Years Later
With the coming of Ragnarok, the denizens of Asgard, have begun to make their move against the other realms. The paranoia from their Allfather brings chaos to every corner of each world, attempting to prevent the impending demise of the Aesir. The warriors of Valhalla have been summoned and now march forth. To those who recognize the dark grey armor with fur padding, and the horned helmets that stretch a foot above the warriors' heads, know to avoid these chosen servants of Odin. Lest they feel the wrath from the mad, god-king.
In a land teeming with forest life, where the trees stand at a near-identical height, lies a hidden village of Dwarves. What originally was a peaceful night for the short and stout villagers became a twilight of terror. They're herded and forced by Odin's servants to bundle against one another outside their now burning homes. Many of them weep as they hold onto their loved ones dearly, already accepting that their death may be imminent. It's uncertain how the soldiers could find them, despite their inherent ability to walk between realms.
"Any who defy the Allfather's wishes shall face his divine judgment!" One of the soldiers shouts aloud.
With no fighters in their midst, the people are powerless and unable to defend themselves from the mistreatment inflicted on them by Asgardian's. Those who have resisted are more bloody and bruised than the rest. All they can do is tilt their heads, and pray in tearful silence that all will be fine in the end.
"I found them," another knight calls out from a short distance.
All the soldiers turn to the direction of the yell. Walking down a dirt trail, and unable to fight back is Sindri and Brok, the forgers of Mjolnir. The two of them are dragged over to the rest of the militia that has raided the town. Brok's beard has grown long and has barely received any proper care in the last few years. For Sindri, the only real change is his shorter length of locks and facial hair.
"Get your Aesir, boot shining hands off me," the blue-skinned dwarf spouts.
While Brok is far more annoyed than fearful, his brother, on the other hand, exerts the opposite opinion. The physical contact with the warrior sickens him as he lifelessly lets himself get pulled away. So nervous for his life, he cannot form a proper sentence, and the wrenching feeling of wanting to vomit doesn't help. Once reaching the leader of the military force, the two dwarves are flung to his direction. As the brothers bring themselves up off the ground, the commander approaches, towering over them with disgust for the duo.
"You two aided an enemy of Asgard, and a threat to the Allfather years ago!" He preaches for all nearby ears to hear.
"And so what if we did," Brok responds, brushing the dirt from his smithing armor. "You big Ass guardian pussy!"
As if following a natural reflex, the commander rams his foot into the blue dwarf's chest. Brok, having the wind knocked out of him, does not have the strength to lift himself up again.
"Brok!" Sindri calls his brothers name in concern.
Without any warning, he too is kicked onto the gravel from behind. The two hack repeatedly due to the harsh blows and dirt in their lungs. As they turn themselves back to the savage soldiers, the two lock their sights at the shining blade of the field commander.
"For your crimes against the Aesir, and Odin himself, I feel death is a suitable punishment for you disgusting creatures!" He tells the limping dwarves with a stern look.
The brothers sit back, helpless, and unable to protect themselves from the soldiers. Brok stares angrily, haughty, and embracing what happens next. Sindri gets close to his sibling, but not enough to physically touch him, despite his desire to do so. Without thinking it, Brok latches his grip onto him to give comfort and to give his scared brother confidence. While Sindri is initially in discomfort from this, in this last moment, he lets go of his phobia and stares long at the Asgardian with a hateful frown. The brothers' share in a sigh as the warrior lifts his sword high to strike down at them, but unprepared for what happens next.
"Þruma!" A voice shouts from a distance.
Right as the commander looks forward, the last thing he sees is his demise. Moving like a bolt of lightning is a well crafted and aimed arrow. Striking the warrior in the chest, the force behind the hit sends the Asgardian flying through the air. Landing in front of the panicking villagers, they all watch as the life from him slips away as electricity courses through his body.
"What was that?" A knight questions startled by what unfolded before everyone's eyes.
