X-Men: The Unnatural Omega's Volume 2, Omniverse Saga Chapter 11, a X-Men + X-overs Crossover fanfic

X-Men: The Unnatural Omega's Volume 2, Omniverse Saga

Chapter 11: Modi, and Infultration

In the immediate aftermath of the encounter with Beast, Logan sought solace amongst his friends. Ciri, Geralt, Freya, Tyr, and Thrud. Geralt had decided to switch his weapon of choice from Von Everec's sword to another one close to his heart - the sword he had received from Crach an Craite. As he held the weapon, memories of the good times he shared with his dear friend resurfaced.

However, there was no time to dwell on the past for long. Word had come in from Lego Batman of another conjunction. This time, it was in Scotland, specifically in the Scottish Highlands. A group of individuals, dressed like Vikings had seemingly appeared from nowhere. They introduced themselves as Queen Cerys and her brother Hjalmar. Accompanying them was a strange peller, laden with uncommon herbs, and an extraordinarily intelligent goat named Princess. Also with them was a druid named Ermion, who had already begun sharing his herbology wisdom with the local druids, in conjunction with the peller.

Geralt's brow furrowed in recognition as he processed the news. He remembered them - he had once aided Cerys in tricking a Hym rather than resorting to violence. He had helped Hjalmar take down a Frost Giant, even allowing the man to keep the trophy. And ultimately, it was Geralt who had assisted Cerys in uncovering a conspiracy involving the berserkers. Their plot was thwarted, exposed with the help of that woman's son who vouched for them.

As they gathered in a quiet corner, Geralt began to share tales of his previous encounters with Queen Cerys and her brother Hjalmar. His eyes bore a distant look, as if he were gazing into the past. Ciri listened attentively, fond memories of her own friendships playing out in her mind. She remembered Cerys, a queen now, and the times they had spent together.

Watching Geralt clutch Crach an Craite's sword closer to himself, Ciri couldn't help but notice the subtle change in his demeanor. His face wore an expression of regret and longing, and she knew all too well what it signified. The guilt of not being able to save Crach in time still hung heavy on Geralt's heart.

At that moment, she felt a profound empathy for Geralt. His pain mirrored her own, and she understood the profound sadness that hung around him like a shroud. In response, Ciri reached out, her hand gently resting on his arm. Wordlessly, she offered him her support, her presence a comforting presence in the face of past regrets.

"I'll be with you, Geralt," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her statement was not a question, not a suggestion, but a quiet vow. She was his ward, his friend, and she would stand by him, through the hardships and the trials that lay ahead.

…

Ermion, in all his years, had seen many surprises. However, as his gaze landed on Yennefer's visible baby bump, his eyes widened in clear astonishment. He looked from the pregnant sorceress to Geralt, to Ciri, and then back to Yennefer.

"The Peller told me, but still..." he began, shaking his head as though trying to clear a fog. "Witchers and sorceresses are sterile, by nature and by training... This is... unexpected."

His shock was not unjustified. The trials and rituals that made witchers and sorceresses, also rendered them sterile. It was one of the many prices they paid for their abilities. Yet here was Yennefer, defying the norm. This was a clear sign that things were different, that something had changed fundamentally.

The Peller, unfazed by Ermion's surprise, simply chuckled. "True, sterility is their lot, yet here we have, a change in plot," he rhymed, gesturing towards Yennefer. His twinkling eyes were full of amusement and not a little bit of smugness. He had predicted this, after all.

Yennefer merely smirked, one hand resting on her belly. "Indeed," she said, her voice filled with satisfaction. "And I wouldn't have it any other way." Despite the peculiar circumstances, she looked content and radiant. This child was a blessing, no matter how unexpected.

Ermion and the Peller followed Geralt's gaze to the three individuals standing at his side, taking in their imposing figures with intrigue.

The first was Thrudd, a towering figure that was instantly recognizable as the daughter of Thor. Her eyes held the same steely determination that they'd seen in the god of thunder, and the familiar hammer in her grip only served to cement her lineage. Her presence exuded a raw strength that was both daunting and impressive.

Next was Freya, Queen of the Valkyries. Her beauty was ethereal, as if she'd been pulled from the canvas of a grand painting. But it was her grace and the commanding aura that encircled her that truly set her apart. Here was a queen, a warrior, a divine being who held the respect of those around her without the need for grand gestures or loud proclamations.

Lastly, there was Tyr, the God of War and Justice. His stature was impressive, and an aura of controlled power and authority surrounded him. His eyes held a calmness that spoke of experience and wisdom. Despite being a god of war, there was a balanced demeanor to him, reflecting his connection with justice.

Ermion's eyebrows shot up, his eyes wide with shock. He had met many creatures, both mundane and supernatural in his long life, but to stand in the presence of gods was an entirely different matter. His gaze shifted between the godly trio, his eyes reflecting a mixture of awe and bewilderment.

"Holy Gvalch'ca..." He muttered under his breath, the Skellige term for surprise slipping from his lips. His gaze finally settled on Tyr, his expression one of disbelief. "I... I've heard the stories, read the sagas... but to meet a god in the flesh... It's... It's..."

The Peller offered him a comforting pat on the shoulder, chuckling softly at his friend's uncharacteristic loss for words. His rhyming nature took hold once more. "Flesh and bone, under sky and stone, gods they be, yet here they stand, among mortal band."

Ermion nodded slowly, taking a moment to compose himself before finally turning back to Geralt. His voice was steady, though the wonder remained in his eyes. "I see the company you keep has grown quite... divine, Witcher. It's an honor to meet you all."

"And this one," Geralt said, gesturing towards the Canadian mutant who had taken a step forward. "Is Logan."

Ermion gave the man a once-over, his gaze lingering on Logan's unique sideburns and muscular stature. This was a man who had clearly seen more than his fair share of fights, and yet, there was something different about him. Ermion could feel a calmness emanating from Logan, something he didn't typically associate with warriors.

The Peller's voice carried a hint of amusement as he piped up once again. "Man of steel, heart of gold, stories of his valor bold. Fierce in fight, yet calm in peace, a man who seeks his inner lease."

Logan just nodded, his expression as calm as the waters of the Skellige isles. "Nice to meet ya," he said, offering Ermion a nod of acknowledgment. Ermion returned the gesture, his gaze still studying Logan. Something told him this was a man with many layers, and many tales left untold.

As introductions came to an end, Ermion and the Peller seemed to spring back to life, eager to resume their teaching. The local druids watched in awe as Ermion handled the herbs with deft fingers, showing them the precise methods to extract their potent medicinal properties. On the other side, the Peller continued to create glowing talismans, enchanting symbols etched into the surface glowing with an otherworldly light. The local druids, wide-eyed and fascinated, crowded around, watching and absorbing every detail.

Meanwhile, Queen Cerys and Hjalmar stood with a burly man dressed in a traditional Scottish attire, a picture of law and order with his stern face and sharp eyes. The siblings were giving their testimonies, explaining the details of their strange arrival in this timeline. They spoke in calm, measured voices, recounting the events leading to the conjunction, their expressions earnest and truthful.

