The alternative route has little impact on Atreus's spacial awareness. Driven by unconscious intuition, he navigates the harmonious environment. Though the whispers taunt him at every corner, and the clashing of battle rings from every direction, he presses forward. Even with the war transpiring, much of the lush wildlife and nature remains intact. Without the noise, one would consider this realm to be blissful and serene. Armed, with his bowstring and arrow already in his fingers, he rushes to the nearest opening in the forests.
Atop a cliffside, Atreus witnesses the full magnitude of the assault. The Dark Elves engage with the forces Asgard across the stupendous realm. In the skies with Odin's soldiers atop hippogriffs', on the lake, or on the fields, the two sides continue to slaughter one another. One end, the lush and pristine lands from the influence of the light reside. While the other half, murky, disgusting, and rotten from the manipulation of the dark. With the armies of Valhalla scattered across both.
Countless arrows, enchanted bolts of light, and boulders of flame sore through the air in all directions. Currently, the Light Elves haven't taken part in the onslaught. No sign of them can be seen from the cliff's edge. Bodies fall as fast as new ones come into the fold, producing a stalemate of endless bloodshed.
"Does Odin's armies have no limit?" Atreus questions, stricken in disarray by the masses. "With Brok and Sindri helping Freya, I'm on my own here..."
The thought discourages him. To face the wrath of Asgard alone resurfaces the memories of his isolation. Very few people to speak with, nothing but blind years of plotting, and slaying any allies of the Aesir. Those lingering whispers and those flashes of conflict plague him. Yet no matter how disheartened he becomes, he will not yield to Valhalla's numbers. He needs to send them a message, one that anyone in Asgard would understand.
"Even alone, I won't be stopped," he mutters to himself. Across the sky, soaring near his location, is an Asgardian rider atop a hippogriff. His eyes lock onto the beast as it screeches furiously into the fray. The creature, along with its rider, is clad in the same golden armor as the rest of Valhalla's barbarians.
Strutting backward, lowering himself to all fours on the ground, he prepares to charge. With his target unaware of his presence, Atreus sprints forward. The sudden force behind his legs cracks the floor beneath him. Carefree and determined, he lunges off the cliff. His body moves with the power of a hurling boulder, ramming into the rider. The brute falls, with Atreus plummeting with him. However, a quick swing of Atreus's blades harmlessly wraps chains around the hippogriff's talon. The momentum of falling hurls him back atop the hippogriff.
In a panic, the beast flails its body and wings in all directions to rattle him off. The majestic creature's flight patterns become unsensible, and its screeches resonate loud enough to alert the other flight masters. Atreus, having no desire to cause harm to the beast, clings until it's persistence wavers. Finally, with the hippogriff steadying its flight, Atreus attempts to calm it.
"Vera logn!" He calls out, stroking the feathered mount's neck.
His firm yet comforting words bring instant ease to the Hippogriff. Its wings fold and straighten outward to course them through the dangerous air battle. Even a glimpse of questioning relief can be seen in the mount's gaze. The Son of Kratos tenderly runs his fingers through its glistening clean, silver feathers for assurance.
"Berjast og vera frjáls!" He says, granting a gentle pat to the creature.
Another screech cries from the mount's razor beak. With a single flap of its wings, they dash faster across the sky. Not far behind, more Asgardian riders tail Atreus. His blades sheathed, Atreus dawns the Talon Bow. Electricity pulsates from his string while pulling back his shots. A tug on the Hippogriff's harness, and it throws itself behind the attackers. With the advantage of position, Atreus releases his arrows. However, like years ago, the Son of Kratos reintroduces his mystic archery.
Upon contact with the first target, his arrow explodes, blasting the rider from his mount. Without harming the other carrier beasts, Atreus's arrow forms into a flock of electric hawks that spiral in all random directions. The mystic birds seek out the other riders, combusting with static energy on impact. No longer bound to their handlers, the other Hipporgriff's fly off, discluding the one Atreus continues to ride on. Again and again, more riders approach, flanking from all ends.
Without relent, Atreus continues to prove a worthy combatant in the air. His arrows of light and lightning hit their marks, annihilating his foes and forcing them to their plummeting demise. His swift maneuvers, with the hippogriff's aid, and on the fly decisions, keep his enemies at bay. On occasion, he suffers his scrapes and cuts from enemy fire, but his divine and Jötunn heritage allows him to endure the attacks with much ease. Eventually, though, his intervention hooks the focus of the Dark Elves.