Just as the soldiers turn to the direction of where the arrow was shot, whatever was there has disappeared. Only a small cloud of dirt lingers to taunt the swordsmen. Now anticipating a battle, the Asgardians draw their blades, with few of them bringing themselves into a defensive formation. A handful of them spread throughout the village, and with black bows stand ready to fire at the first thing they see. Whatever is stalking them this night does not merely wish to slay them, but to toy with them. At the corner of one of the men's eyes, a shadow dashes from the trees and brush.
"It's over here!" A soldier states, pointing his blade in the direction of the movement.
The Archers instinctively aim in that same location, all firing at once. As the arrows sour and meet at the same point, they pierce through the bushes. However, whatever tussled in the green has disappeared again. The bowmen look in confusion, knowing they fired in the right spot and now slowly question their aim. Brok and Sindri have already made a distance between them and the raiders. The two are conflicted with what they'd witnessed, but a sparkling sense within them believes they have seen such a feat. The footmen stay in a group and continue to look out for whatever is hunting them. In the opposite direction of the first sighting, another shadow jolts through the woods.
"No, it's over here!" One of the men shouts, shocked by the speed of their enemy.
"What?" An archer questions with complete denial. "What could move that quickly?"
Doubt and hysteria creep into the Asgardians' minds the longer they search. Even though they are confident of their sights being true, none can genuinely spot the threat, nor hit it. In time, the feelings of the villagers switch with the soldiers, with the people growing in bravery while the denizens of Asgard begin to be wary and scared.
"Bruni!" The voice shouts his next incantation.
From the trees, another arrow, bursting in wild flames, is shot at the bundling group of warriors. However, instead of hitting any of them directly, the shot slips pass their formation and lands at their feet. Upon clashing with the rock hard floor, an explosion of wrathful combustion blows the men into separate directions. Some launch into the air, while few are merely pushed onto their backs. A wall of fire and smoke now blocks the archers from taking any comeback actions. Now with their defenses hindering, the opportunity to go in for the kill has been open.
Though the Asgardians' rush to bring themselves back onto their feet, some would not make it in time to defend themselves. From the black forest, a heart-pounding roar to instill fear is directed at them. Only a second later, does the beast that made the noise lunge itself at them. The nearest soldier greets death before he can see it. A wolf as tall as a man leaps down onto him, crushing his skull within its razor-fanged jaws. The sound of his bones breaking and his last gasp of air leaving him strikes an emotional blow to the other men. The canine flails his lifeless body with such ease that it compares to a child swinging a twig. After a few moments of shaking, it finally throws the body to the side.
All shiver in silence as they lay their eyes onto the mighty beast. Even with the column of fire and smoke, the black fur of the predator does not lighten. Only the blood dripping from its teeth illuminates as it snarls at the raiders. The bowmen, while unable to see it clearly, know that something terrible has come for them. The Dwarves watch in awe, and while anxious in the animal's presence, there is a hint of glee. They were hoping and praying for safety, and maybe their wishes have been answered. Brok and Sindri as well are interested in their fury savior. The blue dwarf is amused by the chaos, while his brother finds slight disgust in the brutality.
"Fenrir?" One of the men questions in terror.
"Impossible!" Another raider responds, pleading for it not to be true.
Before any could take action, the wolf dashes forward to its next victim. While the nearest Asgardian is frantically about to swing his blade, his speed does not match his enemy. In the blink of an eye, he too falls victim to its fangs as they shred into his jugular. He shouts, only to have his blood fill his throat and muffle him. Demonstrating its immense strength again, it stands on its hind legs when lifting the Asgardian into the air. With one swing, it throws and slams him onto the ground, with such impact that his armor cracks and dints.
With the blaze still active, none of the archers can fire their arrows without risking harming their own allies. Among all the horror-stricken soldiers, only one steps up to the monster. Letting out a battle cry and charging recklessly forward, he takes up his sword and swings it at the beast. However, just as his blade touches the fur of the creature, its body becomes a cloud of blue smoke. His weapon cleaves through it and parts it in two, virtually hitting nothing. Everyone there soaks in the feeling of bafflement. The wolf is no longer in sight, in a panic, the Asgardians rapidly look around to where it could have gone. What they don't realize is the threat still remains next to the one who tried to strike it.
