Original subtitles

The runes have been etched.

Things are happening ahead of schedule.

You started the first war.

And you'll finish the last. One more step.

Grow, Yggdrasil. Grow.

I went to war once Or was meant to.

I owe a battle.

You're following Wednesday

so that you can fight in his war and die

and for that, you run his errands?

This is all Wednesday!

He sends you to fuck my plan and then he sends you to fuck me?

What happened last night is not part

of some grand plan, you stupid cunt!

And I don't do Wednesday's errands because I like him!

I do 'em because I fucking owe him!

I hate that one-eyed cunt more than you will ever know.

Hey.

You're really gonna make me haul that big ass

back to the morgue, huh?

Touch me again and I'll be hauling you

to the morgue, you cunt.

Good morning, Sweeney.

Ah!

You know, you keep hanging out under bridges;

people are gonna starting thinking you're a troll.

Maybe I am a troll.

Well, you told me you were a leprechaun, so which is it?

Sometimes, I remember things one way.

Sometimes, I remember them another.

How the fuck did you find me?

Cops called.

Said there was a dead wino under the bridge.

Spotted me a 20 if I'd haul him back myself.

Then you owe me 20 bucks for saving you the effort.

You can literally pull gold out of the air

and you're asking me for money?

The sun's treasure.

Not much good to you now, is it?

Only coin that matters is locked up with the worms

in the dead wife's chest.

And she left your Irish ass high and dry

like fucking bird bones, didn't she?

The further you get from her...

...the worse your luck gets.

Did you see Laura?

Dead wife...

Fuck!

Fuck her!

- Hey. - Fuck 'em all.

- Come on. - Hey.

No, no. Hey, hey, hey. No, no, no.

Hey, stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me.

Hey. Shh, shh, shh, shh.

Where's Laura?

What?

I'll tell you. I'll tell you.

For that 20-dollar bill you got in your fucking pocket.

You're fucking kidding me.

There. Where is she?

Oh. I can smell the whiskey on your breath already,

Ben Franklin.

Hey! Fucking... tell me. Hey.

Where is Laura?

How the fuck should I know?

I thought she might be here.

I saw her in New Orleans.

She was fine.

I pissed her off good and she ran away.

To get back to you.

Come on.

I'm gonna tell you something.

This is gallows ground you're walking.

And there's a rope around your neck

and a raven-bird on each shoulder waiting for your eyes.

The gallows tree has deep roots.

It stretches from heaven all the way down to hell.

And this world...

...is the only branch from which the rope is swingin'.

They grow up so fast, don't they?

Yggdrasil is ready for war; ergo, I am ready, too.

The only question, gentlemen, is,

do we know who all our friends are?

Ah... Jacquel will come when you call.

Set and Horus, too.

I know some ifrits in Chicago.

And Mama-ji, Czernobog...

Nancy, Bilquis.

Bilquis? No, that one is...

Shadow?

Shadow is my eyes and ears.

You can speak freely in front of him.

We cannot rely on the Queen of Sheba.

She's with us.

All-father, that one is for herself.

We all are.

The trick to wrangling cats is to dangle bait

they can all want.

And Bast.

We've got Bast.

And Mad Sweeney?

Mm. Sweeney.

I just... I just saw him.

Yes?

Yeah, he's... he's in really bad shape.

Really?

Well, if he really is in bad shape,

if he's on his last legs, then look on the bright side.

He's in the right place, isn't he?

Another thing about living

in a funeral home is you never have to cook.

Mourners are always bringing by their best food.

Oh, how rude of me.

Would you like a taste of this potato salad, Shadow?

I'm good.

Wise choice. This is not exactly piquant.

Gentlemen, I have something for Shadow's eyes and ears only,

if you'll excuse me.

Sorry, Yggdrasil.

You know I have to do this.

Sialfr sialfom mer.

My spear, Gungnir.

The finest in the cosmos.

Head forged by the dwarves, the shaft carved from Yggdrasil.

Her aim true and always fatal.

She can kill an army as quick as a god

and every soul she takes is a tribute to me.

Guard my spear as you will guard my life.

We are the same.

