chuckles before rolling into the ring to stand over Munin to offer her a hand.  She looks up at the young man who appears as a dark silhouette against the lights hanging over the ring, and offers a weak smile before reaching up to take the gesture.  He hoists her up onto her feet, and it's just then that she realizes how tired she is and how every muscle aches, but especially the spot on her midsection where Press had tagged her with a right hand from earlier before. 

Press looks up from his position on his side comically, and groans, "Oh yeah, help her up why don't you?  Leave me down here to die."

Youth laughs now, and Munin finds herself smiling despite the fact that it feels like her chest is slowly expanding to the shape it is supposed to be.

"Oh shut up, you big oaf.  How you gonna let her put you down in a bear trap?" He says while grabbing Press under the arm and pulling hilariously on the man in order to try and hoist his much larger frame.

"Hey" she responds playfully, letting out a chuckle of her own as she grabs the top rope to lean against it.

Once Press has his own set of ropes to lean against, Youth shrugs his shoulders and sends a sheepish smile in Munin's direction.  "I'm just stating the obvious.  There for a minute I thought he was going to literally take your head off, and then...BOOM...he's all tangled up.  Nice work, Nin!"

Munin returns the smile as she sits down on the middle rope feeling more like herself.  She glances over at the big man under dark lashes and he returns her gaze for just a moment, before flashing a smile of his own.  She doesn't show it outwardly, but somewhere on the inside there is a sigh of a relief.  A sight that says they're going to be ok.  They don't have to explore those feelings.  She has too much on her plate right now anyways, and has her own goals to explore without muddying them up.

Press pushes off the rope, still favoring his arm, and nods towards the entrance where the PAW logo is half falling down onto the stage.  "I think I'm going to get a shower and head to Sam's.  You're buying tonight."

As he slips past her and through the ropes she rolls her eyes and lets out a mock exasperated tinkling laugh.  "I'm always buying..."

"Least you can do," he replies over his shoulder as he ambles towards the backstage area.  "I mean, you did nearly take my arm out of its socket."

She watches him disappear around the corner and turns her gaze back to Youth who stares at her thoughtfully with his arms once again crossed over his chest.  Her eyes narrow comically into a V, before stating flatly, "What?"

Youth's grin could light up a room and when it was aimed at her it was no different.  She found her bravado melting as he skipped over and booped her on the nose followed by a wink.  

"I didn't say nothing..."

---

ABANONDED CAR PARK

LOWER NINTH WARD

NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA
A FEW DAYS LATER

Bullets soar past the opening in the wall where both Press and Youth press their bodies flat on either side of it.  Following the hail of bullets came the chittering insults of Goblins in their guttural language.  The two men exchange a glance and Youth watches as Press' face turns hard like steel just before he spins out into the opening and fires three return shots in the opposite direction from his S&W XVR 460 Magnum.  The large hand cannon barks out into the night like thunder across the sky and the Goblin insults are replaced by screams as they duck and dive to find their own cover.  He quickly slides back into position with his back to the wall as Youth sneaks a peak past his corner with a chuckle.

"That got their attention..."

"Always does.  Fucking cowards."

Youth settles back against the wall, holding two fifty caliber Dessert Eagles at either of his sides, which looks comical in the hands of someone so thin.  He lets out a sigh, and lolls his head to his right to comment to his partner.

"She's doing pretty good, right?"

Press looked to his left quizzically, "Who?"

"Munin, you idiot."

"Really?  You want to talk about this now?"

Two more shots rang out from the Goblin's side of things and this time it's followed by a wart, wart, wart sound.  The Goblins were laughing at them.

Press, fuming, swings back around the opening and fires three more shots and this time a wet splattering sound rings down the corridor and something hits the ground hard enough to echo.  The big man has just enough time to slip back around the corner before bullets start ricocheting off the cement where he just disappeared out of view.

He begins emptying the shells from the six shooter as Youth eyes him.  "Come on, dude.  This is just a Tuesday for us.  Don't avoid the subject."

Press mumbles something to himself while he shakes his head in annoyance, popping six more bullets to replace the ones he fired.  He turns a disgruntled gaze back at his partner.  "Yes, she's doing great.  Are you happy now?"

More shots come from down the corridor followed by more insults, and this time it's Youth that rolls his eyes in annoyance.  He lifts both Dessert Eagles and peels around the corner opening fire.  With each trigger pull he takes a step forward, closing the gap between himself and his enemies, never giving any of them the chance to peek their head over the makeshift barrier they were hiding behind as he goes.  He can hear Press swearing behind him as he labors to catch up, and the minute the two barrels stop firing, Press fires at the place where the first Goblin peers out to try and catch a glimpse.  His head slams back from the bullet to splatter against the wall behind him and it seems like after a few seconds his body finally catches up.  