Down at the soldier's feet, an aggressive hissing noise can be heard. Looking downward, he catches only a glimpse of the source, before meeting his end. Extending itself at him is a white, king cobra, bearing a blue mark across its eye and down its body. With no time to react, the snake digs its fangs into his neck and latches onto his blade-wielding arm so he can't harm it. Even so, he swings his hand as best as he can and begins to tussle with it using his other arm.
Another swordsman comes to his aid, running forward and preparing to swing his blade. Yet, just as he does take action, the rushing speed of the snake makes him miss. Instead, his sword lands on his ally's neck, severing his head from his shoulders in one swoop. All watch in even greater shock to the event, the red juices of the deceased warrior spray out and stain the killer's armor. His comrade's lifeless body gives way to the dead weight and collapses, the serpent vanishes. None could see where it went, as everyone their dashes their eyes to different locations.
"Where did it go?" The blood-soaked warrior questions in fear when turning himself around to his group.
What he could not hear nor predict, is that the snake took shelter beneath the headless corpse. From under the body, the same smoke that clouded the wolf lightly pours and seeps out. For all to see, something beneath it begins to grow and shape itself. The body quietly rolls to its side as the mist-covered figure begins to rise. What is left of the militia are idle as they are unable to fathom what's happening before them. By their expressions, the bloodstained Asgardian knows there is something behind him, taunting him in his troubling mental state. For a brief moment, his breathing becomes unsteady and quick out of trembling worry. With one more shout, he spins himself around to take a preemptive strike. Sadly for him, his efforts were tirelessly thwarted. At the moment of looking back, his blade is knocked from his hand by a well-crafted, runic seax.
Now standing before all of them is not a beast, not a monster, nor even a human. What they all look upon is what looks like a man, wearing the fur cloak of a massive, black wolf. The ears of the long pelt still remain on the hood of the person who wears it. His gold-rimmed bow shines in the light of the fire, along with his quiver of the same quality. Other than his toned biceps and chest, his body is covered by leather and fur clothing, with chains wrapped around his forearms. Even though some of his flesh is painted with Nordic tattoos, the one that stands out is the luminous, Azure Blue marking across the corner of his face. From afar, it is the one detail that rings the many bells of familiarity in Sindri and Brok's minds. They know who has a mark like that, but they also know that man is dead. So, who is this stranger who has taken up the same symbol?
A glimmer of sudden confidence blooms in the hearts of the Asgardians', now that their misleading imaginations make them believe their foe is but an illusionist. So much so, that the bloody soldier becomes angry for being made a fool of. Brashly acting on his hatred, he swings his armor-clad fist at the Trickster. It is this moment of arrogance, that will cost him dearly. Without so much as thinking it, the hooded figure catches the warriors punch and holds his hand in place. What little haughty beliefs they had, were expelled from their hearts as they watch this stranger casually blocks the hit. To add insult to injury, the Marked Warrior starts to effortlessly bend the Asgardian's arm to the side. The stretching and cracking of his bones would not be the last thing he hears.
"Open fire," one of the soldiers commands.
Directing their bows and arrows to the Trickster, the bowmen all fire their shots in synch. Even with such precision and timing, they are not fast enough to hit him. Lifting the defenseless raider over his shoulder and holding him towards them, he uses him as a meat shield. Over a dozen spearheads pierce and penetrate the knight, ending his life as swiftly as the projectiles. The hooded figure drops his knife onto the floor as he pulls back his arm when holding the body up. With one built up punch, he sends the corpse flying at one of the archers. As if hit by a boulder, the ranger is knocked off his advantage point and plummets to the solid ground.
Utilizing this distraction, the Marked Warrior draws out his own longbow to present his superiority. As if using his muscle memory alone, he mindlessly takes out his bow and places three arrows on its string before anyone can react. Just as his enemies are about to counter his actions, he directs his shots to each squad of bowmen.
"Þruma!" The stranger shouts to activate his spell.
At his call, his arrows become consumed by lightning in a flash of light. As his fingers release the cord, his shots spread outward to different foes. The strike spreads beautiful, shining yellow colors across the air before striking a trio of Asgardian's. While the others try to prepare their own bows, their expertise, and reflexes don't come close to matching the hooded figure's. Just as their arrows touch the cords of their bows, their foe is already loaded and firing once more.