The moment was one of camaraderie and shared joy as Cerys and Hjalmar, two familiar figures from the Skellige Isles, recognized Geralt and Ciri amidst the group of strangers. Their faces lit up, and the lawman they were speaking with was momentarily forgotten.

Yennefer, standing a bit to the side with a gentle hand resting on her now clearly visible pregnant belly, was momentarily overlooked. As her presence registered, the Skelligers' expressions transformed from surprise to absolute astonishment. A pregnant Yennefer was far from the norm - Witchers and sorceresses were, after all, typically sterile.

Undisturbed by their shocked expressions, Yennefer responded with a small, enigmatic smile. "It's nice to see both of you," she greeted warmly. Her eyes shifted downward to her belly and her smile widened subtly. "And yes, it is indeed true," she confirmed the unasked question.

Breaking through her initial shock, Cerys stepped forward, her face filled with emotion, and gently embraced Yennefer. "Congratulations, Yen," she said, her voice thick with genuine happiness. Hjalmar, always less refined in expressing his feelings, simply stood wide-eyed and slack-jawed, staring at Yennefer in disbelief.

The gathering of Shield agents and Norse gods watched the scene with quiet amusement. Logan, his usually gruff demeanor softened, chuckled and gave Hjalmar a friendly pat on the shoulder. They might have all come from different worlds and timelines, but in this moment, they all shared the joy and wonderment of Yennefer's surprising and miraculous news.

Geralt, having found his voice, turned towards Cerys and Hjalmar, gesturing towards the divine beings. "Cerys, Hjalmar, there are some more introductions to make," he began.

Pointing towards the goddess with a regal air, he said, "This is Freya, the Queen of the Valkyries." Freya offered a gracious smile and a nod of acknowledgment, her eyes sparkling with an inherent warmth that belied her reputation as a formidable warrior goddess.

Then he gestured towards the tall, young woman who stood next to Freya. "Next to her is Thrudd, the daughter of Thor, she carries her father's hammer, Mjölnir." Thrudd simply nodded in response, the glint in her eyes matching the power resonating from the legendary weapon in her hands.

Lastly, he turned to the tall, stern figure at his side. "And this is Tyr, the God of War and Justice. Contrary to some myths, he still has both arms intact." Tyr extended both his hands, emphasizing Geralt's point and further deepening the awe of the Skellige rulers. His calm demeanor somehow made his presence even more formidable.

Cerys and Hjalmar looked at the divine beings, a mix of awe and respect written across their faces. The profound presence of these entities was palpable, yet there was an undeniable unity binding everyone present. For all their divine statuses, they were all bound by the same objective, ready to face whatever this universe had in store.

As they settled into the familiar setting of the pub, the scent of mead and the sound of lively chatter enveloping them, they got down to the matter at hand. Geralt, Ciri, and Yennefer, while nursing her soda, shared the bizarre tale of the conjunction, of its scale, and the events that had unfolded in its wake.

Cerys and Hjalmar listened with rapt attention, their eyes widening with every revelation. This wasn't the first time they'd heard tales of the Witcher's adventures, but the scope of this one was truly mind-boggling.

During the conversation, Hjalmar's gaze landed on the sword Geralt was carrying. He recognized it immediately, for it was a part of his family's legacy. "You're still carrying father's sword," he noted, a trace of sentimentality creeping into his usually gruff voice.

Geralt gave a somber nod, his grip tightening around the hilt. "It's been with me through many battles, including the final one against the Wild Hunt. It's a part of me now." There was a silent acknowledgment shared among the group, a moment of respect for the weapon that had served them well.

The hours slipped away as they talked, shared stories, and reminisced. Despite the gravity of their discussion, there was comfort in the camaraderie, in the familiar banter, and the shared understanding. It was a rare moment of peace, a lull before the inevitable storm.

The mood of the room shifted as Geralt revealed the darker news. The familiar tales of their shared past giving way to the chilling update on Eredin and his henchmen. His tone was somber, the weight of his words casting a shadow over the merriment.

"Eredin and his henchmen are back," he stated gravely. "But they're not the same. Something has twisted them, corrupted them." His fingers unconsciously clenched around his mug as he recalled the grotesque transformation the Wild Hunt's leaders had undergone.

"They've been corrupted by these... rings," he continued, his voice almost a whisper. "They have sharp teeth, slit eyes, gnarled skin. Nightmarish."

A hush fell over the table, everyone absorbed in the gravity of Geralt's words. The Wild Hunt had always been formidable, but this was something else. This was an enemy they barely recognized.

"But there's good news," Geralt said, lifting his head and meeting each of their gazes. "They're being held on an island called Kroako. Avallac'h is acting as their jailer, reminding them of their place at every turn."

Despite the grimness of the situation, Geralt's words brought a glimmer of hope. It wasn't much, but it was something to cling on to. A small victory in the face of an overwhelming storm. The fight was far from over, but they had made a start. That was enough for now.

Geralt's lips curled into a slight smile as he turned the conversation towards a lighter subject. "And speaking of strange things, you should see Kroako itself. The island is alive, with a face that looks like a tree. Its name is Kroako, and it's like nothing you've ever seen."

Yennefer, who had been quietly sipping on her soda, chuckled lightly at the memory. "And that's not all. There's another named Treebeard," she added, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "An ent, he is, hailing from a place called Middle Earth. A walking, talking tree, believe it or not."

The table erupted in laughter, the earlier tension evaporating. Despite the seemingly grim state of affairs, their spirits were uplifted, the companionship and shared camaraderie evident. They may have had an uphill battle ahead of them, but they also had each other. And that was no small thing.

As they were talking in the cozy environment of the pub, an unsettling sensation ran through Thrudd, Tyr, and Freya. It was an otherworldly ripple, akin to a distant but resonant echo of their divine heritage. The sudden unease in their expressions didn't go unnoticed by the others.

Quickly, they communicated their shared feeling to Geralt, Yennefer, and Ciri. The unsettling vibe resonating from afar was a concern too big to be overlooked. As everyone braced themselves, they decided to step outside and investigate.

Exiting the pub, they were met with the sight of a figure bathed in the ethereal glow of a cosmic energy vortex. The silhouette was tall and imposing, armored in a style harking back to their own homeland. The stern face, the defiant stance - it was all too familiar. "Modi?!" Thrudd gasped, echoing the shared surprise of the group.

Modi, the supposedly fallen son of Thor, stood before them, his aura darker and more menacing than they remembered. His eyes carried a hardened glint that was far removed from the fiery spirit they knew. But what struck them the hardest was the glimmering Ring of Power on his finger. It was too eerily similar to the rings of Celebrimbor and Sauron, signifying the potential corruption the power could ensue.

The reunion was far from a joyful one. It was filled with a tension that hung heavy in the air, making the day increasingly surreal and unsettling.

Modi observed the group with a cruel glint in his eyes, but his gaze rested particularly harshly on Thrudd. "The favored child," he sneered, his voice dripping with scorn. "The one who, in Thor's eyes, could do no wrong, while I was the afterthought... always."