With their fluttering, grisly wings, a swarm of the denizens pursues Atreus. Mistaking him for one of the invaders, they launch their assault in haste. Their battle cries alert Atreus to their location, which leads him to speed forward. Openly engaging them could cause complications down the line, so his desire of allies refrains him from attacking them. From their spears, they unleash a barrage of explosive beams at him as he flees. Once more, he guides the hippogriff to perform flips, dives, barrel rolls, and other tricks to avert their attacks.
Even a few daring Dark Elves charge headfirst at Atreus, lunging their spears at him and his mount. While taken back by the blind courage, the Last Son of Sparta still manages to counter the strikes. Relying on his brute strength to wrestle away their armaments, or fling his attackers away from his location. Or, at their allies to slow them down. Yet, despite his several efforts to show that he means no harm, the dark clan refuses to submit or reciprocate his offer.
With the commotion of the heavens, and the ongoing battle surrounding them, communication is unreliable here. With another whip of the hippogriff's harness, Atreus's mount darts directly downward. It's speed now outpaces the elves, forcing them to focus on the remaining warriors around them. With only a few moments to spare, and with nothing else concentrating on him, Atreus pulls the leash back to straighten the direction of the beast. Only a few feet separated them from crashing into the battle stained ground.
Both he and the hippogriff dart into the blackened forest of the Dark Elves region. The landing is rough as they crash through the bush and the elongated branches of the vile, rotting trees. A few scrapes later, and a clearing finally opens itself to them. An open field of dark sand presents itself, leading to an immediate landing. A cloud of dust and powder fills the air, as they pounce down onto the ground.
Despite the tiresome assault, and narrowing efforts to survive the airborne battle, the hippogriff remains unwearied. Atreus as well stands tireless, looking around at the environment. While the odor of the dark clans home strips the wind from him, his focus is unwavering. Taking advantage of the moment of peace, he proceeds to unharness the creature. Stripping it of its unsettling, hindering armor and binds.
Free from the confines of its captors, the hippogriff gives a bow of appreciation to Atreus. The Son of Kratos, in return, tender and kind with his intentions, runs his fingers through its silver-haired neck. Atreus's head rests against the creatures while rubbing its beak. A soothing purr, a song of gratitude emits from the mount's throat.
"Vertu frjáls," Atreus says, stepping back before giving a gratifying bow.
The hippogriff tips its head once more. Then, after extending its silver wings outward, releases another valorous screech. Launching off into the sky, it clears away the previous screen of sand around them. Joining its free kin, a flock of other hippogriffs vanishes into the clouds. From here, Atreus continues his journey on foot. His path made and sought out by the sounds of war. Lead like a moth to the flame, he eagerly rushes to the source of the commotion.
The landscape truly disgusts Atreus, especially considering this rot is intentional. The pulsating pink tethers link several trees and plants together. Yet, while the vegetation is disgusting, it also has an odd appeal to it. The alluring glow of the tendrils and plants, the growth patterns in the forest, some might find it intriguing. However, past the decaying oaks, is another sight of concern.
An arching gate of runic stone, standing several stories high, resides in an open field. This Bifrost bridge pours with warriors of Valhalla. Fueling the onslaught that's taken root within the realm of the elves. Atreus lowers himself behind a set of large stones. Reviewing the situation in front of him, he is outnumbered a hundred to one. This will need to be an attack from the shadows. He must reach the portal and destroy it.
Lowering himself onto his belly, he takes on the most subtle form he can manage. Faint blue energy shrouds his body, condensing him into that of a silver snake. Even when shifted, his blue brand stretches down his serpent body. Yet, his bright scales allow him to camouflage in the new, dead sands that surround him. With haste, he slithers his way across the fields.
As expected of the narrow-sighted warriors of Asgard, none are the wiser to Atreus's presence. His scaley form blends with near-perfect chemistry to the environment. It's comparable to diamonds among ice. Group after group of Asgardian's bat no eyes, or even acknowledge his existence. The warriors' chant and march, persistent in their crusade. It's not long before Atreus reaches the heart of the encampment. At which point, is when all chaos breaks loose.