Another call in the guttural language goes up and Youth has to dip down as Press' outstretched hand passes over him to fire at another one of the creatures.  This one takes one to the chest and the bullet rips through him to explode out the other side.  Green and black ichor goes everywhere as the two men continue their trek forwards, Youth dropping the clips from his dueling pistols only to lower his hands to his side where his belt's mechanism feeds two more magazines seamlessly into the slides.  

The insults have come to a stop as the final two Goblins peek around the corner to see their deaths coming, and both exchange a glance before turning to retreat further into the building.  They make it barely ten steps before two .50 Caliber bullets bury themselves into the back of the one on the left, while the Magnum barks out two more shots that strike the one on the right in the hip.  It spins around and the second shot catches it right at the top of its skull, sending it flying off as if it were wearing a baseball cap.  Both drop to the ground into a pile and then begin dissolving just like their counterparts did, and after about twenty minutes there's nothing left but a slick green ooze that resembles a tractor trailer oil stain on the concrete.

Press holsters his weapon and shakes his head.  "We need to get out of here.  That was too noisy and had to raise suspicion."

Youth raised his eyebrows.  "In this neighborhood?  Doubtful."

"A .50 Cal and a Magnum don't sound like your average hand guns.  The fucking locals probably think someone's hunting stray cats or something."

"Fine, fine.  Let's head back to the car.  I wonder what these fuckers were up to anyways?  I haven't seen a Goblin in awhile."

The two men began making their way back through the opening that had been their entry point.  "Yeah, me neither.  Kind of strange that one of the old mythos would show up in the city now.  I mean, these guys go all the way back to early man."

"I'll see if Sam has any books on the lore.  Maybe there's some ritual or anniversary we're overlooking to explain all this sudden activity.  But anyways, back to the point."  The two men had reached the 1966 Pontiac Tempest that was parked close by and were slipping into their respective seats when sirens called out somewhere nearby.  "Munin.  You guys have been pretty intense every time you're in the ring together.  Some real chemistry there."

Youth watched with a sly smile as his partner's eye twitched and he grabbed the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white.  "Yeah, she's a good student." He whispers, probably because if he tried to say it in any other tone he would explode.

"If you say so.  She doesn't sweat that much when she's in there with me, and I have her running all over the place.  But when she's in there with you, man, it's like I can hear her heart beating.  Tha-Dump, Tha-Dump, Tha-Dump.."

Youth flinches when Press wheels on him from the drivers seat, but the sudden sound of his cell phone's ringtone causes the big man to stop.  He huffs before turning to sit back in his seat and snatches his phone up to see who it was that was calling.  The Witch Doctor scrolls across his screen in white letters and he swipes his thumb right to answer. 

"Hey Sam, we're on our way back now.  You won't believe it...Fucking Gobl---Wait, what?"  The exclamation of surprise causes Youth to perk up and stare at his partner.  Press nods several times even though he knows Samedi can't see him, and then finally says, "Yeah...we're on our way."

He cuts the phone off and sets it down in it's resting place on the center console and stares silently straight ahead with his hand on the ignition.  After a few seconds of this, Youth finally gives a nervous jerk and just blurts it out.  "What the fuck man?  What'd Sam say?"

Press looks over grimly to Youth, and the look in his eyes sends a shiver down the young man's spine.

"Odin just walked into the bar..."

There's a sharp intake of air on Youth's part as he tries to process what he just heard, but he doesn't get the chance before the roaring sound of a big block 400 cuts through everything.  At that same instance 'Immigrant Song' by Led Zeppelin shouts over the cars speakers and Press lets out an ironic chuckle with no mirth as he puts the car into gear and it peels out of the parking lot to spill out into the street.

---

TO BE CONTINUED...

[The BombTrax]

---

THE EMPORIUM
NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

The BombTrax pushed open the double doors leading into the Emporium and filed through the opening, letting the doors swing shut naturally on their own as they surveyed the room.  There were a few patrons still piled into the place at 11:49PM on a Wednesday night, but the upper portion was completely abandoned save for a lone man wearing a dark red cloak with the hood pulled up.  The two men search the rest of the bar to see Samedi fast tracking his way straight towards them, two glass mugs folded into one another in his hands.  He's wearing the face of a man whose been shaken into sobriety and his bloodshot eyes dart back and forth between the two as he steps up to them.

"He be upstairs.  Here, I've already supplied the mead."  He says in a hushed tone, looking behind him to make sure that none of the other customers are ease-dropping.  "Whatever you two fools do, be careful."