Thrudd bristled at his words, noticing that Modi was referring to their father as 'Thor', not 'Father'. An unsettling sense of detachment laced his words, a chilling distance in the way he viewed their shared lineage.

"Ohohoho," Modi laughed sinisterly, his hand revealing a spectral mace. It shimmered with a dreadful energy, akin to the Morgul blades wielded by the Ringwraiths of a distant world. "I'm going to enjoy breaking your good arm with this!"

His gaze then flicked over to Tyr, surprise flickering briefly in his fiery eyes. "So the dead walks among the living," he spat out, the disbelief in his voice edged with a cruel delight.

But it was when Modi's gaze finally met Freya's that the chilling realization hit her. His eyes, once full of life, now glowed with an unnatural fire, devoid of any joy or humanity. And as she peered into them, she could sense nothing but an eerie void. It was as if Modi was not truly alive, his essence extinguished, leaving behind a vengeful specter consumed by rage and bitterness.

Tyr's eyes remained fixed on the ring, an object of power that glowed with a fiery light and inscribed with strange, pulsating glyphs. He could almost hear the faint whispering coming from it - an insidious murmur that seemed to burrow into Modi's soulless being.

Modi's wrathful speech carried on, his voice echoing the raw pain of betrayal. "Thor left me for dead," he barked out, fury brimming in his voice, "After the one you call Atreas, who I suppose I can't blame for ending me, given how I acted, and his father the mighty Kratos, bested me... Not once... BUT TWICE!"

His enraged gaze then turned to Thrudd. His next words were a bitter snarl, "AND THEN HE BEAT ME INTO A BLOODY PULP... WITH THAT VERY HAMMER YOU DARE TO WIELD!" His rage reverberated in the air around them.

As his voice boomed, the sky overhead darkened ominously. The overwhelming surge of dark energy radiating from Modi was palpable to Logan, Ciri, Geralt, and the rest. It was a testament to the malevolent power he had acquired, causing an ominous sense of dread to pervade the area. They watched him, still as statues, as they waited for what would come next.

In a quiet voice, his eyes glaring daggers at Thrudd, Modi finally whispered, "You had the easy life...while I'm all but forgotten... I tried..." His voice rose to a near shriek, "I TRIIIIIIIEEEEEDDDD!"

Suddenly, he was in tears. Violently, he began to bash his own face with his spectral mace. Each swing cut into his cheek, the sight shocking everyone present. "BUT IT WAS NEVER ENOUGH!" he screamed between strikes and tears, "NOT FOR THOR! NOT FOR YOU! NOT FOR MAGNI! NOT EVEN FOR MOTHER! AND, NOT, FOR, THAT, BLASTED, HAMMERRRRR!"

His emotional outburst ended with a lunging charge toward the group. Stunned and taken aback by the unexpected display of raw pain, they found themselves ill-prepared for his sudden assault.

Without warning, Modi hurled himself at Tyr, who stepped in front of him in an attempt to thwart the charge. However, Modi struck with far more force than Tyr had anticipated, his tackle filled with all the rage and pain of a rejected child. The impact knocked Tyr off his feet and sent both of them crashing into a nearby building, creating a cloud of dust and debris. Yet even the solid brickwork didn't halt Modi's assault; he kept going, driving Tyr deeper into the structure with an unrelenting fury.

Enraged, Modi unleashed his fury on Tyr, punctuating each cry with a bone-crushing blow from his mace. "WHY!" Smash. "WHY!" Smash. "WHY!" Smash. "WHY!" Smash. "WHY!" Smash. "WHY!" Smash. "WHY!" Smash. "WAS I NEVER GOOD ENOUGH!" Each word was echoed by a sickening crunch as the mace connected with Tyr's chest, again and again.

Thrudd watched, horrified and heartbroken, as Modi vented his deep-seated pain and anger on her fellow god. But before she could react, Modi abruptly stopped his relentless assault. Grabbing Tyr by the neck, he hauled him up and threw him aside like a child's discarded toy.

Tyr hurtled through the air before colliding with Logan, both of them knocked off their feet and sent tumbling to the ground. Logan grunted as the wind was knocked out of him, struggling to disentangle himself from the fallen God of War.

Seeing the escalating violence, Geralt attempted to intervene, drawing on his magic to cast Axii. He focused, trying to exert his will over Modi's rampaging mind, to bring calm amidst the turmoil. But Modi was having none of it. The mad god fought against the witcher's influence, his rage and pain proving too much for Geralt to control.

Meanwhile, Freya had drawn her weapon, her heart heavy but her resolve unwavering. She lunged at Modi, but the grief-stricken god was too fast. He grabbed her attacking arm mid-swing, twisting it painfully before slamming her into the ground with a thunderous crash. Then, with a swift, brutal kick, he sent her careening into a nearby building, the structure shuddering upon impact.

Hjalmar and Cerys stood rooted in shock, their minds whirling as they took in the scene before them. They had heard legends of Thor and his kin, had sung songs of their mighty deeds in the mead halls of Skellige, but this... this was nothing like they had ever imagined.

Ermien and the Peller were equally stunned. They were men of knowledge and magic, but neither had ever faced a god, let alone a god filled with such darkness and pain. Even as they scrambled for any possible solution, they knew that they were in uncharted territory, dealing with forces that were beyond their understanding.

It was clear to all present that this was not the Modi they had heard of in stories. This was a being consumed by despair, who had been twisted and corrupted by some powerful, malevolent force. A force that now threatened them all.

The shocking sight unfolded in a matter of moments, sending a wave of horror through the onlookers. Geralt, sword drawn, moved with the grace and precision of a predator, lunging at Modi with his silver blade, Areondight. But Modi, in a display of power that left them all stunned, snatched the blade in his hand without so much as a flinch.

A current of electricity surged from Modi's hand, travelling up the length of the sword and into Geralt. The Witcher's eyes widened in shock as his heart stuttered to a stop, his body slumping lifelessly to the ground.

Modi held the mace high, his wild gaze trained on Thrudd. "Watch this!" he roared, a horrifying smile stretching across his face. And then, with a crackling zap of energy from his mace, he sent another jolt of electricity into Geralt's still body.

The Witcher convulsed, his scream of agony echoing through the air, as his heart sputtered back to life. Modi's sadistic laugh echoed over the shocked silence, a haunting sound that would be seared into the memories of all present.

The charged air was broken by Modi's voice, a roar filled with rage and despair. "NOW YOU KNOW HOW I FELT! WHEN THOR BEAT ME TO A PULP!" he bellowed at Thrudd, his words a twisted mirror of the pain etched across his twisted features. His fiery eyes locked onto hers, burning with an unholy light that emanated from the dark ring he bore.

A chilling realization washed over Thrudd. This was no longer her brother. The Modi she knew and loved was gone, his body and spirit consumed by a wraith that fed off his grief. The figure that bore Modi's face was simply a marionette, its strings pulled by the whispers of the corrupted ring.

Tears welled in Thrudd's eyes as the horror of the situation sank in. But then, her gaze hardened with determination. She would not allow this monstrous perversion of her brother to continue. With a cry that rang out across the stunned silence, she hurled Mjolnir, the mighty hammer of Thor, with all her might.

