In their efforts to hone their focus to the limits, every sensation becomes more alarming than before. The tiniest pebbles that fall rival boulders to their skeptical perspective and tunnel vision. Although Sigyn closely follows the Wolf of Midgard, Freya unconsciously forms a gap between them. Instead of tense adrenaline dictating her attention span, it is nervous anticipation for confronting the Aesir. And while she locks her grip upon her short blade, the intention to use it is unwelcoming. Her desire to unfold the answers to her disarray outweighs her will to slay an enemy god. Something neither Loki nor the sorceress can decipher. Their ears prevail at detecting the ambiguous presence of the God of Darkness, whereas their sights fail to do the same.
"Many steps follow behind you, Wolf of Midgard," Höðr's voice beckons and whispers in the clouds of discord. "Your new friend will not make a difference..."
The Aesir's ominous tone has no ill effect over Atreus and Sigyn's pace, but slithers its way into the Vanir with ease. His name alone was a candle in the black spaces of her mind, and hearing his voice set it ablaze even further. Although her pause to distinguish his vocals is brief, she presses onward only a second or so later to prevent impeding the younger deities.
"You remind me of a story, Loki," the blind God recalls warmly. "A tale of a man, branded by a bloody past, whose rage left nothing but ruin, and an ocean of crimson tears in his wake. The story of a marked warrior, an outcast who sought to break his chains, only to die clenching them..."
The open-interpreted details are no mystery to the Last Son of Sparta, who cannot help but freeze in place at the mention. Sigyn and Freya also take their frozen stance behind him, quickly understanding the implied message. Even as the words left the Aesir's tongue, the visions of his father's shameful history echo in his son's mind. Taunting him, such as the God of Shadow's words, obscures his focus with vividly violent images. Even as he attempts to push past the haunting flashes, Höðr persists in his mocking retelling.
"The Allfather spoke of this man, marked red and stained ash white by failure," the Aesir spouts condescendingly. "How this stranger, bore a rage that neither mortal, beast, monster, giant, nor God could subdue. Trolls were crushed by his strength, the dead crumbled back to their graves under his heel, and even pure-blooded Aesir lay sundered by his might. The sons of Thor could not break him, their thunder could not silence him, and their lightning could not smite him down..."
With every syllable spoken, and every slow step taken, the events of Atreus's childhood adventure burst into his mind. His battle with Modi and Magni is ever plain and clear as if fresh, their chanting blasting in his ears along with the crashing of lightning. The sadistic mannerisms and remarks from Baldur also writhe and wiggle up his neck as he recalls the moments of encountering the Aesir. And as he is dazed by his reminiscing of history, the cave around him also betrays his senses. The discreet shifting of shadows, the gentle breezes of clouded air that drift around him, and the cracking of rock all flood his hearing and eyes. And still, the son of Odin remains antagonistic.
"Even my brother, Baldur, the unkillable, fell to his wrath," Höðr speaks mournfully. "The halls of Asgard wept at the loss of our kin, I and Thor, more than any other... So imagine our distraught, when we sought council with our Allfather to seek revenge, only to be told to stay our hand... In his wisdom, Odin ordered us to keep our distance and go nowhere near this marked warrior. Despite all that he had taken from us! But whatever shock we were dealt that day by our father's pacifism, could not compare to what happened next... For the first time, in all his life, for all of Asgard to bear witness to, Thor refused!"
As outlandish the claim was, the trio halted in startled surprise at the absurd notion. Even Sigyn, who had resided in Asgard at that time, had no knowledge of this specific detail. Freya stands in disbelief, never considering the honor-bound God of Thunder to reject a direct order from her ex-husband. While most of his traits are abhorrent and vile, Thor's loyalty to the Aesir is his truest noble trait. Though it lies unspoken by the three, their curiosity about the story, even as it begins to cause anguish within the Wolf of Midgard, for knowing its conclusion.
"Unable to stomach the burning pain of all he'd lost, and incapable of enduring the flames of hatred that had now birthed within his heart, Thor ventured to Midgard," the Aesir continues. "Odin was unable to stop this retaliation in time, as my brother had left unnoticed, and by the time his absence became apparent, Midgard already rumbled by his might. And that of the marked warrior, this Ghost of Sparta my father claimed to be his name! A battle of such raw fury that the quakes of their blows reached the heavens... But alas, the last roar of thunder rang across the nine realms... And Thor stood victorious, bloodied, and savagely battered as he marched back into the halls of Valhalla!"