Press allows his eyes to drift back up to the man sitting upstairs by the banister and his face turns grim, but his partner good-naturedly slaps Samedi on the shoulder with one hand while the other takes the glasses. 

"Careful?  We're always careful" he says cheerfully as he makes his way in a skipping manner for the steps leading up.

The Voodoo Priest's eyes go wide as he watches him go, and then he looks back at Press with pleadingly before heading back to the bar mumbling to himself.  "God's damned fools going to be the death of me..."

Press sighs and heads towards the steps himself, but he never takes his eyes off the cloaked figure as he ascends.  When he finally reaches the top Youth has already sat down the mugs on the table and plopped down casually into one of the seats sitting opposite.  The Big Man approaches slowly, the cloaked figure now looking up for the first time to see those who have approached him.  He doesn't pay any attention to Youth who continues to sit there almost mockingly, and Press has the sudden urge to open hand slap him in the back of the head.  Instead he stares right at the man in red as he strides methodically towards the table, resting himself gently in the only other unoccupied seat.  

Across from them is a tall man in his own right, clearly thick and brawny under the cloak, wearing a black button up shirt and dark tan trousers that lace up in the front.  His features seem Scandinavian and his skin is so white it's translucent against the incandescent bulbs providing luminescence from lamps overhead.  He's handsome for his age, which seems to be about sixty, but his face is weathered and not without it's scars.  A black patch is over his left eye and seems to be held in place by four screws on either side of the leather.  He already has a half filled mug of an amber colored liquid in front of him, and he extends a gracious hand towards the pitcher on the table full of the same substance.

Youth scoots forward not minding himself, taking the pitcher by the handle and pouring himself and his partner a good sized portion of the mead while the other two men at the table continue to stare across at each other, as if trying to size the other up.

Finally Press speaks in a flat voice that shows no emotion, "What do you want, Norseman?"

Odin bristles at being addressed so directly without the formality that he was accustomed to, but then his mouth twitches as if he has a second thought.  He leans forward to rest his elbows on the table, allowing his finger to slide along the rim of his glass in a circle.  "I can appreciate direct.  Let me do the same.  You have one of my Ravens..."

He lets the statement hang in the air, and despite Press knowing that was exactly why the All-Father was here, it didn't stop his heart from moving into his throat for a moment.  To his side, where Youth was sitting, he hears a muffled laugh, as if someone was trying to choke it back with their fist.

"Nin isn't anyone's property.  You should know that better than anyone, considering.  By the way, I'm a little confused.  Aren't you supposed to be strung up in a tree somewhere with some of your children pecking out your guts?"

Odin never flinches as his one eye flashes from Press' gaze to take in the ostentatious Youth.  "I'm still there and Leviathan is still asleep in the center of the void.  I'm projecting.  It's what one is want to do when needing to be doing two things at once."  He smiles now, the kind of smile that makes your skin crawl, or at the very least break your gaze from his to make sure there isn't something actually on you.  "But don't change the subject, and don't be a fool.  Munin is my property because she's apart of me.  That would be like saying your spleen isn't your spleen just because it's lying outside of you.  That can be arranged if you'd like to experience it."

Youth couldn't stop himself from gulping if he tried, so when the loud sound of his adam's apple scraping the inside of his throat came Press subtly nudged him with his elbow while leaning forward himself.  

"Is that all eternity has taught you?  Threats?  It's unbecoming of someone of your status in the universe.  You're certainly not wrong, but you aren't right either.  A child is apart of the mother until it is born, and then it exists outside of them as a separate entity while still being part of the two halves of the parents.  Munin is her own entity now and isn't aware of the nature of her birth."

"Not yet." He said it quickly, just as soon as Press had went through his spiel, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end.

He brought a fist up onto the table and his nostrils flared as he leaned in even further.  "Why now?  We're nowhere near Ragnarok.  As you say, the serpent is still asleep."

Odin smirks but it's obvious it's to hide his disdain at having a mortal question him, even if the mortal was God-Touched.  "We're closer to Ragnarok than we were yesterday and I'm taking stock of my inventory.  I don't need to explain my reasons to you for wanting my property back.  I'm giving you the courtesy of this parley because of what you have done for the universe, and nothing more.  Now, If you'll excuse me I'm off to sate my passion."

Most who study Norse mythology believe Munin, one of Odin's Ravens, was meant to be his memories, but some scholars believed that it could translate to mean 'memory' or 'passion'.  It's even theorized that makes sense as one's passion can very likely be linked to fond memories.  Odin moves to stand but so does Press, and it's Youth who ends up stepping in-between them with outstretched hands resting on their respective chests.  He can't help but notice how Odin's radiates heats while Press' is heaving a hundred miles a minute. 