The hammer struck Modi square in the chest, the force of the blow sending him careening into a nearby building. The structure shook from the impact, bricks and debris scattering across the ground. As the dust settled, a heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the ragged breaths of the onlookers.

As Yennefer and Cerys quickly assisted Geralt to his feet, backing up with caution, Logan was helping Tyr, whose chest bore the wounds of Modi's violent fury. The God of War was rapidly healing, but the brutality of the attack had left him weakened.

Suddenly, an enraged scream pierced the air, echoing off the scattered debris. Modi, burning with fury, erupted from the remnants of the building, a dark, twisted figure hell-bent on violence. He charged at Thrudd with the speed of a charging bull, his intent clear.

But Thrudd was ready. Mjolnir, her father's legendary hammer, met Modi's charge with unyielding force. The powerful blow struck him square in the head, sending him sprawling onto the ground, momentarily dazed.

Thrudd did not waste a moment. With a mixture of rage and sorrow coursing through her veins, she delivered blow after crushing blow onto Modi, her every strike echoing her thunderous proclamation. "YOU'RE NOT MY BROTHER... AND I'LL BE DAMNED IF I'M GOING TO LET YOU USE HIS FACE ANYMORE!"

And with a final, resounding swing, Thrudd brought Mjolnir crashing down onto Modi's ring-clad hand. The resulting impact shattered the cursed ring with a powerful blast, releasing a shockwave that ripped through the immediate vicinity. The force of the explosion knocked everyone off their feet, leaving a stunned silence in its wake.

The moment the cursed ring was destroyed, the wraith inhabiting Modi's form started to fade. Like dust carried away by the wind, it disintegrated into nothingness, leaving behind only the empty shell of the man Modi used to be. As reality set in, Thrudd's anger gave way to profound grief. Tears welled up in her eyes and soon, she was openly weeping, her sobs echoing through the stunned silence.

Freya, witnessing Thrudd's sorrow, quickly moved to her side, wrapping her arms around her in a comforting embrace. Thrudd buried her face into Freya's shoulder, her tears soaking the fabric of her clothing. Freya held her close, her own eyes misty. She couldn't shake off the guilt that was creeping into her heart. They had all played a part in this tragedy, in one way or another. The cost of their actions had been too high. Far too high.

…

As the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents swiftly established a secure perimeter around the affected area, the atmosphere was heavy with a bitter aftertaste. Geralt, though shaken from his near-death encounter, was starting to regain his strength, comforted by the tender touch of Yennefer at his side. His heart ached from the residual pain of being electrocuted, but the sensation was becoming more of a dull throb as moments passed.

Thrudd was now quieter, the immediate intensity of her grief slightly assuaged by the comforting presence of her loved ones. She remained cloaked in her anguish, a somber shadow of her usually vibrant self.

Turning to address everyone present, Freya, the Queen of Valkyries, began her narration of Modi's tragic tale. Her voice echoed with a tinge of regret and sorrow, "Our Modi... always strived for recognition, perpetually living in the looming shadow of his older brother, Magni." She spoke softly, "He was different, a misfit struggling to carve out his own identity amidst the expectations and norms of our world."

Her gaze lowered as she delved deeper into the story, "Modi was a fiercely competitive spirit, always striving to prove himself, to earn the respect of his father, Thor. But his attempts were mostly overshadowed, his efforts largely unnoticed."

Taking a long, deep breath, she continued, "And then, there was his run-in with Kratos. Not once, but twice, Modi found himself fleeing from the Ghost of Sparta. The defeat hit him hard, making him question his worth even further. But the worst was yet to come."

Freya paused, her expression one of deep remorse. "Thor, before he became the man you know today, was different. He was ruthless... brutal. After Modi's encounters with Kratos, Thor... he did not show mercy. He beat him, cast him aside, battered and bruised, like an insignificant bug."

A grim silence fell upon them as Freya recounted the painful past. "We thought Modi had died. Atreus, Kratos' son, was believed to have ended his misery. But what we saw today... his spirit twisted and corrupted by the power of the Ring... it seems that Modi suffered a fate far worse than death."

Her last words hung in the chilling night air, painting a sorrowful image of Modi's life and his tragic end. It was a stark reminder of the destructive power of neglect and the devastating impact of unmet desires, leaving everyone in contemplative silence, pondering the complexity of their interwoven fates.

There was an uneasy silence as everyone digested Freya's tale.

Ciri, who had spent her life grappling with her own identity and destiny, felt a pang of sympathy for Modi. "To be forever overshadowed, never acknowledged...it's a kind of loneliness that can twist a soul," she murmured softly, her emerald eyes reflecting a deep understanding.

Ermien, the druid, shook his head slowly, his aged features marred by a solemn expression. "A tragic tale indeed, it speaks to the perils of the pursuit of acceptance, and the lengths one might go to claim it. It's a sad reminder of the often unseen effects of our actions," he said quietly. His fingers nervously played with the amulet around his neck, a sign of his restlessness.

The Peller, the usually jovial man, was unusually quiet, absorbing the somber mood. "Life has a way of exacting its toll," he finally spoke, his voice unusually soft, "And it's not always in the ways we can foresee or comprehend. A life's grief can ripple through time, bringing unintended consequences."

Logan, a man who himself knew too well the pain of a harsh past and rejection, clenched his fists at his sides. "Dammit," he muttered, "No one should have to go through that, no one. A life like that can make you lose yourself... lose your humanity. It's..." His voice trailed off as he struggled to put his feelings into words, the echo of his own past resonating with Modi's tale.

The somber mood settled in deeply, as each dwelled on the harsh reality of Modi's tormented life and tragic end. The tragedy served as a grim reminder of the heavy price one can pay for the constant pursuit of acceptance and identity, and how, sometimes, it can end in a fate worse than death.

As they made their way back to the living island of Kraoko, the atmosphere among the group was subdued, tinged with the lingering sadness of the recent encounter. The somber message detailing Modi's tragic end and the impending arrival of new allies had been dispatched by Logan, sent through a SHIELD communication device.

When they arrived at Kraoko, the vibrant island was markedly silent. The news of Modi's fate had evidently traveled faster than they did, casting a pall over the usually spirited environment. The island's sentient trees bowed their heads as if in a silent homage to the fallen Asgardian. The palpable quietude of Kraoko resonated with the heavy hearts of the arriving group.

Awaiting their arrival was Avallac'h, the Elf acting as the jailer for the corrupted Eredin and his associates. His stark facial features were impassive as ever, but the sorrow in his intense eyes was unmistakable. Even through his stoic exterior, the depth of his regret over Modi's fate was evident.

One by one, the group dispersed, each one carrying the burden of the day's grim events. The horrifying potential of the Rings of Power and the destructive aftermath of grief and rejection etched deeply in their hearts. The cruel fate of Modi only served to further steel their resolve. They were more determined than ever to prevent any more such tragedies.