"Bruni!" He shouts to incite another incantation.
Furious flames bombard another group of Archers. Only this time, a series of explosions decimates the larger group in one move. A massive blaze is all that stands where the several rangers were, with their corpses burning as fast as dry grass. The Dwarves begin to lift themselves from the floor and smile in praise for this man's capabilities. They mutter to themselves with high hopes for his victory. Even as the last three archers prepare their bows, their efforts will be in vain. As they let go of their strings to launch the spearheads, the Marked Warrior has already predicted their trajectory. Dashing to the side without so much as turning to them, he miraculously averts the projectiles. Swerving around to face them, he holds his steel-tipped bolts in his fingers.
"Þruma Bruni Ljösta!" He yells the words of his runic magic.
Calling out the name of each spell, every single arrow he holds now embodies the elements of fire, lightning, and light. All must turn away from him due to the glowing radiance of his spells. When releasing the devastating bolts, he vaporizes the area around the remaining archers. An explosion of white, red, and yellow conjoining elements shakes the ground beneath them all. Unlike the others who find it difficult to stand, the Shapeshifter can withstand the rumble and stay firm on his feet. The blast of his spell creates a spire of smoke and gas and leaving the last of the Asgardian bowmen vanquished.
The Trickster turns himself to the remain forces that serve the Aesir, glaring at them unamused by their struggle to overcome him. As he places his longbow back over his shoulder, Odin's militia steps backward. The weight and the capabilities of this stranger prove to them that they have no chance of defeating him. The Joyous Dwarves laugh to one another aloud, even hugging one another for their hero's timely arrival. Even Brok and Sindri are cheerful for the events that are playing out. While the germophobic brother is still uncertain who is under the cowl, Brok smiles, firmly believing now who their savior is.
"It can't be," he mutters to himself in gleeful disbelief.
All seems to dimmer down, even the fires burning the homes begin to wither and die. The squadron of Asgardians lost not just the battle, but their dignity as well for being bested by what they believe to be a mortal man. While everyone stands quiet, only two options can be taken here. Either they flee, and in time feel the wrath of their Allfather for failing him or an alternative. As all the soldiers look to one another in question for what they should do, its the first one to speak up who rallies the rest.
"For Valhalla!" He preaches when charging at the Marked Warrior.
Following his battle cry, the remaining troops follow behind, all cheering as they rush toward the enemy. In disgust for their suicidal decision, the Trickster holds his right hand out to the side of him. Just like the Leviathan Axe, his seax knife comes to him, pulling itself from the earth and spiraling through the air. Right as its handle enters his grasp, the first Asgardian engages him. Slashing the man's blade away, he follows up with another swing to his throat. Blood spews outward away from the stranger as he moves forward to greet the rest of them in battle.
"Wait is that-" Sindri notices and begins to point out a recognizable detail.
"How did that fucker get a hold of my knife?" Brok asks in poor mannered outrage.
As the battle presses on, using the convenience of the seax's magic, the Shapeshifter uses it as a throwing weapon. Whenever it wasn't in his possession, he would utilize his hand to hand combat to break the bones of his foes. Just to summon his knife and cut them down when they were broken and unable to strike back. One by one, each Asgardian falls to his ruthless cunning and willpower to slay them all. No matter if they were close or far, they would either perish by the blade being thrown at them, or by the Trickster shattering their bones and ending them with a swift thrust or slash of his enchanted dagger. Even when the raiders are close enough, their swinging of swords or jabbing of spears cannot land a harming hit, let alone a lethal one. Either from missing entirely or from their attacks being parried away. The villagers are entranced by the Marked Warriors skill and strength. Now they cheer in full confidence that he has no rival among these tyrant knights.