He whistles while rolling his eyes.  "Gentleman, please.  Certainly we can come to an arrangement before this gets any more hostile than it has.  Could I suggest a rack of lamb, maybe a bull sacrifice, Oh! I know!  What if we went down to the Greek meat factory on ninth and I placed a sigil or two on a few of the goats before they are eviscerated in the grinder!" 

Press continues to heave, but Odin lets out a barking laugh before plopping back down in his seat.  "Lucky for you," He indicates his open palm towards Youth, "This one is funny."

Press still fumes as he plops down himself, the chair creaking under his weight.  He grabs the mug in front of him that Youth had filled and drains the mead in three huge gulps before slamming it back down to the table.  Youth eyes the big man for a second to make sure he's under control, and then lets out a little chuckle.  "You see, that's the spirit, you two just need to have a few more drinks.  I'm sure we can settle this reasonably."

"You're not that funny.  Quit stalling.  You two obviously have an affinity for Munin, and while I don't have any reason to cater to the whims of mortals, I do have to admit I'm curious how that will play out for you."  He eyes Press in a knowing fashion, before turning his attention back to his drink.  He knocks the mead back and places the glass back onto the table while switching glances between the two of them.  "If not Munin, then what of Hugin?  I've lost sight of my thoughts lately, and it would be a dear help."

Press and Youth's eyebrows shoot up at the same time in surprise, and the two men chance a glance before turning their attention back to Odin.  "Uh...we've never met Hugin, and Munin doesn't really talk about him that much.  I think they may have had a falling out..."

Odin's laughter cuts Youth's explanation off and his mirth seems to ring true, slapping his knee and being forced to wipe a few tears from his good eye.  He finally calms down with a few chuckles escaping as he tries to explain.  "Of course they did.  The two are twins, but their rivalry is legendary.  As much as Munin and Hugin love one another, they have always competed for my affections.  Now that they've been on their own, they compete without ever realizing exactly why.  Would you be the one's to tell them?"

His one eye sparkles with mischief as Press clears his throat firmly.  "At the end of the day what is it you want?  You know the time isn't right.  You wouldn't have risked coming here if you didn't have something in mind.  Everyone has your brother pegged as the grifter in the stories, but we aren't everyone.  We know the deal.  We know that you didn't set anything in motion without having some purpose behind it, so what is your purpose here?  The real reason you've come?"

Odin sits back to thoughtfully observe the two men in front of him.  A slight smile tugs at his worn features and finally it gives way to a full grin.  "She said you two were wily, but I have to admit, I wasn't prepared for how perceptive you really are.  You're right, it isn't time."

Press eyebrow shoots up, but before he can say anything, Youth beats him to it. "Who said we were wily?"

Odin's smile doesn't dissipate in the slightest, matter of fact, growing bigger if that were even possible. "Why, Munin, of course."

The color drained from the two men's faces and Odin brought his hands together in a clap, seeming quite pleased with himself at throwing the two men off.

"You...You've spoken to Munin?" Press stammered, real fear drawing up into his voice.

Odin continued to chuckle as he waved his hand in front of himself in a dismissive manner.  "Oh, don't worry.  She's fine.  She'll wake up tomorrow believing that she drank too much wine and won't remember a thing.  But she knows you two.  Knows your secret.  Somewhere in her subconscious she's fit the pieces together about all of it, but she keeps it buried under all of those human emotions.  Her name literally can be translated as 'Desire', so it's only fitting that she have so many of her own.  Part of the reason she can't let herself go there with you is because if she did that wall she's built for herself would come crashing down.  Love is a powerful weapon."

Press fell back into his seat as if he'd just been struck and Youth searched his own feelings to try and tell if what Odin was saying was even the truth.  Finding nothing, he decides it's best to push forward now that they understood there was a purpose for him being here that didn't include his raven.

"Then what?  What do you want?" He says emphatically, pleadingly, trying to put an end to all of this.

His mirth finally abated, Odin falls back into his seat as well, fingers steepling in front of him.  He regards the two thoughtfully once more, and watches as Press regains some monochrome of control over his emotions, while Youth still sits there expectantly like a child.  Finally he sighs, as if bored of the game, and allows his fingers to unfold so that he can go back to caressing the rim of his glass.

"I'm looking for someone.  Someone that is also on earth.  Someone that no matter how hard I try I can't seem to locate."

Press, finally having found his voice, leans forwards again to ask, "Who?"

Odin suddenly looks up from his fixation on the glass to stare Press directly in the eyes with his one.  "Loki."

"Are...Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I assure you, I do not jest."

A low whistle omits itself from Youth once again as it's his turn to fall back in his seat, and he shakes his head solemnly, mind officially blown.  "And what makes you think we can find him?" he asks shakily.