Atreus attempts to compose his sorrow, his legs weakened by the weight of his last moment with his father. With grieving and chattering jaws clamped, and fuming air through his nostrils, his turmoil stands apparent to the Goddesses with him. But due to the discreet and dreading signs around them, neither Sigyn nor Freya can console him and offer solace. Now, the three stand within a broad clearing within the epicenter of the rubble. Towering stones, mounds of rock and gravel, and very dim light are all that surround them.
"But the one thing that stood out to us all, was his excitement," Höðr remarks, dumbfounded by what he's about to recite. "Even when so near to death's hold, my brother spouted praise and eagerness... That night, this Ghost of Sparta was not alone. He had a child... And in his last words spoken, he told the God of Thunder, that his son would be better than he ever could be... And Thor was ecstatic at the stranger's claim!"
Atreus listens on, baffled that his own father would make such a proclamation, even before his own death. But doubt whipped his thoughts into denial that such a thing could be true. Even as he is now, the Wolf of Midgard cannot fathom that he may be considered equal to Kratos. His strength and resolve alone were that of a boulder beside a mountain when comparing his willpower and prowess to his dad in his mind. But what else could the Ghost of Sparta be entailing with such a claim? Even with the phrase being told to him many times growing up, he could not precise the meaning behind the statement.
"And so, I must ask you," the Aesir concludes. "You were that boy, the child from all those years ago? The son of the Greek war God?"
In the wake of the distastefully worded question, an equally dishonorable action unfolds before their eyes. From the shadows, seeping in darkness, several black arrows of silent movement fly outward. Only by Sigyn's fast thinking does she thwart Höðr's assault. With a wave of her hand, Freya and Atreus are shoved aside by unnatural winds. Even the sorceress is carried in the opposite direction of the duo, now sheltered by tilted stone pillars. Glancing around, she cannot detect any clue to the Aesir's whereabouts, as his speed is difficult even by her means to track. Loki and the Vanir rise back to their feet, but even for them, they pose no assistance in locating their foe. Only his antagonizing chuckle and more of his mocking words can be heard.
"Odin has only ever spoken little of the other clans of gods, but the Olympians, he had a firm opinion of them," Höðr claims. "More specifically of his encounter with their king, who he claimed to be a stubborn young bastard!"
Once more, Höðr takes a direct action of assault on Atreus from the fog. The latter can only spot the small glimmer of his enemy's spear from the mist, piercing toward him. Although he sways and averts the tip of the armament, the Wolf of Midgard is dealt yet another slash across his shoulder. He attempts to counter the strike, the momentum of his swerving forming power behind the punch he aims toward the Aesir. However, his fist is bashed away by the bottom end of the glaive before being struck down to the ground by a jabbing elbow to the face. Unwilling to let Atreus retaliate, the God of Darkness attempts to finish his foe with a downward slash; a brief flash of purple bypasses his sash as he does so.
Yet, in ample time, Freya circumvents the attack, blocking it with her short blade. Even the Aesir is puzzled by her sudden interference, as much as the Goddess herself. Now looking, face to face with the infamous Höðr, pain rumbles in her chest from her fast pounding heart. She bears no memory of this Aesir, yet her body reacts unsettlingly to the mere sight of him. Whatever has eluded her mindscape has been detected down to the smallest molecule in recognition of the Aesir. But before any further insight could be attempted, Höðr casts his intrigue aside to snuff out Freya's resistance. Only to underestimate the Goddess's prowess in combat, who begins parrying his elusive strikes. A stalemate of crossing blades is conducted by the two before Sigyn also joins the fray. Conjuring thorned vines from the disturbed earth, the sorceress hurries to ensnare the Aesir. But, as demonstrated before, he is too swift to be apprehended by such means. Blending into the shadows, he slips from the jagged trap, eluding the duo goddesses.
"Are you alright, Atreus?" Freya questions, warding off any further attempts of harm toward the Wolf of Midgard.
"I'll be fine-" Atreus mutters while standing, but is interrupted by the remark of Odin's son.
"That voice..." Höðr reflects, baffled, and his adrenaline abruptly quelled. "The tone, pitch, the sound of your breath and flurry of your sword..."