After just a few moments, the military force that was mighty enough to level a town was torn to pieces. The deceased servants of the Aesir stain the gravel trails with their blood and shards from their armor. Charred remains fill the air with a stench that would leave many revolting and resting on their knees. Some of the buildings have been reduced to ash, with smoke elevating to the night sky clouds. Pits and small craters of destruction litter the surrounding from the strangers spells. Many suffered, but no innocent lives were taken tonight. The people of the settlement are full of joy and spilling tears of delight. However, there was just one more thing that needed immediate attention.
One more Asgardian survived the onslaught. The archer who had a carcass thrown at him did not die from the attack. For a time, he was simply too hurt to move, but with the area calming, he makes his move. Pushing the dead body of his ally off of him, he shakingly brings himself up. The first people he sets his sights on are Brok and Sindri. A maniacal smile consumes his face as he stares at them.
"If I kill them, the Allfather will surely reward me," he tells himself with a deranged outlook.
From a small sheath on his belt, he pulls out a tiny shiv. Initially, he limps his way to the brothers due to his injuries. However, as he draws closer, his speed gradually increases in anticipation. The lunacy of seeing his comrades being torn to shreds, the way they were all overcome by a single man, and the thought of failing the Aesir and being grimly punished for it breaks him. All sanity has left him as he begins to rush at the two Dwarves with a hysterical laugh giving away his location. Brok and Sindri turn to the Asgardian, now in a panic for what he is attempting. Off to the side, the Stranger turns himself to the sound of the madness induced chuckles. As he swings himself toward the Asgardian, his fur cloak slips off while he reaches for two hidden weapons on his back.
As the lost minded soldier waddles with haste towards the brothers, he raises the knife over his head to stab down at them.
"For the Allfather!" He gleefully preaches to his lord.
Being so lost in his delusions, he has utterly doomed himself for not paying attention to who's near him. The whipping noise of chains pursues him, and as fast as he can draw a single breath, catches him. Instantly, a gruesome sound of tearing flesh ripples in his and the dwarf brothers' ears. His laughter comes to an abrupt and painful end as a small amount of blood spews from his throat. Brok and Sindri flinch at the raiders spitting action, but what they see behind him leaves them just as stunned as he. Digging their way into his back tissue, with unnatural blue flame emitting from them, is the Blades of Chaos. The soldier's flesh burns and steams at the agonizing impalement. The chains from the dual swords bleed an aura of the same shade at their wielder's command.
The brothers look toward the man who is crazy and brave enough to accept the burden of the God of Wars weapons. The face from their distant past stricken them with sorrow and relief.
"Atreus..." They both point out together, Sindri saddened by all that he must have endured during these years, while Brok is in relief that the son of Kratos still lives.
The boy that became a man, by becoming a god, has returned. After so many years of isolation and absence, the Last Son of Sparta has matured both mentally and physically. His body has grown firm, and toned, but not too bulky. Even with his hair remaining the same style just longer, the stubble beard, and a few added scars prove his manhood. While his mark is not the same shape or color as his father's, being that it is thinner and stretches differently, it still pays a dear tribute to the late God of War. His rage in battle is also a well-suited inheritance from his old man.
With one hard pull, Atreus yanks the Asgardian away from the dwarves and flings him into the air. With a roar of anger, he swings both his blades and the soldier downward. The force from him using his enemy's body to crash into a charred building shatters the foundation and cracks the earth around it. What's left of the home, is now wrecked and used to bury the dead Aesir servant. His feat of strength and utilization of his extending blades impresses both the village people and the dwarf brothers. The townsfolk shout and cheer for their mighty savior.
Sindri can't help but begin to sob at the return of Faye's child, and his close friend of the past. He tries to force his face into his hand, but his phobia of germs prevents him from doing it. So, instead, he just weeps with his palms waving up and down toward his eyes.
"Oh quit being a pansy," Brok tells him while thumping him on the shoulder.
"You-you're getting teary-eyed too," Sindri replies with a sniffle.
"NO!" While the blue dwarf won't openly admit it, he too is thrilled that Atreus is alive and has come back. Water does form within his eyelids, but he jerks away from his nosy brother while wiping his drippy nose. "I just can't stand the smell of burning corpses!"