"Munin told me it's apart of what you do.  Finding things.  Killing things.  Saving people.  I'd say that all of those apply when it comes to my brother.  As you said earlier.  The Grifter."

Press and Youth exchanged glances before turning back to the god.

"And this free's up Munin?" Press asked flatly.

"For now..." Odin replied musingly, obviously leaving the answer open ended.

"Where would we even start?"  Youth asks the most obvious follow up that he can think of, and even that sounded ridiculous given the gravitas of the request.

"Well, boys," Odin began, leaning back into the table with a conspiratorial smile and a low voice.  "Where on earth do men go to play the biggest games for the biggest rewards?  You lived there once as I recall.  I think some people call it Sin City?"

Press lips pursed as he breathed the answer, "Las Vegas."

"Shit, man...there's a reason we left that place for New Orleans." Youth adds.

"Not my point, not my problem.  You asked where to start, and I have provided.  Now gentlemen, I assume that we have a deal?" He asks while extending his hand across the table.  They both notices the ornate ring situated on his middle finger, and they know exactly what kind of binding magic it holds.  

Press folds his arms over his chest and looks the god up and down hard.  "How long do we have?"

Odin's thin lips pursed before turning into a curt smile.  "I'll give you a year.  One year, my brother for my raven as it were.  If you don't pay up, I come to collect my property.  If you don't agree, I'll be taking it today.  Up to you?"

But it wasn't up to them was it.  It was the sort of deal that you couldn't welsh on or everyone would pay the consequences. And he wasn't making a threat, rather a statement, which really left them only one option.  The two men exchanged glances followed by a nod, and Press shook the hand first, and then Youth.  The minute they touched the ring both had felt it.  They were marked now, and the clock was ticking.  More than that, there was absolutely no going back.  Odin nodded satisfactorily and then stood from the table.  With a swirl of his cowl he disappeared from sight, leaving both men sitting there awestruck despite having expected nothing less.

---

PURE AMUSEMENT ARENA
PURITY, LOUISIANA

By the time Munin arrived for their morning session at the arena the two men were already there.  Unbeknownst to her they had been there all night discussing their decision to aid the All-Father despite not really having a choice in the matter.  They had also discussed that they didn't want to ever get caught with their pants down again.  Munin was their friend, and something more to Press.  He wasn't about to let her get used up by the god, and Youth vowed to help him.  They were probably wasting valuable time by sticking around New Orleans for the time being, but until Munin decided to leave they were going to do the next best thing to starting their quest.

They were going to teach her to fight.  Not for a wrestling match, but for her life.

Munin gave her greetings like she always did, but she wasn't stupid.  She could tell something had changed in the air, and it wasn't the stale atmosphere of the unused arena.  Youth wasn't his usual talkative self, instead keeping his conversation short and glib.  When she finally got him to tell her what was going on, he pointed to the ring where Press was already standing inside and said that he would explain.  The Big Man was taping his fists when she approached, and he gave her a curt nod when she bid him greeting.  He sat on the middle rope like a gentleman to offer her a clear path into the ring, but when she turned to regard him he was all business.

"Press, is everything alright with you?  You guys seem a bit tense."

Press chuckled gruffly and shook his head, reaching his hand up to bite the tape and rip it cleanly.  He padded the last piece in place and then nodded in her direction.

"It's graduation day, Nin.  Everything we've been doing up til now has been really good.  Your speed is back.  Your strength.  You tapped me the other day, so obviously you know what you're doing.  So now, we're going to try something different."

"Oh Yeah?"  And as soon as the question left her lips he was lunging at her. 

It took her brain a moment to register, but just in the nick of time she's able to side step as he comes to a halt at the ropes.  She starts backing away but he whirls into a back fist that comes inches away from her nose and she finds herself backpedaling now with wide eyes.  He plows forward to catch up to her and suddenly she finds herself on the ropes with nowhere to go.  He brings his right fist barreling down in an overhead smash but she throws both her arms up in an 'X' to block it which leaves an opening for his other hand to snake in and grab her by the throat.  All oxygen was suddenly cut off to her brain, his grip like a vice as it worked her neck muscles closed.  Before she knew what was happening she was flying through the air to land hard against the mat, the impact bouncing her back up so that she could thankfully land on her feet, but here he came again.  And he wasn't stopping.