Before the three are open to ponder his vague words, yet another dry, winded cackle leaks from his throat. His brazen attitude toward his enemies only causes Atreus and his allies further concern. Afirming their stance, and keeping their distance as they observe the unstable mentality of the Aesir.
"I should have known he'd recruit you, drag you out of your hut in the backwaters of Midgard," the God of Darkness comments, entertained yet distasteful by his own deduction. "It's been a long time, Freya..."
The final word that slides off his tongue drizzles the three with a shiver of confusion and shock. Above all, Freya is dumbfounded and trembles at his comment with a heart-rattling confusion. Her grip is erratic and loose around the handle of her blade, and her hold on the breath in her lungs is just as unstable. Even as he effortlessly recognizes her, no matter how hard she attempts to recall him, her efforts are in vain. Her thoughts and body fall into turmoil, twisting and entangling around logic, and the emotions that flood her chest and consciousness.
"You know who I am?" Is all that the Goddess can muster from her baffled soul.
Atreus and Sigyn are voiceless, but steadily make their way to post themselves beside the Vanir. The Last Son of Sparta does not deter from bracing himself for another encounter. Regardless of the emotional distress carried between them in his expression, the other governing fact is his lethality and the danger he still poses. As unsettling as his knowledge of them may be, this will not stir as a deterrent from their quarrel. And yet, the Vanir Goddess's emotional discord is projected to them all with her soft, quivering response. Such imbalanced behavior is apparent and disappointing to the Aesir, who only scoffs.
"Of course, you don't remember me," Höðr acknowledges with a sigh. "How could you?"
"What do you speak of, Aesir!" Freya accuses in hateful denial. "What lies are you hinting toward!"
The laugh that huffs from the Aesir embodies his condescending perspective of his enemies. Even as they outnumber him, the God of darkness is firm in his brazen conviction to ridicule them. In his blind amusement, Atreus and Sigyn have advanced, armed for another assault, despite Freya's distress.
"To lie would sully the moment with ignorance," Höðr counters her claim. "Why deceive you when the truth is what drives the deepest into your chest... Making that heart of yours tremble and quiver... Oh, how I missed that exhilarating sound."
Before a reply could be spoken, the Aesir shifts into the fog of battle. His abrupt displacement triggers the darkness from the further corners of the chamber to bleed out. Even the rays of light the peak in begin to choke and dwindle out of sight. Until, in mere moments, the trio are now submerged beneath the tides of the shadow, cast by the God who crafts and embodies it. As the blackness closes in, Atreus, Sigyn, and Freya stand back to back. Weapons and magic in hand, bracing for whatever may reach from the void. Even with blades ignited, and enchanting energy alight, none can pierce the veil. With her will already indecisive to act, this enchantment only discourages the Vanir into further inaction. His words haunt her mind, just like the shade enveloping them. She fears not the dark that obscures their sense of security, but of the boundless possibilities of his elusive words, and what she may have to do to survive.
"And for what you did to Baldur, I'll relish it more, as it pulses in my hand!" The Aesir states with hungering zeal.
With the wall of shadows aiding in his dislocation, the black arrows that barrage the three are less predictable. From nearly every angle, they are bombarded by Höðr's cursed shots, drenched in his distinct magic. Atreus does all he can to dispel and thwart the hail of projectiles, twirling and flinging his duel blades in every direction he can. Sigyn also attempts the same with her sorcery, even attempting to subdue the blockade that the Aesir has placed. However, even her spellcraft is ineffective, potentially due to her weakened state. Every blast of light is consumed by the mass of vile darkness, vanishing as quickly as conjured.
"You can't block his arrows!" Atreus warns the Vanir hurridly.
His passing of knowledge comes not a second too late, as Freya sets her sights upon one of the many bolts soaring toward her. Despite the forewarning, the Goddess conjoins the defensive maneuvers of blocking and sidestepping when peering at the incoming attack. As before, the arrow effortlessly bypasses the Vanir's bronze sword, grazing her cheek as it passes. Such a close call of discomfort surges Freya's instinct to survive, sheathing her doubts for now. But even with their unified efforts, the stagnancy of their progress is evident. No matter where Sigyn and Freya cast their spells, and regardless of where Atreus's arrows are directed, they are fighting blind. Until they can locate the Aesir, this spout will not meet a conclusion, or at least one of their benefit.