The newcomers - Ermion, the Peller, and the siblings, Cerys and Hjalmar - were shown around the unique environment of Kraoko. Their day ended on a note of solemn tranquility. The path that lay ahead was undeniably perilous and fraught with challenges. But they faced it with unyielding resolve, knowing that they would face whatever came, together.

Freya, Tyr, and Thrudd approached the dwelling of Kratos and Mimir with heavy hearts. The sight of Kratos engaged in his usual tasks and Mimir's serene presence amplified the weight of the news they were about to deliver.

"Kratos, Mimir," Freya initiated, her tone quieter than usual. Their audience ceased their tasks, immediately sensing the gravity of the situation.

"We bring news of Modi," Tyr shared solemnly. The room stilled, the very air seeming to condense in response to the revelation.

Thrudd took a steadying breath before continuing, "Modi survived our previous encounter, although not in the form we would have expected. He came into possession of a Ring of Power... The kind from Middle Earth."

"The Rings of Power?" Mimir repeated, apprehension seeping into his usually calm voice. "They are formidable objects, notorious for corrupting even the purest of hearts."

Thrudd nodded in confirmation, "Exactly, Mimir. The ring found Modi's sorrow... his self-loathing. It consumed him, transformed him into a wraith. His pain was so profound that it was the ideal fuel for the ring's corruption."

The room fell silent, the severity of Thrudd's account sinking in. Kratos remained motionless, his grip tightening around the haft of his axe, while Mimir bore a grim expression.

"However," Thrudd added, her voice laced with both relief and grief, "Modi's torment is over. I destroyed the ring, and in doing so, released Modi from the wraith that had consumed him."

An air of sorrowful relief filled the space. The loss of Modi was a tragedy, yet the danger he presented had been eradicated.

Addressing Atreus, Thrudd said softly, "Atreus, he remembered you. He held no anger towards you. His suffering was never your fault."

With the news delivered to Kratos and Atreus, their last task remained - informing Sif. It was perhaps the hardest part of their mission. Sif absorbed the news with stoic sorrow, thanking them for their honesty and asking for solitude.

…

The day had brought with it profound grief and revelations. But they held onto the fact that Modi's tormented spirit was now at peace, and with this closure, they could begin to heal and brace themselves for what lay ahead.

As the day waned, Thrudd found herself alone with her father's hammer. It was a moment of tranquility amidst the whirlwind of emotions that had stormed through her. She held the mighty weapon, feeling its familiar weight, the intricate carvings under her fingertips. Yet, now, it felt different, burdened.

Her heart seemed to connect with the essence of the hammer, and she felt a wave of raw emotion radiate from it. A profound sense of regret washed over her, followed by a deep, wrenching sorrow. It was as if the hammer, too, grieved for Modi's tormented existence and the role it had inadvertently played in his downfall.

Thrudd frowned, the sentiment resonating within her. Her father's hammer, a weapon crafted by Dwarves and given life by the God of Thunder, was more than a tool of destruction. It bore a sliver of Thor's own soul. It shared his joy, his fury, his love, and now, his sorrow.

Then, she heard it. It was soft, barely more than a whisper carried by the wind, a mournful sound akin to quiet weeping. It echoed through her, tugging at her heart, amplifying her own grief. The sound seemed to come from deep within the hammer, an intimate lament from her father's soul. It was Thor's voice, his spirit mourning for his fallen son.

Feeling the weight of the revelation, Thrudd took a moment to collect her thoughts. The hammer was more than an inherited tool; it was a connection to her father, a testament of his complex legacy, a mirror reflecting his immense love and now, his regret. It was a bond that she now needed to understand and reconcile with, in honor of her brother and her father alike.

…

In the solitude of their quarters, Kratos and Atreus sat in heavy silence. The news about Modi had hit them like a tidal wave, stirring up old memories and regrets. The information seemed to hang in the air, creating a tangible cloud of sorrow around them.

Kratos stared into the flickering fire, his thoughts rolling like thunder. He had fought Modi, twice, and won. He had seen the fire of rage and defiance in the young god's eyes, the unyielding will of a warrior. But beneath that, there had been something else. A turmoil, a suffering that Kratos had not recognized then, a grief so deeply woven into Modi's essence that it was invisible, unless you knew to look for it. And now, knowing, Kratos couldn't help but feel a sting of regret.

"I wish..." he started, his voice a low rumble, "I wish I had seen his pain. Perhaps things could have been different."

Atreus, sitting next to his father, nodded solemnly. He was still young but had seen enough to understand the complexities of gods and mortals, the fragility that was sometimes hidden behind the mask of strength. He, too, felt a pang of sorrow for Modi, a character he'd known as an adversary, yet who had carried burdens not so different from their own.

"Yes," he agreed quietly, "We could have helped him."

There was a brief silence, and then Kratos added, his voice thick with regret, "We should have helped him."

The quietness resumed, filled only by the crackling fire. They were left with the echoes of what could have been, a ghost of a different path. Yet, they also understood that this was a lesson learned, a reminder of the intricate tapestry of emotions that even the mightiest beings can carry, a testament to the power of empathy and understanding. This was a part of their journey, and a step forward, however painful, towards their growth.

…

Sif, fraught with a mixture of emotions, found Avallac'h deep in thought. The gravity of the situation echoed in the stillness of the room.

"Avallac'h," she began, her voice steady yet carrying an underlying tremor, "I need to see Eredin and his associates."

The sage elf turned to her, his gaze solemn. He knew where this was leading. The resurgence of the Wild Hunt and the discovery of Modi's twisted fate were interwoven in a way that was disturbing and necessitated answers.

"I understand," he replied, "We should confront them about Modi. I agree, it's time for some truth."

As they made their way to the cells, Sif steeled herself for the encounter. This wasn't just about getting answers. It was about seeking justice for Modi, for the tragic fate he had suffered, and perhaps, for all those who had been ensnared in the machinations of the Wild Hunt.

…

Sif's eyes were hard, her gaze heavy with disdain as it swept over the twisted figures before her. This was the first time she had laid eyes on Eredin and his associates since their transformation, and the sight was truly disturbing. Once proud and noble elves, their forms were now twisted and corrupted by the rings of power they bore.

"Well, isn't this a delightful surprise," Eredin sneered from his confinement, a cruel grin slicing across his orc-like face. His tone was laced with the same pompous arrogance that he had always possessed, yet now it was tinged with an unsettling darkness.

A wave of disgust washed over Sif, but she maintained her stern demeanor. "Your actions are despicable," she retorted, her voice laced with a palpable fury. "The way you manipulated Modi's corpse, transformed him into a wretched puppet... it's revolting."

Eredin merely chuckled, a low, spine-chilling sound that echoed within the confines of his cell. "His despair made it all the more satisfying. He was already broken, which made it easier to bend him to our will."

Sif fought to suppress her anger, steeling herself as she responded. "His torment has ended, Eredin. He's finally at peace. And you... you will face retribution for the horrors you've inflicted."

Surprise flickered in Eredin's glowing eyes, a brief interruption in his gloating smirk. He hadn't expected the news of Modi's liberation from his torment. But Sif held his gaze, unyielding. There was no mercy left for monsters like him.