She blocked an incoming right, then a left, and managed a few stiff kicks into his thigh of her own that seemed to knock him to the side.  She surprised him with a headbutt to the chin that had him draw back and that gave her confidence.  She turned to her side and floated forward into a thrust kick, but when he deftly sidestepped her boot she realized her mistake.  Seconds later his fist crashing into her face and her bouncing along the hard mats to land in the far corner confirmed it.  She reached up to her nose and to her surprise it was pouring blood and her eyes began to water from what may have been dislocated cartilage.  She was shocked.  A little disturbed.  I mean, this was exactly what she wanted, and although he had been coming at her hard for the past few weeks, nothing like this.  What the hell was going on here?

She felt bile and anger building up inside her at the same time, and she came up like thunder to confront the two, call them out, give them a piece of her mind.  But when she looked across the ring Press was standing there, taped fists up in the air, her blood dripping from his right.  He gave her a bit of a smirk and then a wink.

"You gonna do something about it, toots, or just stand there and bleed."

Munin's blood was boiling, and all thoughts of logic left her.  She fell back into that place where only true warriors go.  People who have scraped and fought and bitten and gouged.  Not just for victory but to rise up out of the muck, to survive.  And with all of that radiating out of her she charged back in, leaping into the air like a raven, her hand swiping hard at the enemy in front of her like a talon seeking to rend.

---

TO BE CONTINUED...

[The BombTrax]

---

NEAR THE END OF AUGUST...
PURE AMUSEMENT ARENA
PURITY, LOUISIANA

They had been at it for a couple hours now.  Both men were in the ring and Munin was kneeling on one knee while looking up at them through stringy sweaty hair.  Press had a noticeable black eye while Youth sported a bloody nose.  Her own lip was split from one of their attacks, and all three of them looked exhausted.  But Press was like a drill sergeant and wasn't giving any of them much time to rest or rehydrate.  Even now he was wiping the muck from his own face with one hand while the other one twirled in Youth's direction to signal him to begin approaching her from the opposite side.  Her eyes darted back and forth between the two men as she slowly rose off the mat, her hands flexing and unflexing, ready to react. 

Suddenly Press darted in and she lunged into a front flip barrel roll to pass just underneath his meaty grasp to end up back on her feet behind him.  Before he could spin around on her she sent a stiff side kick into the back of his knee and he toppled down to it.  Before she could follow up Youth was on her with a right hand that had her stumbling back, but when he brought his left to hook around her forearm was there to block it.  She spun round so that her back was butted up against his front and in the same motion she hooked the block hand to flip him over her shoulder in a leverage throw.  Youth slammed against the mat painfully and when he moved to look up she brought her knee up into that already injured nose. 

He flailed backwards clutching at his face when she's surprised by a bear hug like grip from behind that pins both her arms to her sides.  She's lifted into the air as her body is crushed by the powerful clutch of the big man, feeling the air being forced from her lungs and her bones being pushed in unnaturally under the pressure.  She growls.  She isn't even aware of it, but she growls.  Her head lolls forwards and then snaps back striking something solid with enough force that the hold loosens but doesn't fully let go.  She repeats the move until she's free and then darts towards the ropes for momentum.

Before she can even take two steps she's dropped face first to the canvas thanks to a reaching trip from Youth.  Quickly rolling onto her back as the young man moves in to try and hold her down, she grabs one of his grasping arms and actually drags him closer to her.  She applies a nerve grip between the trapezious and shoulder blade and he yelps. A shadow comes over both of them and she quickly untangles herself so that she can roll quickly to the side.  

Press' elbow drops heavily down across his partner with Munin nowhere to be found, and he curses as he pushes back towards his feet.  Before he's fully vertical Munin leaps up to the second turnbuckle of the nearby corner and springboards into a spin while her left leg flashes out to connect with the side of his head.  Press falls away back down to the canvas and she leaps on top of him and starts hammering with rights and lefts.

All the while she can hear wind whistling in her ears as if she's falling.  She feels like she's been falling forever.  Ever since that moment in Hong Kong back in March...

Even the thought of that brought with it a flash of rage.  It made her hit harder.  Faster.  More animal than woman, a spirit on the verge of breaking free to consume the world.  

Munin...

Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it coming through her chest, and that was okay.  She didn't need it for what she was about to do.  No remorse.  No mercy.

Munin...

But something was wrong.  She could feel it deep down.  Something just at the edge of her vision, calling out to her.  Trying to reason with her.  Why didn't they understand?  She didn't want to be reasoned with.  Not now.  Not in this condition.  A place that felt so much like home.

MUNIN...

And just like that she came out from under it and she was left staring blankly around her surroundings.  She was back in the Pure Arena, inside the ring, but gods her heart was still beating so hard.  She noticed that both her hands were hurting, and she looked over to find that they were encased in two meaty fists that were crushing them flat.  She was confused, hesitant almost, as her eyes drifted to the face of whomever was confining her.