"Protect me, while I dispel his magic!" Freya orders, moving herself between Atreus and Sigyn.
Her motions are frantic, sporadic, yet precise as she engraves a series of runes and sigils upon the ground. Her hands glow gold, such as the symbols that now dimly shimmer beneath them. During her efforts, the Wolf of Midgard and the sorceress push themselves further to compensate for the Vanir's absence in fortification. More so, the former, as fatigue nor his injuries are not enough to drag down and impair his actions for now. Straining every fiber of his muscles and attention, Atreus rapidly swings and juggles his blades around them. A storm of heat and flames deter any projectile from making, born of his lingering anger and strong will to protect the Goddesses. Bursts of vibrant purple flash as the bolts explode in contact with the Blades of Chaos. Sigyn does her utmost to fill the gap with her magic, where he cannot defend. Arks of light, enchanted illuminating roots, and shimmering wards are called upon with every ounce of resolve she has to spare.
"Ljómi!" Freya shouts, activating the encantation within her carving.
A surge of yellow energy casts divine light around the room, and the trio is briefly blinded by the immense display. The shadows disperse and shrivel out of existence, and the clouded debris is banished in that split second. But alarmingly, so do the relentless shots aimed toward them also cease. None of them are granted a reprieve from the merciless bombardment before the Aesir persists in his assault. With nowhere to hide and the small window of opportunity open from the disorienting spell, Höðr makes his move. Blitzing headlong to the most significant threat, the Aesir lunges with his silent shadowed steps outward, clashing with the Wolf of Midgard. This time, not with his spear, but with clenched fists, the God of Darkness takes Loki away, carrying them off to a distant part of the cavern. During their darkened, drenched tussle, the Aesir slams him into any solid surface along the way. As such, when able, Atreus utilizes the momentum of their speed to reciprocate the actions. In repetition, the two exchange concussive blows, bashing each other with fists, or their bodies against the crumbling walls of the cavern.
In the mere moments that follow their collision, Atreus and Höðr have yet again sowed incidental destruction in their duel. Several splatters of blood upon cracked stone, and crimson red stains their attire and flesh before they finally divide. The Wolf of Midgard breaks from the Aesir's hold, the force of their speed tumbling them to different corners of this new section of the mines. And despite the ravaged beating inflicted upon one another, neither forsake the battle from fatigue. As the rage of Sparta reignites from Loki, he advances toward the God of Darkness.
However, Höðr makes the next attack, firing a black ichor arrow directly at the Last Son of Sparta. Only for the shot to be effortlessly intercepted, with Atreus catching it in his infernal grip. Stripping and burning away the shadow, he, too, draws his own bow to return the act in kind. With the bolt fired, scorching the air as it travels, the Aesir also displays his evasive expertise by averting the hit, with a smug grin. While he could avoid the jagged tip, liquid fire erupts beside him as the bolt contacts the wall behind him. His right arm is coated in the dripping flames, singing his skin and more of what's left of his clothing. But still, even as he hisses at the fresh burns, this injury does not impede his violent advance toward the Last Son of Sparta.
Both Höðr and Atreus rush the other, the Aesir with his javelin and Loki with his seax. The latter hurls his runic blade forward, with harsh winds carrying and gusting from the metal. Only for the God of Darkness to easily deflect it, backhanding it aside and above him. However, this action was what the Wolf of Midgard had hoped and devised would happen. With the silent rune knife airborne, Atreus calls it to himself, driving it back down to the ground. But with the Aesir in its path, the Seax pierces itself within his shoulder blade. The sharp sensation and unsuspecting impalement stir enough of a reaction to imbalance his charge. Loki subverts the fight to his advantage, tackling the Aesir in his distracted state. Once more, the God of Darkness is slammed into the scorched surface, the weight carrying behind the shove plunges the rune blade deeper into his back. A cough and groan of air-stripping pain exhales from him, only to be interrupted by further punishment. Unrelenting is Atreus's fists, as he carries aggravated fury and strength behind his intermixed jabs, uppercuts, and pulled-back swings. Each blow delivered throws and knocks the Aesir back into the quaking, crumbling rock mound.
The battle appears to be shifting into a one-sided beatdown. However, no matter how much the Aesir withstands, the Blind God does not allow himself to endure defeat. Even when devoid of sight, Höðr can miraculously catch the set of fists hurling toward him in his firm grasp. At last, he counters the succession of blows with his own.