From the skies, a swarm of Dark Elves descends like locusts on a field of crops. Their numbers too challenging to count, their relentlessness as savage as starving predators. Atreus's intervention earlier most likely allowed a large number of them to bypass Asgard's defenses. As their bolts of magic erupt in the war camp, Atreus takes this opportunity to further spread the flames of chaos.
In the heat of the battle, Atreus alters form ounce more. This time, dawning a beastly visage that Odin's forces would mistake in terror, or recognize in fear. Panic causes discord in their ranks, as they gaze upon the massive black wolf in their base. For a brief second, a handful of Alfheims denizens are puzzled by the animal. Preemptive in his attack, Atreus mauls his way through a squad of barbarians while charging to the gate.
Even as the enemy attempts to cut him off at every corner, his blade long fangs and claws cease their resistance. Ripping, shredding, and crushing every warrior that impedes on his attack. Discluding the few dark elves that brazenly approach. Who he leaps from and averts at all cost. Or leads them to groups of Asgardians, who show no restraint in battling one another. Until, Atreus, at last, reaches the Bifrost bridge. Now standing in his original form. Only to find that his next foe may prove troublesome.
One by one, effortlessly, Atreus watches as a single warrior of Valhalla bashes and clubs away a mass of Dark Elves. This was no ordinary brute among the rest. This was an Einherjar, the most elite of Odin's number. Not only does this chosen warrior possess a superior, stalwart armor, but also a far more dangerous arsenal. A massive flail lies in his grasp, and a great shield of the densest steel in the other, that nearly blockades his whole body. These were the higher ranking in the Aesir's army, never has Atreus faced one in battle. Only ever heard stories of their valor and bloody glory.
"I have heard stories of you," the Einherjar claims, spinning his chained, razor club around him. "The Wolf of Midgard, is the name the Aesir have bestowed upon your distasteful existence! I will be dining with Odin himself after I bring your head to him!"
"Not before I take yours!" Atreus retorts, clenching his fists.
Accepting the challenge, the Einherjar bashes his flail against his shield excitedly. Atreus, not as eager, draws his Blades of Chaos. The burning blue flames burst forth, dancing vibrantly around the twin swords. Only a moment passes while the two stare each other down. The sounds and cries of battle emit from all directions, adding fuel to the fiery atmosphere. Swift to make the first strike, Atreus rushes him.
His blades spin around him like a violent, searing vortex when lunging at the Einherjar. His attacks relentless, repetitive, as if trying to overwhelm the warrior's bulwark stance. However, even the Blades of Chaos prove to have trouble penetrating the barricade. A mass of sparks flies in all directions as his father's armaments slash across the black, and gold-rimmed steel. Preemptive, and unsuspected, the Einherjar bashes back with his shield. The repercussion of the counter-attack knocks Atreus back.
Not even a moment, to ponder how his foe possesses such prowess is given before the Einherjar rushes the Son of Kratos. His mighty flail comes crashing downward, the thick chain rattling in Atreus's head. Honed and focused, he averts the ground, shattering blow. Even so, the tremor from the strike is enough to stumble a mortal man or woman. Another oddity is the flail's chain being capable of extending to unnatural lengths. The same as Atreus's blades.
The elite warrior chuckles, mockingly at the Last Son of Sparta. Again, he smacks the hammer of his chained weapon on his towering shield.
"Come on!" The Einherjar loathingly challenges.
Complying, Atreus resorts to one of his upgraded abilities. Twirling the Greek blades like a flaming tornado, one of the gemstones within illuminates. With each swing and spin, waves of fire release in the direction of the Einherjar. While unable to defend himself from most of the chaotic blaze, the warrior remains firm. In retaliation, the elite Asgardian hurls his flail at Atreus.
The chainlink extends, breaking the distance that was placed between them. With each strike, the Son of Kratos ducks, dodges, and blocks the blows with Trolls Bane. Even so, with the ferocity of his enemy, it was only inevitable for Atreus to take a direct shot to the gut. Yet, just as another hit is about to be made, Atreus swings his blade as well. The two exchange brutal blows, the champion with a searing slash across his arm, and Atreus with a blow to the chest. For a moment, the two keep their distance. Like wild predators, they circle on opposite ends of each other. Even as the turmoil around them builds, the two fixate, and lock their focus on each other.