Wars are coming, Shadow. I have a big role for you.

Get out, dead girl, or I'm going to call the health department.

Oh. It's you. Wednesday's pal.

No. You are Wednesday's pal.

Uh, no, I'm not.

I know this is not an accident.

You tell me why you are here in my domain.

Well, your domain is a fuckin' diner

on the side of the road. So.

I thought you were a Goddess. Where are your worshippers?

My worshippers are here.

This diner life? It's not too bad.

Of course, the little second-generation assholes,

they come in with their MBAs, their MDs,

raging egos like yours.

You know that I can literally rip people's limbs off, right?

Do not goad me, dead girl. I have no time for this.

You see me here as Kali-ma, the nurturer?

But you, dead girl, perhaps you would understand me better

as Smashana Kali, the destroyer.

So, do we understand each other better now?

A little respect is all I ask.

A little help is what I can give.

Do you need direction?

Or cream, sugar?

- For real? - For real.

Okay. Um...

I need blood.

Two drops of blood "infused with love"

for a magic potion that's gonna bring me back to life.

Sounds like voodoo.

That goddamn voudon. Always so dramatic.

The problem is not with the potion;

it is why you take it.

Oh, really?

Is that what your crystal ball says?

Sorry.

This is not some bloody psychic reading.

Why do you think I showed you the face of the destroyer?

Pay attention.

You have the power here, in your heart.

The angry leprechaun gave it to you.

- No, he didn't. - The coin!

Can you not see you have the power here

in your own heart?

What, like, the power of love?

No.

The power to destroy.

Banshee!

Mornin', pillow biter.

Door's always open, you know.

Sure.

Let me ask you something.

Can you hear that? The wailing?

The grieving women outside? Yes.

They're not mortals.

They're banshee.

They are women who lost a husband,

a son, and a father last night.

Ibis has prepared his body for the burial.

Hey, are you...

Are you all right? Do you need to lie down or something?

Where is the old one-eyed fuck?

He's busy. Come on, let me make you some tea.

Ah, fuck off!

When Jesus had given thanks,

He broke the bread, and said,

"This is My body, which is for you."

And all those who loved Him took His body into their mouths,

took His body deep down into their own bodies,

until His body filled their bodies with the divine.

The gift of the flesh...

...is the most sacred gift one can make.

I read to you

from the Psalm of Psalms.

"Your love...

...is better than wine,

your scent better than any perfume.

Your lips drip with nectar, my bride;

honey and milk are under your tongue.

You are a garden.

Your shoots are orchards of pomegranates,

henna, saffron,

calamus and cinnamon,

frankincense and myrrh.

You are a fountain.

You are all the streams flowing from Lebanon.

Let the wind blow upon your garden.

Let the divine, through Me...

...enter your garden

and taste your fruit.

This how you gettin' your rocks off these days?

No more bottomless holy hole?

I adapt. We all do.

Some of us more than others.

The stories that are told about you

have reached my ears over the years, too.

The leprechaun, the hill spirit

the pagan warrior, the mad man,

and the great and golden king.

You haven't always been... this.

Ah, well...

It's all bollocks anyway.

Don't remember much of it these days.

I will not have you.

I will have your confession.

The Queen of Sheba... playing a priest.

I need a fuckin' drink.

There was a girl.

I remember that much.

She had the sight.

And she let me play with her boobies under the stars,

and she told me my fortune.

Told me I'd be undone and abandoned west of the sunrise,

and that a dead woman's bauble would seal my fate.

And I laughed and I poured more barley wine

and played with her boobies some more,

and I kissed her full on her pretty breasts.

Those were the last of the good days.

The Gray Monks were changin' our stories.

Makin' us fair folk into greedy little green men,

which is all fucking bollocks.

I used to be...

Can't remember.

Keep going.

In one of the stories they tell

a monk named St. Moling had me killed that night.

In another, it was his swineher or his cooks - neater that way,

if you want to strip away what little dignity I had left.

Poor Mad Sweeney, felled by the soup maker.

This isn't true.

You didn't die that way and her fortune didn't come true.

Fuck if I know what the truth is.

I heard a different story.

You had a wife.

A wife?