"ENOUGH!" Höðr shouts, driving his foot into Atreus's abdomen and sending him soaring by the force of his kick. Immediately, he rips the short runic dagger from his shoulder.
Atreus is baffled, winded by the gut blow as he glides through the air. Even as he tumbles and attempts to halt his roll, it takes several seconds to catch his breath. This fight alone is a testament that this Aesir is unlike the rest he faced with his father. As a son of Odin, Höðr is in a caliber of power exclusive to himself, proving superior to even Baldur in some regard with his skill and utility in combat. Labeling him as a mere assassin is an understatement to the full scale of what this Aesir is capable of. The epiphany of this notion is now made clear as he stares down the charging God of Shadows.
Even as he is scrambled in thought and body, Loki reacts with the agility available to avoid the spectral slashes of Höðr's glaive. Besides the startling scrapes and cuts inflicted upon him, Atreus is now apparent in his focus as he keeps out of the Aesir's reach. Relying on his searing blades to negate the darkened magic, the two are yet again stuck, immovable in taking advantage of the other. Now backed into the defensive, Loki relies on studying his opponent, deducing an idea on how to finish this battle for good. The way he fights, his tactics, his motions, where he aims, and how he diverts from each swing to the next, Atreus observes carefully in hopes of detecting a weakness. However, not long into his observation, he missteps.
Just as he's about to elaborate a method of victory, he oversteps to avoid one of Höðr's strikes, only to leave himself unprotected alternatively. Receiving a blunt blow from the lower end of the Aesir's spear into his rib, the sound of fracturing bones shrieks in the air, as Atreus is sent crashing to the floor. The meager amount of oxygen he has is also fractured from his chest as he falls. He lies temporarily helpless, devoid of means to counter as he can only watch another plunge of the same sharp, golden blade coming down onto him.
Only by the last-second interference of Freya and Sigyn does the attack miss. With a blessed arrow, the Vanir casts the polearm aside, causing it to narrowly miss the Wolf of Midgard. As the Aesir looks to where the shot came from, both Goddesses rush him from diverted directions. A unison of sword swings and elemental magic is directed toward him, forcing Höðr to space himself from them. The shadows lift him away from harm, and elevate him to ideal vantage points to fire more dark bolts. But the two manage to keep rivaling pace with the Aesir, including matching his maneuverability to avoid his shots.
"Please, stop this!" Freya pleads, unwilling to cause genuine harm to Höðr but only acting as a ward against his havoc. "How do you know of me, and yet I've never known your name? Whatever the Allfather has ordered, you-"
"I am but another byproduct of your failures!" The Aesir claims, hellbent on rendering his enemies into lifeless bodies. "I don't do this because of orders or directives. All I do, I do for myself! I thought I had to wait until Ragnarök for things to get exciting! But low came a rapid wolf, trailed by a hag and a witch! What I do, is for me, and me alone!"
Neither Freya nor Sigyn can gain the upper hand regardless of their united tactics. Without his eyes, the God of Darkness has no difficulty swaying away from every attack they conjure. Even if he cannot hit his mark for the moment, they, too, are performing just as disappointingly. In conjunction with their assault, Atreus lingers from afar, recuperating in his minor respite while following with studying his enemy. So keen with his observations, every motion and reaction is accurately recorded in Loki's mind. Höðr tilts his head, leaning his ear toward incoming attacks and the advancing Vanir and Sorceress, like a second pair of eyes in his canals. The slight frown and squint of irritation in his face with each parried collision of metal are potent indicators of what detail has gone amiss. At last, the Aesir's sense of detection and his methods to locate his incoming foes grant the Wolf of Midgard the needed revelation. An answer that should have been apparent long ago.
"Sound," he mutters, forcibly lifting himself to his feet. Quick with his wits, having familiarized himself with this exact room, including his arsenal, Atreus quickly forms a strategy.
In forming his tactic, the God of Darkness steadily gains the upper hand in the battle. His defensive methods stalled long enough to detect a hindering opening in the barrage of spells and sharp-tipped metal aimed at him. Taking advantage of Freya's indifference towards dealing fatal blows, Höðr disarms her of her loose-gripped short sword. With a bash from the butt end of his spear, the blade is flung from her grasp, promptly leaving her open for a brutal, solid swing to her abdomen. Although Sigyn rushes to the Vanir's aid, this also falls into his decisive counter. The vines conjured from her swift gesture fail at coming close to grasping the crazed Aesir. Slipping from her reach momentarily offers him an opening to fire several of his shadow-cloaked arrows.