Until one anxious detail slips into Atreus's sight. A silhouette of dozens, if not hundreds of warriors, rushing to the Bridge from the other side of the Bifrost is seen. Another troubling aspect is what lies behind the opaque barrier, the heaven reaching tower of Asgard. With little time to spare before a legion is on top of him, Atreus's intent to kill becomes rushed and urgent. He quickly draws his Talon Bow. His fingers are already clung to his string, pulling it back, and his arrows pulsate with elemental energy, ready to fire. A look of irritable determination burns in his eyes as he pinpoints his mark.
"Bruni!" He shouts.
As the enflamed arrows scorch through the air, one of the Talon Bow's new gems activates. The single arrow shot bursts into a cluster of smaller balls of flame. The Einherjar slams his shield down, forming a sturdier formation to prevent harm. However, as the barrage makes contact with him, they release a series of miniature explosions around him. His whole body, engulfed in combustive flames and a cloud of smoke.
Sadly, as slightly expected, the warrior of Asgard does not fall so easily. Though his garbs are singed, his armor burning red, the Einherjar holds his ground. Instead, Atreus takes another approach. In rapid-fire, he hurls his flaming arrows. Unsuspecting, as the Asgardian covers himself, it becomes apparent that the shots aren't making contact. One by one, each engulfed bolt passes him. Explosions go off behind, nowhere near either of them.
"You're aim is weaker than the damned elves!" The Einherjar spouts antagonistically.
Despite the insult, Atreus is unfazed by the harsh comment. Instead, a haughty smirk forms on his face. Confusion already blinds the Asgardian, preventing him from realizing the problem behind him. The sound of crumbling stone creaks behind him. The elite warrior finally turns himself to the location of the blasts. Atreus's aim shows to have been directed to weaken the structure of the arching gateway.
Before the Asgardian can react, the foundation begins to crumble. The solid stone shatters, creating a chain of crumbling through the construct. The Bifrost follows after, the visage of Asgard falls apart like broken glass. The crashing debris clouds the camp, corroding it in a dense fume of dust. Even for a moment, the rage-fueled forces of Asgard and Alfheim cease their onslaught. However, taking up the golden opportunity to use the blinding cloud against their foes, the elves rush to the air. With their spears, they unleash a bombardment of their elven magic atop their enemies. The remaining Asgardians numbers rapidly drop from the last assault.
As for Atreus, he remained firm, knowing that his challenger would not be vanquished so easily. With no allies coming to aid the Einherjar, the Last Son of Sparta can end this fight once and for all. He, too, uses the cloud around him to gain the upper hand. As the Asgardian reinforces his defensive pose, Atreus moves in for the kill. With a fling of his wrist, he sends out the seax blade in a perfect, straight line. Yet, just like before, his shot slips past his enemy.
However, just as the shortsword does, Atreus calls it back. With the Einherjar in the way, the blade plunges itself into his back. The piercing pain brings the warrior to his knees, granting the Son of Kratos with his opening. Unable to bring his shield up in time, Atreus tears the bulwark from his arm using the Blades of Chaos. With his defenses gone, the Asgardian becomes angrily desperate. Blindly, he swings and flings his flail violently, only for his counter attack to prove just as futile.
Tearing the scorching blade into his arm, Atreus disarms him in a literal sense. No shield and no weapon or limb to hold it, the Einherjar is at his enemy's mercy. Who only ends him swiftly. He digs the Blades of Chaos at each end of the warrior's neck, before cleaving them through. The head of Odin's chosen flies, tumbling across the ruins of the war camp. Victorious, Atreus stands, having made a drastic impact in the Aesir's plans to conquer Alfheim. He sheaths his blades that are stained red and pulls the seax from his enemy's back.
Moments pass, the air becomes cloudless and clean enough to inhale deeply. Atreus does just that, a freshness of relief cleanses his tense nerves when doing so.
"What could the Aesir want with Alfheim?" Atreus questions. With a brief break to himself, he can finally ask himself a few needed questions. "Why attack now? Why send such a large force, especially ones like the Einherjar?" He glimpses back to the corpse of his enemy, now pondering how this individual was so much more enhanced compared to the rest. "Odin must be experimenting with some type of forbidden magic, it wouldn't be the first time..."