"That's not possible!" Eredin snarled, his grotesque features twisting with fury. "That ring was forged in Mount Doom! It can't be destroyed!"

Without hesitation, Sif's fist slammed into Eredin's snarling mouth, cutting off his tirade. Silence filled the cell, punctuated only by the soft clinking of the chains that bound the twisted elf.

She moved closer, her gaze piercing into his glowing, slitted eyes. "Well," she began, her voice deadly calm, "it looks like my daughter, with her father's hammer in hand... can."

Sif's words hung in the cold air of the cell, an unspoken promise. Eredin's eyes widened in realization, and for the first time, the once proud king of the Wild Hunt truly understood the enormity of his defeat.

The cold calm that had claimed Sif's voice now turned into a biting frost as she interrogated Eredin. "Now, tell me. What is Sauron planning?" She demanded, her eyes boring into his. "Why is he handing out these Rings of Power like candy? What does he hope to accomplish?"

Eredin remained silent, glaring defiantly at Sif, his jaw working furiously. The weight of Sif's interrogation lay heavily in the dank, chilly cell. The silence was smothering, the tension between the two figures almost tangible.

"Speak!" Sif growled, her patience wearing thin. Eredin was on the edge, she knew it. Now, all she had to do was push him over it. He would spill whatever secrets he held, Sif would make sure of it. She needed answers, and she would get them, one way or another.

Eredin's response was not immediate, but when it came, it was punctuated by a disturbing grin. "The Omniverse..." he started, a cruel twinkle in his eyes. "He's weaponizing the Omniverse... to avert his fate on Middle-earth that Celebrimbor informed him of... the very same Celebrimbor you brought to Kroako, along with the Night King's ring... which you didn't destroy."

His words, coupled with the malevolent smile etched on his face, filled the cell with an ominous foreboding. Sif stood there, the implications of Eredin's words sinking in. This was a game far bigger than she had anticipated, the stakes unimaginably high. The silence in the cell was broken only by Eredin's low, guttural chuckling.

"You'd best make haste," Eredin sneered, his grin widening at the reaction his words evoked. "As we speak, Celebrimbor is closing in on the young ones... Orion and Aurora, I believe they're named. The children of Laura and Derreck, resting so innocently in their cribs."

His chuckle reverberated through the cell, the harsh sound echoing the insidious threat within his words. Sif felt a cold wave of dread wash over her. She had to warn them. They needed to protect the children... and fast.

Without wasting a moment, Avallac'h gestured sharply, a portal bursting into existence before them. The swirling vortex opened to Laura and Derreck's room, their children's crib just visible through the shimmering gateway. Sif, already turning on her heel to leave, activated her communicator.

"Urgent warning to all on Kroako!" her voice echoed through the communications system of the entire island, causing every resident to halt in their tracks. "Celebrimbor is headed towards Laura and Derreck's children, Orion and Aurora. They are in immediate danger! Mobilize now!"

Her words were clipped and commanding, her stride never breaking as she bolted from the cells and headed toward the portal. The stakes were high and the urgency of her voice left no room for doubt or hesitation. All around the island, the inhabitants sprang into action.

…

The sight that met them as they burst into the room was beyond chilling. Avallac'h was there, cradling baby Orion, an expression of cold fury etched on his face. Directly in front of him was the spectral form of Celebrimbor, the terrifying wraith gleaming with a cold, ethereal light. The ghostly sword he held was up against the throat of the sleeping Aurora, who was nestled securely in his arms.

Derreck and Laura's eyes widened in terror at the sight of their children in the hands of the specter, their hearts pounding in their chests. Kratos' face hardened into an impenetrable mask of seething rage while Gimli's hand gripped his axe tighter, the knuckles turning white.

Aragorn's usually calm demeanor was riddled with tension, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword. Legolas was drawing an arrow, his bow shimmering with the light of Alfheim, the aura around it glowing brighter in the looming threat. Logan's claws extended with a snikt, his eyes narrowing dangerously at Celebrimbor.

On the other side of the room, Geralt's eyes were focused, calculating, his Witcher senses assessing the situation. Ciri, her training kicking in, was at Geralt's side, her fingers twitching near the hilt of her sword. Saskia, her dragon eyes taking in the scene, was coiled like a spring ready to leap.

Avallac'h, clutching Orion, calmly handed the child to Laura. "Get him to safety," he ordered, never breaking eye contact with Celebrimbor. The situation was a standoff, the tension in the room so thick it was nearly suffocating.

"Let her go, Celebrimbor," Talion spoke up, his eyes hardened steel. "This ends now." His hand was gripped tightly around the hilt of his sword, ready for whatever was to come next.

"Cautious, Talion," Celebrimbor hissed, his spectral voice cutting through the room like a blade of ice. His gaze was locked onto the former ranger, an insidious grin playing on his ghostly face. "We wouldn't want my hand to slip now, would we? The little one is sleeping."

He backed up slowly, careful to maintain his grip on the sleeping Aurora. "My terms are simple," he began, his voice resonating in the tense air. "Let me go, or the child pays the price."

The declaration hung in the air, a threat looming like a storm cloud. Each word echoed in their minds, adding to the layers of tension already present.

Talion's face hardened, his eyes seething with a fury so deep it seemed to crackle in the air around him. He was still for a moment, staring at the wraith. The thought of how he had once allowed this creature to possess him, to share his body, now made his skin crawl in revulsion.

Kratos, standing rigid with barely contained rage, growled out his contempt. "I've faced many monsters in my life, Celebrimbor," his deep voice rolled like thunder. "But you are by far the most foul!" His eyes bore into the wraith, a clear promise of the retribution that would follow.

Their reactions mirrored their individual experiences and personal despise towards the wraith. Each person in that room shared the same goal - to protect Aurora and put an end to the vile spirit's tyranny once and for all.

In the tense silence, the stirring of the baby was the only sound that cut through the air. This moment, tiny as it was, created an opening. Legolas seized the opportunity. His focus narrowed, all his attention converging on his target - Celebrimbor's hand.

With swift precision, he released his arrow. It flew, aglow with the light of Alfheim, cutting through the tension and straight towards Celebrimbor's spectral hand. On contact, the light seared the wraith, forcing him to let go of his blade. The sound of a spectral cry echoed around the room as his hand dropped the blade, the light from the arrow causing him to recoil.

Simultaneously, Avallac'h seized the moment. His magic swirled around the falling Aurora, catching her mid-air. She hovered momentarily in a cocoon of mystical energy before being transported over to their side, safe from the wraith's reach.

The scene gave Kratos the break he needed. With a mighty roar, he charged. "YOU FOUL FIEND!" He bellowed, the force of his wrath hitting the wraith like a tangible force. He landed a powerful hit, his fist connecting with Celebrimbor's vulnerable form and sending him crashing through the wall.

As the dust settled, Avallac'h handed Aurora to Derreck, who quickly turned in the opposite direction. His mission now was to reunite his daughter with Laura and their son, away from the chaos and danger. The room was left echoing with the remnants of their confrontation, the specter of the wraith's threat still hanging heavy in the air.