"Skuggi Kráka!" The Son of Odin cries out before releasing the projectile.
In a blast of blackened smoke, a murder of animated crows conjures into being from the arrow. Their flight patterns are sporadic and disorganized as they swarm the air around the sorceress. Try as she does, Sigyn's incapable of entirely dispelling and thwarting the flock of shadowed birds. Her Seiðr wards and manifested attacks only delay the inevitable final effect. Simultaneously, the animated crows converge, hurling themselves at her in a culminated detonation of blackness. Despite her urgent efforts to negate the impact, Sigyn's actions only mitigate the collision, which the eruption of dark magic still blows her back several feet. A yelp leaves her as she tumbles across the rigid rubble-coated floor.
"You children need to stay out of our affair, this is divine business," the Aesir remarks, returning his attention to Freya. The Goddess does not lift herself from the floor as Höðr gradually steps toward her. "You know, I had thought letting you rot in this lowly realm, would suffice as punishment enough for what you did to me and Baldur." With the edge of his foot, the Vanir is toppled over onto her back, with a heel driving into her gut. Her efforts to remove the prying step-off are in vain, out of fatigue and contorted resolve to harm the Aesir. "But apparently, this banishment did not invoke the right amount of suffering you deserve... I'd be glad to mend the Allfather's mistake."
"Höðr!" Atreus calls out from afar, anger echoing in his tone.
The Aesir's spoken name ripples a chill of enticement, of thrill across his divine flesh. Even as he fumes with loathing towards the Vanir beneath his foot, Höðr curiously turns his ear toward the booming shout directed at him. And there Atreus stands, no weapon drawn, panting from the overwhelming adrenaline that courses in his chest. The stains of his blood and that of the Son of Odin adorn his attire and skin. Yet, the grievous marks upon him don't dissuade the Wolf of Midgard from openly confronting him.
"You're right!" Atreus yells boldly. "I was that boy, all those years ago, who ventured across the realms with the Ghost of Sparta! I was there when Magni met his end with my father's axe, and I personally drove the dagger into Modi's throat!"
In his confessing rant, Freya and Sigyn listen, observing from the sidelines. Even while pressed under the Aesir's foot, and a smooth sharpened spear hanging above, the Vanir ponders Atreus's intentions. Though the urge to make another attack on the Son of Odin tempts the sorceress, she too also stays her hand out of intrigue.
"I stood beside my father when Baldur confronted us, witnessed their clash first hand," Atreus continues on, thinking of the moment with vivid clarity. "Saw the repercussion of their brawl... Above all, I was mere feet away when your brother fell... And how he died, like a little bitch!"
A throat-clenching silence chokes the chamber as the final phrase flows fluidly and confidently from his lips. A bold semblance of dumbfoundedness fueled by differing emotions takes root within the heart of all who hear his claim. Sigyn raises a dumbfounded brow at the statement, unable to discern the reasoning behind it. The quivering and hanging of Freya's jaw displays her grief, and heartache at the crude and harsh remark. However, Höðr whole body becomes unsteady, quaking with trembling anger that is poorly kept at bay. Whatever ire is searing for the Vanir goddess is snuffed out by another growing flame of hatred.
"I'm sorry, the fuck did you say?" The Aesir questions with a growl.
"For a son of Odin, I thought he'd have put up a better fight against the Ghost of Sparta," Atreus rambles further, an antagonizing lure carries in his words. "But I guess whatever strength he had was as pathetic as his excessive rambling!"
"Atreus!" Freya cries out, devastated by his vicious mockery.
"A sullying thought to agree with her, but she's right," the God of Darkness utters with his jaw clamped. "You'd do well to shut your mouth!"
"Why should I? Your brother wouldn't shut his until my father snapped his neck!"
Yet, even with the Vanir's objections, Atreus had the attention of the fuming Aesir. Höðr, with angrily loud steps, guides himself towards Atreus's voice. Even as his expression is unshifted from his haughty grin, the clenching of his fists and tightening of his muscles speak louder than any words.