Sadly, his questions would have to wait. Though very subtle, the clicking of an angry Dark Elf's tongue resonates. In a single dash, an elf attempts to plunge his spear into him. Yet, with a quick swerve of his body, Atreus averts the attack. Grabbing onto the polearm, and ramming his elbow into its neck, he pins the denizen into the nearest formation. His actions of self-defense draw out the remaining forces of the dark clan. Who blocks off all of his ways of escape, and incircle him.
"You'll die, outsider!" The creature spews in its native tongue. The sound of its language forms a mix of emphasizing R's, prolonging lisps, hisses, and deep growls and groans.
"Cease your resistance!" Atreus shouts, mimicking the language without their broad accent.
His knowledge of their spoken speech silences the militia around him. Even the struggling Dark Elf who's pinned freezes. Each of the dark clansmen glances and chatter among themselves in shock and confusion.
"You speak our tongue?" the pinned Dark Elf questions.
"I've had years of practice," Atreus replies.
He steadily removes his grasp on the elf, gradually making a gap between him. The warrior gags and coughs while clenching its throat. The other elves remain at bay, uncertain of what actions should be taken.
"You do not belong here, marked one," the elf claims. "This land only belongs to our kind!"
"The ones that don't belong are the gilded warriors," Atreus replies. "We have a common enemy!"
Once more, the denizens of Alfheim speak amongst themselves. Their conversation reduced to a whisper in Atreus's presence. With only the elf close to him being left out, and only able to look out to his muttering kin. Atreus patiently awaits their judging verdict. Quiet, but closely paying attention to their words. Some debate his being in their realm, while others dispute him being of help to them. Eventually, the apparent leader of the squad, superior in size, and armed with more concealed garments steps forward.
"Our king will determine you're worth," he claims, scowling at Atreus. "Follow!"
Despite the irritation of being ordered around, he abstains from talking back harshly. Only returning the stern glare as an immediate reaction. His unintimidated stare sends shivers through the tall, Dark Elf, who steps away. As the elves lift themselves into the air, they return to the rotting forests. Keeping an even pace with them, Atreus rushes behind without the aid of his shapeshifting. Taking to the skies in his bird form would leave him too vulnerable. Especially around those, he's uncertain about trusting, yet.
A short lap of time passes, and the squad of elven warriors keeps close to Atreus. He has slowed down his pace, to examine and study his surroundings. The further they traverse these decaying jungles, the more that pulsating, pink fungus appears. The mushrooms and plants illuminate and guide the group through the thick blackness. The elves mutter to themselves during the journey. Some have many questions, others only spouting insults under their breath at the Son of Kratos. Looking past the fact that he can understand them.
Atreus ignores it, knowing that they speak out of fear of what he's proven to be capable of. Their glances and flinches to his stern stares make it evident. Eventually, they all reach a giant, luminescent hole, dug and carved out large enough to fit a dragon. The elves land, the leader of them nods, allowing entry for Atreus. Although his memory serves to remind him of how many could fit in such a vast tunnel, Loki's fearless to the reoccurring thought. Alert, he marches behind them, ready for anything they throw at him.
The travel through the pathways and hollow passages causes more tension in Atreus. The lights peering from the honeycomb-shaped holes around him flicker. Not from poor stability, but from the passing shadows of other Dark Elves on the other side. Their numbers uncountable, and their speed only adding difficulty to track them. Worse of all, every single one of them heads to the exact location he is heading. Escape might not be so simple now if the outcome isn't in his favor.
Eventually, Atreus finds himself within the heart of the hive. A chamber, enormous in size that a city could fit in it, built with channels and caves running through every corner of it like veins in a heart. The walls carry hundreds of Dark Elves. All of which bled their way from the holes and crevises into this exact location. Even from the glowing fungus bringing light to the cave, their forms remain obscure. Only their white eyes and dark silhouettes are visible. Adding the effect of stars glittering the cave. Atreus's presence becomes rapidly apparent to them, standing out like a light in the darkness.
Most remain clung to the walls, spying and watching Loki from afar. While others approach, crawling and creepily coming closer to him as he walks the path. Some hiss, click with their tongues and even growl at him while he passes. His beastly snarl proves mightier in response, forcing many of them to cower backward. Leading the rest to be less tempted to approach.