As the dust of the collapsed wall filled the air, the outline of two figures were cast into the evening light. Kratos, his white war paint stark against the descending darkness, and the spectral form of Celebrimbor, battered yet not entirely defeated. They crashed into the clearing a short distance away from the room, their intense battle carrying them away from the safety of the castle walls.

Just as quickly, others followed them into the clearing. Geralt was first, the Aetherveil and Specter Elixir having been consumed in quick succession. These potions provided him with temporary immunity to certain mind-affecting spells and illusions and also allowed him to see through solid objects - useful advantages in the ensuing fight. The familiar chill of Crait's family sword was in his hand, ready for combat.

Ciri, not far behind Geralt, had consumed the Mushroom Marvel. She felt the potion augmenting her physical prowess, making her stronger and more resilient. It also gave her the ability to throw fireballs and, when in danger, provided her with a Starman invincibility period.

Talion was hot on their heels, his eyes narrowed and his fingers flexing around the Dragon-Eye Amulet. Even without the Ring of Power, he was determined to see this through to the end. His heightened senses, courtesy of the amulet, were aware of every move Celebrimbor made, every gust of wind that rustled the leaves, every crunch of grass under Kratos's feet.

Legolas followed suit, his light-infused bow in his hand, an ethereal beacon amidst the chaos of the night. His sharp Elven eyes scanned the clearing, not missing a beat, his fingers feather-light yet firm on his weapon.

Bringing up the rear was Gimli, his trusted axe in his grip. The weapon, incredibly sharp and durable, absorbed and redirected energy attacks. It would unleash a powerful wave of energy when swung with full force, causing burning damage over time. This weapon of devastating power was in the hands of one who knew how to use it to its full potential.

Their presence turned the solitary clash into a grand standoff, each of them ready to fight until the end. And in the heart of it all was Celebrimbor, a spectral enemy from a past life, a reminder of betrayals and vengeance yet to be served.

Despite his spectral state, Celebrimbor proved to be a formidable opponent. He retaliated with all the ferocity of a cornered animal, his eyes glowing a menacing blue. He lashed out with ethereal blades and spectral arrows, each attack a test of their defense and agility. He was a master of his art, manipulating the elements and the ethereal realm to his advantage.

But his greatest weapon was the branding mark, a devastating ability that could control minds and turn allies into enemies. It was a perilous weapon, and Celebrimbor aimed it directly at Geralt. His hand reached out, spectral fingers aiming for the Witcher's forehead, the blue glow of his mark illuminating the darkness.

But Geralt was prepared. He had downed the Aetherveil just moments ago, a potion that provided immunity to mind-affecting spells and illusions. As the mark came in contact with his skin, it recoiled as if hitting an impenetrable barrier. The branding mark fizzled out, much to Celebrimbor's shock. Geralt's eyes, usually a captivating amber, glowed with an ethereal blue light, the potion's effect radiating from within him.

The recoil sent a wave of force through Celebrimbor's spectral form, throwing him backward and disrupting his attack. The others seized this moment, launching a counterattack. The fight was far from over, but the failure of Celebrimbor's branding mark gave them an edge they desperately needed. It was a small victory, yet one that fueled their determination to bring this fight to an end.

In the heat of the battle, Celebrimbor's eerie glow waned under the relentless onslaught of the team. With the light of the Elven realm coursing through his veins, Legolas was a vision of fury and grace. His arrows, suffused with radiant energy, found their mark each time, weakening Celebrimbor further. He was swift and precise, his movements a blur of speed and accuracy.

Talion was a whirlwind of focused rage, the power of his Dragon-Eye Amulet sharpening his reflexes. He had a personal vendetta against Celebrimbor, the wraith who had once shared his body. Every parry, every strike, echoed with the bitterness of betrayal and the desire for justice. He was relentless, his blade slashing through the wraith's form, leaving trails of ethereal mist in its wake.

Kratos, the God of War, was a force of nature, his fury palpable in every clash. The Blades of Chaos danced in his hands, their blazing arcs searing through Celebrimbor's spectral form. The runes etched into the blades glowed with divine energy, and the chains rattled like the death knell for the wraith. Kratos was a storm of vengeance, every strike, every hit, a testament to the anger that had been ignited when Celebrimbor threatened the children.

Geralt, the White Wolf, moved with the fluid grace of a predator. Enhanced by the Serpent Serum, his reactions were superhuman. His sword, the Family Sword of Clan an Craite, sang through the air, its chill touch slicing through the spectral form of Celebrimbor. Every stroke was calculated, every move a product of years of Witcher training and the lethal precision granted by the Aetherveil potion.

Ciri, wielding her enhanced strength from the Mushroom Marvel potion, was a whirlwind of flame and fury. The fireballs she hurled seared through the air, their heat causing Celebrimbor to recoil in surprise. With her strength and resilience amplified, she darted through the battlefield, her movements swift and agile. Her Starman invincibility period proved a boon, shielding her from any counterattack that the wraith tried to launch.

Gimli was an unstoppable force, his axe a devastating weapon in his hands. The dragon oil enchantment set his weapon ablaze, and the force of his attacks sent waves of energy crashing into Celebrimbor. The glow from the axe illuminated the clearing, casting long shadows that danced with every swing of the Dwarf's weapon.

As the fight wore on, the resolve of the team never wavered. They moved with fluid synchronization, their actions harmonious despite their different fighting styles. Celebrimbor, caught in their onslaught, struggled to retaliate. His form wavered, weakened by their relentless attacks.

Despite the strength Celebrimbor wielded, he was outmatched. The sheer determination of the team, coupled with their relentless assault, slowly but surely eroded the wraith's defenses. The spectral figure flickered under their onslaught, his form gradually losing its substance.

And then, the final blow came. It was Kratos, his fury culminating in a final, devastating attack. With a roar of anger and retribution, he plunged the Blades of Chaos into the wraith, the divine energy from the weapons incinerating the spectral figure. With a shriek that echoed through the clearing, Celebrimbor disintegrated, his form dissipating into nothingness.

As Celebrimbor's spectral form dissipated into the air, the ring that had been his source of power clattered to the ground. It was a simple thing, a circle of gold etched with intricate designs, but its innocent appearance belied the terrible power it held.

Kratos's heavy breathing echoed in the sudden quiet, his eyes never leaving the spot where Celebrimbor had vanished. They had done it. They had defeated the wraith. But they weren't finished yet. There was still one last step to be taken, one last task to be completed.

The silence of the clearing was broken by the soft crunch of boots on grass. All eyes turned towards the source of the sound. Thrudd, her father's hammer clutched in her grip, stepped forward. Her gaze was steady, her jaw set in a determined line. This was her moment, her chance to finish what they had started.

She walked with purpose, her footfalls echoing in the tense silence of the clearing. The weight of her father's hammer in her hand was a comforting presence, a tangible reminder of the legacy she was upholding. She was Mjölnir's heir, Thor's daughter, and she had a mission to complete.

She came to a stop before the fallen ring, her gaze sweeping over it. For a moment, she simply stood there, her grip tightening on the hammer's handle. Then, with a deep breath, she raised Mjölnir high above her head.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Every breath, every heartbeat seemed to echo in the silence. And then, with a primal yell, Thrudd brought the hammer down.