"It's no wonder your Allfather never removed his curse," Atreus presses the topic further, his heart steady in anticipation for what comes after invoking the rage of the God of Darkness. "It's because Baldur was only useful when he couldn't die, but without it, he was just another disappointment!"
As the final insult is shouted, echoing into the ears of all present, the final catalyst takes effect. Drenched in shadow from his vibrant magenta runes, the Aesir erupts with a lung-ripping roar. Brazen, maddened, and consumed by violent intent, dashes toward the Wolf of Midgard. Despite this, Atreus holds his ground, driving his heels to brace for the savage assault. His hands held up, clenching his fist to embrace the blow. And as expected, the God of Darkness, drenched in darkness, puts all his might behind his spear. In hasty moments, with fists radiating fury, Loki willingly takes the hit with Trolls Bane. The sheer force of the impact booms to every recess of the cave, impaling their ears with the sharp ring of clashing metal. Atreus's whole body writhes and rumbles, reverberating pain traveling through him. Despite his bulwark, he is still thrown several yards back in muscle-aching agony.
However, despite the ferocious weight of the strike, Atreus could now reciprocate the damage tenfold. After withstanding several tumbling rolls across the floor, he flips himself back to his feet. As expected, the Aesir does not express mercy and continues his primal pursuit against the Wolf of Midgard. Yet, this time, Loki retaliates. Absorbing the bludgeoning force into his gauntlets, he thinks back to a technique his father had used in their travels many years ago. Activating the barricade upon one of his bracers, Atreus musters every ounce of his own strength, and that of what the Aesir delivered, and unleashes it upon the shield with a solid punch. A shockwave of ear-shattering energy erupts, blasting forward against the Son of Odin.
As the wave of power surges through Höðr, to the surprise of Freya and Sigyn, he is brought to his knees. He wails and cries out violently while clenching his skull, shaking uncontrollably, and dropping his spear out of ill resistance to the sound. The goddesses stand together, shoulder to shoulder, looking out at their foe who once sowed terror in them, now powerless and anguished. The sorceress's mouth hangs open, disbelieving the sight, while the Vanir is equally perturbed but wishful in her nods.
"Sound is his weakness!" Atreus calls out while the enemy is stunned. "He can't fight if he can't hear us!"
Even as he is riddled with agony, the Aesir does not submit to defeat without exerting himself further. Seething and growling, he desperately scrambles across the floor for his spear to counter. Though time was kind in allowing him mere seconds to re-retrieve his armament, fate and luck were unforgiving. He blindly swings where he believes the Wolf of Midgard would be, but with his sense of hearing still deafened, each of his attacks fails to come close to reaching him. Instead, Atreus undermines the attempts by easy efforts to avert them or outright counterstriking where the Aesir is most vulnerable. Though he does not deliver any fatal strikes, the Last Son of Sparta does inflict multiple jabs and kicks on Höðr. Yet, he returns to his defensive tactics once the God of Darkness regains composure, and gradually recovers from the concussive blast.
"Your little tricks are beginning to irritate me!" The Aesir spouts, spewing saliva off his canine as he rushes Loki again. Again, his efforts are circumvented by the intrusion of Freya and Sigyn.
"Hlǫm!" The Vanir shouts, flicking her wrists in concurrence with her magic.
With her agile gesture, seiðr magic rushes from her fingers into a flurry of gold, blue streams, and white flakes of energy. Converging into Atreus bracers without his knowing, he prepares to block the oncoming hit once more. This time, as the spear crashes down onto the bracers, the sound of the collision is amplified immensely by Freya's incantation. Again, the Aesir shouts in misery, leaping backward as he struggles to endure the hardship. Yet, before he can react further, Sigyn engages him while he's briefly incapacitated. She, too, invokes her mystical arts, conjuring illuminated vines to bind and thrash the Aesir into the environment around them. His body bashed into the walls and the gravel floor and eventually hurled into the nearest structure.
Despite the shift in their odds of victory, the Son of Odin persists in displaying his unnatural resilience. Even after his body is utilized to shatter rock and wood, the Aesir rises once more to his feet. A quiver in his lip as he pants is subtly seen, as he blindly directs his head toward them. Yet another roar of outrage escapes him, driving him to discard his own spear at them in a spiral. As the trio sway out of the trajectory of the glaive, Höðr rushes forward in rivaling pace. Still, regardless of his efforts, Atreus matches his speed with his shadow step. As the Aesir charges to subdue the sorceress permanently, the Wolf of Midgard catches his blow with his shield.