At last, Atreus reaches the heart of the hive. A stone arena resides at the furthest corner of the chamber. With a podium that holds a grand, stone throne. Behind it pulsates one of the pink, sacks of enchanted plant life. Which veils the Dark Elf king beneath its glimmering light. None of the lesser elves dare enter the platform. They hover outside or cling like insects to the walls and outskirts. Upon the higher-ranked warrior and Loki's arrival, the other elves clear way to them. Yet, just as they're about to pass, Atreus is briefly denied entry.
"Svartǫljánir has been expecting you," one of the elves claims, referring to the king. "Mind yourself, outsider!"
The subtle threat, while definitely something to be mindful of, Atreus behaves unthreatened by it. The moment his confidence loosens is the moment he exposes vulnerability. He must act hardened if he wishes to win them over to his side. Once his path is cleared, he marches headstrong into the arena. The leading elf from before already waits ahead for him. Kneeling down to his king, who has yet to act or even move.
"How dare you bring an outsider before me?" Svartǫljánir questions in a critical tone after slamming his fist.
His outburst makes all the elves within earshot flinch at his displeasure. The entirety of the chamber becomes devoid of talking and sound. Despite his aggression to Atreus's presence, the Last Son of Sparta continues forward. His firm heels carry him just to the feet of the king's staircase. The two stare each other down, neither one threatened by the other. The two mightiest powers there, filling the air with a body tensing pressure.
"My lord," the Dark Elf behind Atreus speaks. "This stranger proved prowess beyond anything the golden warriors could muster!"
The elf begins to ramble on, preaching to the rest of his nearby kin of what deeds Atreus performed.
"His arrows could summon birds of lightning, his bow, and blades, rain down and spew fire, and his form, shifting at his will. Matching that of the beasts that chase the sun and moon!"
Svartǫljánir remains unmoved by the claims and feats. His severe glare continues to peer into the pupils of Atreus, who also stands silent and still. A grunting growl slips the king's fanged mouth. Until finally, he rises, stepping out of his veil. Much like the previous king, he too wears a horned crown and dawns gold plated armor. His skin is less saturated and darker than the former ruler, discluding his wings, which has a dim red glow to them. The one distinguishable detail is his size. Even from Atreus's memory, Svartǫljánir exceeds his predecessor considerably.
"There was once another marked warrior who came to these lands years ago," the King recalls. "That outsider proved very troublesome, with the unrivaled savagery of a wild animal... Even dressed liked one..."
Atreus's glare intensifies, taking the insult to heart. His blood burns in an instant, pumping in his already rage-filled chest. His knuckles and fingers pop and crack from the hard clenching of his fists. Even so, his self-restraint keeps him at bay from lashing out.
"What is your name?" Svartǫljánir asks, looking down mockingly at him.
"Loki..." Atreus answers.
The sudden sound of chatter and concern fills the conversations of the swarm around them. Though what they say is difficult to comprehend, they all share a mutual rhythm. All on the same topic and roughly repeating the same words. Loki, God of Mischief, of Chaos, of War. Even in this realm, the infamous title has reached the corners of Alfheim.
"We've heard your name," Svartǫljánir mentions, amused by the revelation. "We know not from whence it came, but we received foretellings long ago of your coming... So, why have you come, little wolf?"
Atreus turns his back to the king, redirecting his focus to the crowd that swarms the arena. All watch in silence as he glares at each and everyone in the rafters.
"I'm here to build an army!" Atreus replies. "And I've come to recruit you into it!"
The mass of Dark Elves whispers and speak among themselves. Many are confused, finding the notion ridiculous, while few are fascinated at the idea.
"A tyrannical warlord named Odin seeks to conquer your world, and many others after it," Atreus claims. "He will send as many of his golden warriors as needed, to take what he believes is his!"
"We know of the clans' Aesir and Vanir," Svartǫljánir mentions. "We have encountered their kin before, even one of their number stood against us. Not knowing the depravity of the light!"
The Dark Elf king marches forward, each stomp of his heels shakes the elf that accompanied Atreus. Once more, the dark lord closes the distance between him and Loki. His condescending stare looms over, like a burning sun.
"So, why should we yield to you, and not the other way around?" Svartǫljánir asks in mockery.
The king's petty attempts at bravado have no effect on Atreus. Instead, they only fill him with delight and hubris. He smirks, unmoved by the king's intimidating approach.