The force of the blow shook the clearing, a wave of energy rippling outwards from the point of impact. The ground beneath the hammer's strike shattered, cracks spreading out like a spider's web. And in the center of it all, the ring that had once held Celebrimbor's power lay shattered, broken by the might of Thor's hammer.

As the dust settled, Thrudd lowered her hammer, her chest rising and falling with her heavy breaths. It was over. The ring was destroyed, Celebrimbor's threat extinguished. They had done it. They had won.

There was a moment of shocked silence following Thrudd's final, resounding strike. The members of their group watched as the remnants of Celebrimbor's ring settled in the cracked earth, disbelief etched onto their faces.

Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn, veterans of the war for Middle Earth and bearers of the knowledge of the power and resilience of such a ring, found themselves rooted to the spot, their eyes wide in astonishment. The rings of power, particularly the One Ring, had only one known weakness: the fires of Mount Doom where it was forged. Seeing such a ring destroyed here, under the might of Thor's hammer, was something they had never imagined possible.

"By the beard of Durin..." Gimli breathed, his eyes glued to the remnants of the shattered ring, his face a mask of disbelief. "I would not have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes."

Legolas was equally stunned. He had seen much in his long life, had faced great perils and witnessed incredible feats. But this... this was something else entirely. He had seen the power of the One Ring firsthand, had seen the devastation and chaos it could cause. And now, to see a ring of similar power so easily destroyed... it was almost incomprehensible.

Aragorn, too, was silent, his experienced gaze assessing the shattered ring, a frown marring his brow. He had led the charge against Sauron, had seen the lengths they had to go to destroy the One Ring. That a similar artifact could be obliterated so easily, it was almost a relief.

But it was also a shock.

Still, as they stared at the destroyed ring, there was no denying the reality of what they had witnessed. Thrudd, Thor's daughter, had accomplished the unthinkable. And in doing so, she had brought an end to Celebrimbor's reign of terror.

Eventually, Gimli broke the silence, his voice rough with awe. "Well, lass," he said, turning to Thrudd with a wide grin on his face, "You've certainly given us a tale to tell."

Thrudd just smiled, exhaustion and relief etching lines into her young face. But in her eyes, there was a light - a fire that echoed the raw, unstoppable power that had destroyed the ring. She had proven herself, not just as Thor's daughter, but as a warrior in her own right. And in doing so, she had helped them defeat a formidable enemy, ensuring the safety of their world.

In that moment, they all knew they had witnessed something truly extraordinary, a feat that would go down in the annals of history. They had seen the impossible made possible. And they knew they would carry the memory of this victory with them, a shining beacon of hope and proof of their own strength, for the rest of their days.

As the dust from the final confrontation settled, a familiar figure approached the group. Lego Batman, his cape fluttering in the wind, walked over, his face unusually serious under his cowl.

He didn't need to say anything for them to know that something was amiss. They watched as he halted, his gaze sweeping over the group before he finally spoke.

"The Night King's ring... it's gone," he said, his voice devoid of its usual dry humor. "The last time we saw him, he was a ringwraith, so we can safely assume that he made his escape."

His words echoed in the silence, a sobering reminder that their work was far from done. They had won a battle, but the war was far from over.

"We'll keep our eyes and ears open," Lego Batman continued, his gaze steady. "We can't afford to let our guard down. We'll also keep Arya and Jon informed. They have the right to know."

His words were met with solemn nods. They all understood the gravity of the situation. The Night King was a formidable adversary, one they couldn't afford to underestimate.

As Lego Batman moved away, the group was left to process the news. But there was an unspoken agreement amongst them. They had faced and overcome great odds before. They had stared down fear and emerged victorious. The Night King was a threat, but they were ready to face him. They would stand together, just as they had done before, ready to protect their world from whatever threats lurked in the shadows.

They were warriors, protectors, heroes. And they would not falter in the face of danger. They had won today, and they would continue to fight, to protect, and to strive for a better tomorrow.

After all, that's what heroes do.

…

The echo of the prison cells was a grim reminder of their victories and losses. Eredin and his two associates sat hunched in the bare room, the tension palatable as Avallac'h, Sif, Logan, Ciri, Geralt, and Kratos entered.

They stopped before the cell, the metallic clang of the door echoing ominously in the silence. In Avallac'h's hand was a small, battered item. The remains of Celebrimbor's ring. He held it up for them to see, the dim light glinting off the fractured surface.

"You crossed a line," Avallac'h's voice cut through the tense quiet, ice cold and hard as diamond. "A line you can never uncross."

His gaze was locked on Eredin, his eyes seething with an anger that sent a chill down their spines. He tossed the remnants of the ring into the cell, the clatter of metal on stone ringing out.

"When you return to your world," he continued, his voice hard, "know that I will be there. I will be there to make sure justice is served."

His words hung heavy in the cold, stale air. His threat was clear, and the message was unmistakable. They had crossed a line, and there would be consequences.

Geralt, Logan, Sif, and Kratos stood tall beside Avallac'h, a united front against Eredin and his associates. They had fought and bled together, they had faced down powerful foes, and they had emerged victorious.

And now they were here, standing before their defeated foes, making their stand. They would not be threatened. They would not be bullied. They would fight, and they would win.

As they turned to leave, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the cold stone halls, the message was clear. They were heroes, and they would not back down. They would stand together, ready to face whatever threats may come their way.

And they would prevail.

Cerys and Hjalmar, siblings and Skellige royalty, strode forward, their expressions etched with both anger and sorrow. The Wild Hunt had left a stain on their home, had taken their father from them. Now, they had a chance to confront the culprits directly, and neither would let the opportunity pass.

Cerys was the first to speak, her words ringing out clear and sharp in the still air. "Eredin," she began, her gaze locked with the spectral leader of the Wild Hunt. "Look at what you've become. A prisoner, stripped of your power, your pride. You're a far cry from the King of the Wild Hunt, aren't you?"

Her voice was calm but laced with scorn. The anger simmering just beneath the surface was evident to all who heard. "You took our father from us, Eredin. An act of cowardice, not of strength. Now, look at you. You are nothing. You are less than nothing."

The silence that followed her words was heavy, broken only by the quiet murmur of her brother's voice. Hjalmar, standing next to his sister, bore the same expression of contempt. He addressed Eredin, his voice a low growl, "You took a good man from this world, Eredin. A better man than you'll ever be."

Hjalmar's voice was raw, the emotion behind his words clear. His fists clenched at his sides, the white of his knuckles standing out starkly against his tanned skin. "You killed our father, and for what? Power? Control? Look at where it's gotten you."

There was a pause, a brief moment of silence as the siblings shared a glance. Then, in unison, they spoke, their words echoing off the walls of the cell. "You will pay for what you've done, Eredin. Not today, perhaps, but someday. You will pay."

With those final words, Cerys and Hjalmar turned their backs to the cell, their message delivered. The echoes of their voices slowly faded away, leaving behind an oppressive silence and a promise of retribution.