MR. - Aha!

Grimnir.

Oh, I know that smell.

That smells like a hot bottle of whiskey and sex in an alleyway.

With a top note of failure!

Yeah, yeah. Eau de fuck-up.

It's gotta be, yes, it is!

The one and only, Mad Sweeney!

I knew Ibis'd have some Dijon around here somewhere.

You're welcome, Grimnir.

For everything.

For every shitty task you've ever set before me--

Sounds like my man's asking for a tip for service.

Not your man anymore.

I'm quitting.

Oh, no, you're not.

You most certainly are not.

We have a contract, which you have not fulfilled.

I've done everything you've ever asked of me.

We're gonna come to terms right now, you old fuck.

I killed the wife for you the first time.

Lost my coin in the process.

Way I see it, the debt swung my way

the moment the dead wife stole my treasure.

You know, I wouldn't go around, if I was you,

advertising you lost your treasure

to a rotten little dead girl

who weighs less than a hundred pounds.

Hm?

You know, why don't you just reach in and take it from her?

It's got to be given voluntarily.

Oh, well, wait 'til the maggots

offer it up on a golden platter--

You might not have a code of honor, Grimnir, but I do.

She's dead, stupid!

Unless you've gone sweet on her?

I don't give a fuck about her!

Oh, yeah. Oh, that lousy smell.

That is the rotten stench of a broken heart.

She fuck you? She ditch you?

Well, fucking get over it and do the job I asked you to do!

No.

- No? - No.

You'd renege on a contract with a god?

When I met you, you were just a horny muscle-head

with a lot of cash

and with nothing of value to whatever was left of your name.

Now, you are whatever I make you.

- You owe me a battle, Grimnir! - Forget the code.

Finish off Laura Moon.

And, for fuck's sake, take a shower, would you?

Don't think I don't know who you are, banshees!

Who goes there?

What do you want, witch?

It's me...

Eorann. Your wife.

Oh, my queen!

My bonny child.

Yes.

Yes, yes, yes, yes.

What is your name, lass?

Remember, the boundaries of your father's mind

have grown thin since he left us.

I'm Moira.

Moira.

Will you eat with us?

Yes. Oh, yes.

And what shall we be eating, Moira?

Bread.

I love bread.

But why are you dressed in rags, my love?

Where is your dress?

The yellow one with the red embroidery?

You wore it on our wedding day.

- You remember. - Oh, yes.

We danced at dinner

and I thought I was dancing with the sun.

It was I who danced with the sun.

But what of the dress?

We lost the dress, husband.

We lost the castle.

Your lands, your title, your people.

We lost the war.

But how?

You abandoned our allies on the field.

And so Bishop Ronan laid a curse on you.

The Gray Monks...

Gray Monks were never our allies!

I told you they cannot stay!

Gray Monks!

The damned Gray Monks were never our allies.

What are you doing here?

What's Wednesday got on you?

I am here because the Jinn is here.

And the Jinn is here because he owes Mr. Wednesday.

Collects a lot of debt, don't he?

I told you.

They're banshee.

Harbingers of death.

- They are women in mourning. - Fine.

Don't believe me. But I'm telling you.

The Jinn and me, we have to stay

'cause we owe Wednesday. But you...

...you could leave at any time.

This war that's comin',

it could end in your boy's death.

Doesn't have to end in yours.

You got 80 years on your dial.

You're gonna give 'em up

for somebody who's gonna live forever.

That's how love works.

Do you think he'd do the same for you?

I mean, if... if Wednesday asked the Jinn to kill you...

...do you think he would do it?

Do you know something I don't?

Never mind.

I...

I can't explain love to someone who has never felt it.

Oh, I've felt it.

I had a family.

I had a wife.

I had a kingdom.

I'm starting to remember now.

- Listen to reason! - I've had enough reason!

And have you had enough of me?!

No.

I do this for you, my love.

For our family.

The Gray Monks are poison, pestilence;

they will ruin everything they touch.

I don't doubt you think so.

- But the world is changing. - It doesn't have to.

It does. That's what the world does. It changes.

Look at my belly.

It changes too, and soon, we will have a child.