"You know of the Aesir, then you must know about Baldur?" Atreus asks. Based on the sudden commotion among the Elves, his assumption is assured. "Baldur the unkillable, Baldur the Immortal, Baldur the Eternal Light! If so, then you must know that he is dead!" The increasing base of disarray in the army booms louder and louder, resonating to every corner of the cave system. Svartǫljánir's cocky stance fades with their united voices, turning his proud grin to an annoyed scowl.
"I'm the one that broke his curse, and caused his death!" Atreus boasts while stepping back. "I killed the unkillable!"
Awe, and astonished disbelief, fill the voices of the Dark Below. The denizens ramble, shout over one another, each one taken back by such a wild claim. For those unfamiliar with his capabilities reject the notion, while those who witnessed it first hand, become conflicted with it being truth or a lie.
"If you rally behind me, serve at my side, I will topple the armies of the Aesir, and bring down even the unstoppable Odin himself!" Atreus declares, shouting to the Dark Elves.
"Enough!" Svartǫljánir shouts to his people, silencing his legion in an instant.
Both he and Atreus lock gazes once more, this time with the tables turned. Loki smiles proudly, having caused a clear divide in the elves, with the king insulted.
"You're words have weight behind them," Svartǫljánir admits reluctantly. "But without action, such stories and boasts fall disproven, on any pair of ears."
The audience quells themselves as their lord speaks. Not even the flutter of their wings can be heard in the crowd.
"If you wish to earn our favor, you must prove your worth," Svartǫljánir says. "Two more of those gates remain. Shatter them, cast out these invaders along with their Aesir, and my people will consider your offer."
Even for Atreus, such a high price will not be paid with ease. Masses of Odin's warriors spread like a plague across Alfheim. Their numbers matching the Dark and Light Elves. Destroying one gate was wearisome, the other two will most likely be bolstered after the first bridge's destruction. Atreus has his limits, and such a drastic demand might overwhelm him if not careful. However, it will not be impossible.
Gaining the aid of the Light Elves might be vital to solving this issue. As well as the first step to forging peace between both sides. He's already earned the trust and interest of many from the dark side of the realm. This will be the most critical time, every decision from here will lead to either unity or the undoing of both elven races. Above all else, his heart must not waver to the challenges that lie ahead. Atreus, with his expression stern and confident, he gives his response.
"Then let the real war begin!" Atreus preaches.
(Authors Note)
Hello everyone, I hope you are enjoying the story thus far. My wishes go out to you all during these stressful times. I'd like to bring up a few things and apologize for a few errors in my storytelling.
For starters, the name for Odin's army. When I first started writing Atreus's Future, I couldn't find any given name for them, so I called them Asgardians, believing it would suffice. I'm still not sure if this would be correct, but even so, I decided to try and rectify this in this chapter if it was a naming mistake. By introducing my version of the Einherjar, who are the highest-ranking soldiers, discluding the other Aesir. In traditional Norse mythology, that is their given name, but I couldn't find this information until recently. Sorry for the confusion.
Second, the layout of Ivaldi's Maze. For those who've played the game repeatedly, you probably spotted this mistake a mile away. When I wrote the chapter, I hadn't played the game for some time, and my knowledge of how it looked slipped my mind. I should have played it through to get a clear picture. However, I won't be rewriting the chapter. The reason for this is because it would take away from the continuation of the story, and potentially lead to me scrapping the whole thing. Which would be less content for you all to read, and I don't want to take anything away from Atreus's story. Thankfully, given the lore of the maze, having it change its layout isn't too far fetched. For Ivaldi to keep his secrets away from Odin, the magic of the ruins altering its entire foundation is very likely.
A small side note, traditional Vikings didn't actually have horned helmets. I'm not sure where the notion came from, but as far as I know, this characteristic is false. However, I chose to include it with these versions of Valhalla's warriors to make them more menacing and intimidating. Of course, the horns are not very long nor made of gold. For me, I picture either small, dark bull horns or ram horns, with their faces covered by the nose piece, and maybe chain mail underneath.
Thank you all again for your continued support, I wish you all the best!
(Edit)
This story has recently reached 10,000 views! While I know some would say that views don't matter as much as visitors, it still fills me with pride that something of mine could reach such a high milestone. Thank you all so much for your support, and for reading my story, it means the world!