Their debate is broken off by the sound of the rattling chains from the blade. With a flick of his wrists, the dual swords return to his grasp. He sheaths them with haste, as though he does not wish to hold them for long. A sigh of contempt leaves his throat, being glad that the battle is finally over, and that he found exactly who he was looking for. He turns himself around with a cheerful grin across his face when facing his old friends.
"It's been a long time, guys..." He comments regretfully, hating the time apart from the duo.
Unable to contain his excitement, he heads over to them in a slow sprint. The brothers also walk toward him to meet halfway, both being just as happy. As the three meet in the middle of the dirt path, the Son of Sparta drops to his knees and pulls them to him. He wraps them in his arms and begins to chuckle to himself, overflowing with joy and trying to prevent himself from crying. Brok, while not disliking the affection, does show awkwardness towards the action by lightly tapping Atreus's shoulder. Sindri pats him as hard as he can while trying to prevent himself from vomiting on both of them.
"I missed you guys soo much!" The Marked Warrior comments in delight.
"Yeah... Yeah, just let it all out so you can let me the Hel go," Brok replies to cover his warm side.
"Oh, right, sorry..." Atreus releases them from his tender hold but remains kneeled down to speak with them eye to eye. "I guess you guys haven't changed a bit?"
"The opposite could be said for you," Sindri replies, gasping for air to keep his puking in check. He lifts himself straight when the feeling of hurling leaves him. "While you've gotten big and are still young, the years for us have taken their toll."
"Oh please," Brok replies, discouraged by the implication of getting old. "The day I get too old to smith weapons is the day Odin grows a big pair of proper balls!"
The mention of the Allfather silences the brothers. The two look to Atreus to ensure that them discussing the Aesir does not trouble him, due to what happened so many years ago. Of course, the Last Son of Sparta is quiet by the reminder of the Aesir, specifically Thor.
"Speaking of..." Brok scratches the back of his head as he brings himself to give his sympathies. "I'm sorry to hear about your father, boy..."
"It's fine," he tells them, but the opposite can be read off his frowning face. "I've had a lot of time to think, to train, and to decide my next step. Which was to find you two..."
"We'll help in any way we can!" Sindri assures while saluting to the Marked Warrior.
"Wait a goddamn second!" Brok intervenes, waving his hands around. "Why should we help you stole our seax!"
"Actually," Atreus giggles at the assumption when drawing the knife back out. As the Son of Faye juggles and spins the runic dagger, he explains his perspective. "I found this in your guys' old workshop, which means no one was present to claim ownership. So, I believe the phrase, "Finders keepers," fits my needs perfectly."
"Why you little-" Brok becomes incredibly conflicted with the Son of Sparta's snarky comeback.
He lifts his pointer finger to the Marked Warrior, but cannot bring himself to say much of anything. A part of him greatly hates getting a taste of his own medicine, but at the same time, has a sense of proudness for how well the boy has matured and grown as a person. Growling in frustration for his unclear opinion, he waves his hands in the air as he walks away to ponder.
Atreus and Sindri share in a laugh over the blue dwarf's annoyed reaction. As they do, the Trickster rises and crosses his arms when waiting for the blacksmith to cool his head.
"You said you were looking for us?" Sindri questions, looking up to the fully grown child of Faye. "Why?"
This subject alone is enough to lure Brok back into the discussion, turning himself around he marches back to them.
"I need your guys' help," he tells them in a severe tone. "But what I need from you too might sound crazy..."
Now it is the brothers who chuckle, for absurdity is their plaything. Their astonishing creations were made from the inspiration of their outrages imaginations. Atreus raises an eyebrow to the unexpected responses but remains still when looking down at them.
"How crazy?" Brok questions, cracking his fingers for the challenge.
The Son of Sparta does not immediately respond. His desire to asks for aid is hesitated due to the outrages request. He breathes in deep through his nostrils when putting the right words together. Brok and Sindri, now sensing the seriousness of what he's thinking, now share in mindset. The two frown as they wait for what the young god wants to ask, but neither one could foretell what words would come out of his mouth.
"I need a weapon that can kill the God of Thunder..." Atreus requests, with a stern and hateful look, when imagining himself standing face to face with Thor.