So, when the world changes,

I beg you to change with it.

With us.

Are you asking me to cozy up to our enemies?

I'm asking you to make alliances instead of enemies. That's all.

The Gray Monks seem peaceful.

And influential.

We need them as friends before they make friends

with those who are our enemies.

I am entirely sure

that what you're saying makes sense to you

but I don't understand a word of it.

You're too fuckin' beautiful.

You... you understand every word.

Listen, husband.

Listen to one who doesn't want

anything from you but a very long life...

...together.

Can you not hear that?

They are building churches on our lands!

They are poison, my love.

They cannot stay.

This is why I owe a battle.

I don't understand.

Because of an argument you had with your wife?

Because I found Bishop Ronan that day.

I found him and I made a big bloody row,

threw his little book of prayers into the lake,

told him to get the fuck out.

Then I speared one of his priests.

So, the fucker cursed me.

Told his bastard of a god to rake me through

with the worst of what was in me at that moment - madness -

and to end me the way I'd ended his little holy ass-kisser.

By the spear.

Banshee.

I heard them on the battlefield at Mag Rath.

I knew then that I'd die that night

by the spear like the Bishop said.

Help us.

Help us.

So, I walked away.

The war, my family, my mind.

I lost it all...

...because I left it all.

Well, it's not the version you told me.

Where the girl with the big tits told you you'd die

by a dead girl's bauble. So, which is it?

What the fuck, Bilquis?

You spend that 20 yet?

Thinking about using it now.

Don't let her near him.

Your wife.

Don't let her near Grimnir.

Grimnir's nothin' but rot.

Why do you even care?

I warned you.

Let's just leave it at that.

Fine.

Well, don't worry about me. I'm good.

Wednesday even gave me his magic stick to guard, so...

Gungnir.

You think you earned it.

Mm-hmm.

You have the All-father's favor today and it feels good.

Doesn't it?

Like the sun is shining on your fuckin' face.

Like you did something to deserve it.

Tomorrow you'll be me, Shadow.

The dog he kicks.

There's always a cost with him.

Just haven't paid it yet.

Why do you let him treat you like that?

You think you're not his bitch? Hm?

I watched you sign your life away.

Right there in front of me in Jack's Crocodile Bar.

You're his man now. You're his bodyguard.

And when he dies,

you're the punk that's gonna have to hold his vigil.

You're fucked, man.

Spoken like the dog he just kicked.

You remember how I did that little coin trick?

Huh?

Figured you just took the coins out of nowhere.

Not outta nowhere.

I take 'em from the Hoard.

You just have to hold it in your mind...

...and you can take whatever you want from it.

The sun's treasure.

You can keep whatever's precious to you.

Bring it back.

How's it feel to lose your lucky coin?

I'm not gonna ask you again.

You're not my battle, Moon Shadow.

Promise me something and I promise I'll give it back.

What do you want?

You hear that wailing outside?

Do you know what it means?

People get sad at a funeral home.

Means death is coming to this house.

Someone here is gonna die soon.

When the time comes...

don't get in the fucking way.

What the fuck does that even mean?

You'll know.

Deal?

Yeah.

Whatever.

Wednesday...

Me...

Fuck all the gods.

we're not the heroes, Shadow.

Ah...

Tastes better cold.

There's no more in the fridge.

I ain't after the taste anyway.

What you writin'?

Same story you've been writing all day.

Ah.

Ah, so, you're trying to get inside my head, too?

Good luck with that one.

The friendly faggot and the maneater

already looted the place.

You have a lot of stories in there.

Hard to keep 'em all straight, isn't it?

A storyteller does not concern themselves with the truth.

Stories are truer than the truth.

These are not literal constructs

so much as imaginative recreations.

What are you writin' now?

Your earliest story.

The one about me...

...fightin' off all the gods coming into Ireland?

Wave after wave of 'em,

coming in from Gaul or from Spain,

from every other fuckin' place...

...until Mother Church arrived,

turned us all into fairies and saints and dead kings

without so much as a by-your-fucking-leave.

They made you small.

I ain't small.

I ain't Wednesday's fuckin' bitch.

I know.