In repeated, degrading offense, the Son of Odin is perpetually stuck in a loop of stun lock by the Achilles heel of his augmented senses. Each disregarding, thoughtless act to usurp his enemies, only results in further brutality upon him. Time and time again, through the old ways of seiðr or from his temporarily enchanted bracers, he is deafened and halted in his tracks. Resulting in no clemency as the Aesir is relentlessly thrashed, beaten by fists, kicks, and the pommels of weaponry, and even bombarded by magic when discombobulated. Even his divine fortitude and dark abilities begin to wane as the myriad blows crash down on him. However, as the assault carries forward, Freya succumbs to her uncomprehensive sense of remorse at what the Aesir is enduring. Before, her attacks served to subdue and incapacitate him, but such actions now cause a trembling appall in her grasp. Overcome by this mortification she cannot explain, surfaces a desire to cease this battle.
"Atreus, wait," Freya calls out, attempting to quell the violence.
Unfortunately, the heat of the dire turmoil silences her heartfelt plea. Atreus and Sigyn are too immersed in the life-threatening quarrel. Even with his impairment, the Aesir is still a threat to them. As such, the latter's patience finally falters under the weight of his failing performance. With a disdaining growl, he lunges himself away with every ounce of momentum he can muster, dashing in a stream of black mist. Höðr's thoughtless will to survive, and his damaged hearing causes him to ram his whole body against the furthest wall he could find. But, this pain would not impede him, as he immediately draws his bow as a last resort. However, due to his inability to locate them, his drastic method to hit his mark is spraying enchanted arrows in every direction.
"SKUGGI KRÄKA!" Höðr shouts, consumed by the darkness manifesting from his soul.
The myriad eruptions of black magic gleam in a dazzling purple display, spawning a horde storm of mystical crows that sporadically soar in all directions. In the flurry of shadow, Sigyn flinches from the onslaught, her arms raised over her face. And coming to her aid, Atreus leaps into her line of sight, standing his ground as her vanguard. With his father's blades in hand, still vibrant red and orange, the Wolf of Midgard twirls and spirals them to form a fiery barrier from the oncoming flock. The clash of shadow and flame extinguishes the shades, allowing him and Sigyn to press onward. In synchronized motion, the duo rushes the Aesir, upholding their defensive measures. The sparks of red and violets ripple and explode across the battlefield as the opposing forces near one another.
"Atreus, please!" The Vanir calls out again.
The bridge of space rapidly closes, and both vying forces make one final move to end this conflict. The sliver of an opening unveils the Aesir's urgent reach for the new ammunition. Sigyn, having only enough strength to animate one last incantation, thrusts her hands forward. A warded wave of light launches from her hands into a golden wall, absorbing the God of Darkness's next bolt of blackness. That one second that the sorceress can manage to animate the barrier suffices as Atreus dashes into the shadows, mere feet from Höðr. He, too, arms himself with his Talon bow, the glimmering arrows in his grasp and directed at the Son of Odin. Who, due to his slightly recovered hearing, scarcely manages to detect the preemptive attack.
"The Hel!" Höðr yells out, startled and flabbergasted, while hurriedly directing his own projectiles toward the Last Son of Sparta.
"SKUGGI-"
"LJÖSTA!"
The two synchronize their incantations, simultaneously shooting their final arrows. Shadow and light combust from the strings of their bows, hurling their enchanted arrows into an array of vibrant colors at the other. However, Atreus's bolt is aimed true, as the Aesir's shots prove narrowly inefficient. The light of Loki's ammunition dispels the darkness of Höðr's, bypassing his last valiant effort and plunging itself directly into the center of his chest. The Son of Odin is disarmed, flown back by the might of the arrow, and bouncing from the same surface he sought shelter by. And as he painfully pries the arrow from his ribs, he's helpless to avert what comes next. Leaping above, pouncing down as a wild animal would, Atreus rushes for the kill. The silhouette of a great wolf is cast as a shadow over the Aesir, emanating from Loki's fur fabric and the mystical visage animated by his attire. His father's blades, governing the razor edges to hit first, as hungering fangs.
"ATREUS!" Freya pleads heartily, the last sound that emits through the room before the ringing of Atreus's blades pierces the earth.