Press stood there staring down at her with concern, but there was still a firmness to him, and she suddenly felt guilty.  Or was that afraid.  He knew.  He knew what was inside her and understood it and she didn't like it.  Or did she?

Press, seeing that she had somewhat come back to her senses released his grip on her hands and took a step back.  Munin for her part let out an anxious chuckle while rubbing the back of her neck, and gave a slight shrug.  "Sorry..."  

The big man stared at her for a few moments longer and then stepped over to where Youth lay bloody on the canvas.  Her eyes went wide with shock and she started to ask if she had done that, but somewhere in the back of her mind she already knew the answer so she didn't.  Instead she stepped over and dropped to her knee's to join them. 

Youth looked up at the woman, his face a crimson mask, and despite that he still managed a weak smile. "Jeez, Nin.  You don't do that to this kind of face.  How am I supposed to earn a living?"

She blurted out with a laugh followed by a few tears as she took his hand in hers and squeezed.  "He's right you know," Indicating with a nod toward Press, "You really are an idiot."

He chuckled at that but it soon turned to a grimace as Press took a wet rag and wiped it across a wide gash in his forehead.  He had another cut just below his left eye and multiple bruises and contusions along his cheekbones.  Munin shook her head in disappointment, but she felt her hand being squeezed this time and she met the young man's eyes.

"Don't..." He whispered, his eyes suddenly turned hard and his brow furrowing causing blood to pool in the crevices.  "This is the whole point of you coming here.  This is what we set out to achieve.  You needed this, and I'm glad I could help.  Now take it with you and do what you have to do."

Munin couldn't look at him any longer despite knowing what he said was true.  All Press did was grunt in response to the statements and she guessed it was an agreement, because when she finally found the courage to look at him he gave her a wink.  She sighed heavily as both she and Press helped Youth up to a sitting position while he still hold the mostly blood stained rag to his forehead.

"I guess I'm in your debt.  Again..."

"You're never in our debt, Nin." Press responds quietly, and Youth gives his trademark low whistle while figuring this was a good time to get out of dodge. 

The two watched him exit through the ropes and head towards the locker room so he could get a good shower and stitch himself up.  Eventually enough awkward time passed between them, both still hunkered down in the same spot as before.  Finally, Munin gets to her feet and steps over to the ropes to lean across the top.  

"Well, what do you think?" She asks thoughtfully over her shoulder.

Press pushes up to join her on the ropes, and even while leaning towers over her.  "I think you're ready.  As ready as anyone ever is."

She nodded, staring ahead at nothing at all.  "I'll be leaving soon."

"Yeah, I know." Press replied quietly, and after a pause, added a little more gruffly, "Actually, we will be too.  We're going back to Las Vegas."

She turned to look at him now and he did the same, both resting on their elbows to accommodate the gesture.  She searched his face and he seemed to be forlorn at the admission, and she reached out to touch his wrist delicately.

"Why?  What's going on?"

He smirked and let out a 'huh' before placing his hand on top of hers.  It swallowed hers and she couldn't help but notice that it radiated heat.  His eyes turned soft as he stared into hers, and then pulled back a bit to shake his head.  

"We've put it off for too long.  It's been three years since PAW closed it's doors and we've been knocking around aimlessly helping Sam out here and there.  It's time we get back home to Vegas."

"I thought New Orleans was home..."

"It was, but then the thing that made it home was hardly ever here."

She felt a lump form in her throat and tried to swallow it down like she had done so many times before, but this time she couldn't.  Her eyes searched his face as he put on a fake smile and looked off towards the locker room where Youth had retreated.  She saw pain there, and it broke her heart, cause she knew what he was saying without him having to actually say it.  It had been admitted to her by his partner in what seemed like a lifetime ago, and despite being delivered under completely different circumstances, she knew even back then that things would never be the same.  And they hadn't been.  He was her champion.  Her friend.  Loyal to a fault, and always there when she needed him.  He was one of the men in her life that she could be vulnerable around, really vulnerable, and wouldn't judge her or find her wanting.  She had felt guilty back then and felt a little of that now, but for the most part, if this was it, she felt grateful.

"I'm Sorry..." she began, but his sausage sized finger made it's way to her lips.  The finger slid around so that his huge pitchers mit like hand caressed her face, and she felt herself leaning into it despite the mixture of emotions it elicited.

"Don't be sorry," He said huskily.  "Do what you've set out to do, and do it well.  We'll be watching."

With that he brushed her hair back from her forehead and planted a wet juicy kiss upon it before giving her a more genuine smile and starting towards the locker room himself.  She watched as he went and part of her wanted to call after him, to tell him that she wanted him to come on this journey with her, to stand by her side.  But she knew that this was something she needed to do on her own, well...errr...at least not with them.  How many times had she said their names three times to elicit their presence, to watch them destroy enemy and foe?  And how many times had she paid to reinforce that god damn PAW Announce Table to try and keep them from putting someone through it?  No, this was her journey, and they had theirs.