The story I'm writing is about Lugh of the Tuatha de Danann,

the ancient race of Gods in old Ireland.

You weren't small.

I was a king.

You were a God king.

You were God of the sun,

of luck, of craft, art,

of everything valuable to civilization.

The shining one, they called you.

You saved your people from their old enemy, the Fomorians.

Lamfada, they called you.

Long-hand.

For your skill with your spear.

You had fight in you when they needed to fight.

Because of you, they survived.

Where the Tuatha de Danann were scientists and artists,

the Fomorians were madmen.

Monstrous beings that came from under the sea,

under the ground, under the surface of things.

Nightmares.

I remember now.

The madness.

- It came from him. - Your father's father.

One-eyed Balor of the Fomorians.

I don't wanna remember this story.

I didn't wanna kill him.

He loved me.

He cared for me.

No, that's not right. Balor? He tried to kill you.

He heard prophecy that his grandson would kill him.

So he rounded up all his grandchildren

and drowned them all in the lake.

But you survived. Like you always do.

No... It wasn't Balor.

This is wrong.

Stop writing.

It was Grimnir.

It was Grimnir.

Don't you remember...

...what I said about the truth?

Stories are truer than the truth.

What's this for?

I was gonna spend it on whiskey.

Or a ride outta this place.

You might want those things tomorrow.

Don't need it.

Consider it payment for drinkin' all your beer.

You're not thinking about tomorrow?

That ain't none a your fuckin' business.

Thanks.

A toast to the crying ladies on the porch,

for leaving us their leftovers,

and to their husband, for dying and giving them the occasion.

And for all of you...

...for keeping me company in the coming war.

Uh, we don't do toasts in Egypt.

Yes, it's not appropriate in Islam either.

But I can echo your sentiment.

Well, I thank you for that, then.

Sometimes amazed we can sit at the same table.

Let us enjoy this moment while we can.

My presence back on earth here has been felt by old and new.

Gungnir is whole again;

Yggdrasil has grown up,

which means... the proverbial shit is about to hit the fan

and this is our proverbial Last Supper. Hm?

Are we ready? I am.

A compact then. To war or the end of the world, huh?

Ah, surprise, surprise.

Somebody forgot to call me down to dinner.

Nobody's stopping you drawing up a chair.

Except for the fact that there's no more fuckin' chairs.

I'm feeling a bit like the 13th fairy, I have to say.

Ah, here, uh, take my chair.

Why all the long faces? Banshees' wailing got you down?

But you're eatin' their food. That's good.

Thought you would've known better.

You ever hear what happens when you eat a fairy's food?

You're in their debt now.

Fuck the fairies.

You gonna let him talk about us like that?

I didn't spoil your appetite, did I, old man?

Means I don't owe you anymore.

Not a hair on my fuckin' arse.

Don't.

Get.

In. The.

Way.

Let go of the spear.

It's between me and Wednesday.

Can't do that.

- Clear the room! - Please, friends--

No!

Give him this.

Made me a promise, Shadow.

I made him a promise.

Oh, Sweeney made a promise;

Shadow made a promise, Bilquis made a promise.

We all make promises, huh?

My promise to you is done.

Debt cancelled, thanks to all that potato salad

you been shoving down your fuckin' throat!

If you know what's good for you, you'll put the spear down.

You'll leave, you'll never look on any of us fucks again.

No one's dyin' tonight, Sweeney.

Let go of the spear.

No.

I'm not gonna ask you again.

Can you feel the poison?

It's him.

We're on the same side, Shadow.

He's been lyin' to you from the start.

Oh, shut the fuck up!

Your wife's car wreck?

That was me.

On Wednesday's orders.

Why would he kill Laura?

He's using you, Shadow,

like he uses everybody.

Leave. Now.

Fuck you.

Fuck me?

Yeah, fuck you.

Fuck me.

I fucked her...

...in New Orleans.

That true? Huh?

Aaah!

I'm so sorry.

You owe me a coin, Moon Shadow.

What a waste.

I would've given you your battle.

You were always my battle.

Your spear is the sun's treasure, now,

you one-eyed cunt.

I used to be a king.