She smiled at that, and before he could get out of sight called out to him.  "We're not done, BombTrack!"

Press paused and turned his head to send a rueful grin back at his Lady.  "Not by a long shot..."  And with that, he disappeared into the darkness leaving Munin to contemplate her future plans.

---

THE EMPORIUM
NEW ORLEAN, LOUISIANA
SEPTEMBER 16TH, 2019

Press and Youth walked into the Emporium for the last time, or at least for a long while anyways.  Youth wore his usual skater baggy pants, vans, and wife-beater that went out of style in the 90's, and Press had on jeans and an old PAW T-Shirt as they sauntered in.  Samedi was already at the edge of the bar so they didn't have to step far before planting themselves on a set of stools near the old Witch Doctor.  The Priest eyed the two men with a touch of sadness on his expression before finally giving up on it and giving them a resigned grin.

"You Know...for two assholes, you sure do know how to grow on an old goat."

Youth beamed while Press chuckled and Samedi's skelletal grin continued to shine.

"So do you already have arrangements back in Vegas?" Sam asked with upturned eyebrows.

"Yeah, we called up Frank.  He said the apartment over the garage just came available so it was perfect timing."

"Funny how that seems to follow you two around, eh?"

Press grunted, but Youth's expression turned cross as he pointed a warning finger at the priest.  "God damn it, Sam!  Don't put that hoodoo on us!  We have enough to contend with without having to worry about Fate as well!"

All three men spit to the side at the mention of the divine as if they had a bad taste in their mouth, and Sam even let out a low 'and curse her name' before getting back to normal.

"No, no..I would nah' do that to ya, certainly!  I'm just saying, the task ahead is a long one.  Are you sure you'll have everything you need out der."

Press chuckled again and leaned in towards Samedi.  "Thank God for FedEx, right?"

Samedi didn't seem to appreciate the jest, absentmindedly grabbing a towel and roughly wiping the bar in front of them.  "Always costs me a fortune to ship anything fresh, you know dat."

The three men continued to converse the way friends do, chatting, jabbing, and laughing.  The hour was already turning late, however, and eventually Press checked his pocket watch and slid it over to his companion to signal that it was time to go.  Samedi came from around the bar and hugged each of them in their turn, and then forced them to lower their heads as he said a prayer over them in the language of the dead.  He offered them one final shot from his private stock and once the sacrament was done, he bid the two 'deadbeats' to get out of his bar.  

With heavy hearts they exited The Emporium and walked the short distance to their 1966 Pontiac Tempest.  Youth slid into the passengers seat while Press plopped down behind the wheel and fire the 400 Big Block to life.  The engine roared like a monster as he fed it some gas and then looked over his shoulder so he could back out into the road.  Youth thumbed through their CD collection to find some good road music and by the time he looked up they were passing through the city of New Orleans for the past time heading towards Interstate 10 to connect to 49.

He looked over at Press whose long hair whipped around with the window down and sighed as he sat back into his seat.

"Do you think we'll actually find him?  I mean...he is the father of lies."

Press shakes his head with a smirk.  "That's Lucifer.  Loki's just the God of Mischief."

"OH!  Yeah!  Like that's any better!"

"It is.  One's got more clout than the other for one thing.  Besides, once we put out the word to the underground in the city that we're back, I figure plenty of folks will be wanting to pay us a visit.  One of them is bound to know something."

"Jesus. I love how going back to a contract on our lives seems to give you a chubby."

"LOOK!" Press responded testily as he shifted into fifth after finally clearing the inner traffic, "We should have taken care of that when it first happened, but instead we took off for Mexico to join EW and met, Nin.  Then there was PAW, the strap, and Stevie...but that was all three years ago.  We hung around because we got complacent.  Even if Odin hadn't shown up to give us a kick in the pants we still would have needed to take care of this at some point."

Youth rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest like a kid being chastised, but he knew his partner was right.  Still, they had been on the run when they left Las Vegas, and now it felt like they were rushing back despite knowing what was waiting for them there.  Right didn't mean you had to like it.  He looked down at his lap and found the perfect song for the occasion which caused him laugh out loud eliciting an annoyed glance by Press. He held one finger up while pulling the CD out of the compartment with the other hand and sliding it into the CD player.  The opening piano to Bad Company began blaring through the speakers and, despite himself, Press let out a laugh of his own.  The Pontiac thundered down I-10 with the sound of two of the damned laughing all the while.

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THE END...OR IS IT?