As Atreus departs from the coliseum, the war cries of the Dark Elves echo from all directions. Their internal fire and lust for battle fill the underground with their roars. Though not directed towards him, or with him, Atreus marches headstrong. Hellbent to tear down Odin's legacy, even if he has to do so alone. The Dark Elf king, Svartǫljánir, growls, distastefully behind his back. His anger, muffled by his people, who are now divided by his loyalty, and Loki's conquest. Unknowing of who he has insulted indirectly, the elven lord returns to his throne.
In Atreus's mind, a burning frustration cinders within. The insult towards his father weighs heavily and won't leave his thoughts. Even so, it doesn't compare to the burdens that already hinder his soul. He moves past his disdain for the Dark Elf leader. Loki needs to rally as many allies on his side if he wishes to rival the Aesir. Even if it means taking some back talk, his actions will soon put Svartǫljánir's insults to shame.
Even as he traverses the poorly dug out catacombs, many eyes prolongingly stare at him. Some glares of doubt and distaste, others more so curious and mildly threatened by his company in their home. Yet, it is the attention of those who attempt to subtly follow his tracks, far behind him that catch his attention. The one that lingers on his path is the same captain that lead him there, to begin with.
After much distance, he also finds that he's being lured to a specific location. Though he comes off as blindly following the ominous points and tilt of heads, he's in truth curious as to their intentions. It couldn't be an ambush, for the number of the Dark Elves lessens the further he follows their signals. Eventually, he is lead to a long-abandoned chamber. It doesn't match the architecture of the elves in the slightest. In fact, it feels all too familiar to Atreus. Standing within a stone carved chamber, he recognizes the workmanship of the Giants.
Runic carvings extend to each corner of the chamber, the stonework is smooth, and even statues of varying Jötnar stand and pose as though they're holding the room up. One such sculpture lures Atreus to it. His mother, Faye, carved in near-perfect detail, resides at the epicenter of the room. There's no mistaking it, especially with her axe in hand. He stares in tearful awe at it, bewildered that his mother's influence would reach even this realm. Even so, he chooses to lower his head, showing respect to his mother's legacy. At the feet of the monument, is another Jötnarshrine, much like the ones he found as a kid.
Opening it, more carvings and depictions lie within. At its center, a line of gold and white color shimmers. On each side, elven figures kneel and raise their hands in praise to it. The picture on the right cabinet door depicts the Jötnar, granting treasure and gifts to them. The other panel displays a rough visage of Odin and his Aesir, gazing down at the species they see as inferior.
"I had suspected it, but now I know it for certain," the Dark Elf who led him there comments. He cautiously approaches Atreus from behind, attempting to warrant his peaceful intentions. Several others march behind him but keep their distance. "You're one of them, the giants of frost. Only they ever bothered to learn our tongue, and much like you, many could change their form."
Atreus turns to him, both their eyes locked on the other. However, there's little to be concerned with, now that Loki understands their intentions. Even so, the rest of the elven force that trailed remain back. Their eyes dart between the two, almost expecting a confrontation.
"That's why you brought me here," Atreus determines. "You knew my heritage."
"I suspected, but wasn't sure until now," the Elf answers. "You're people came to us, built their temples, and left these shrines to guide and teach us."
"Teach you what?" Atreus questions, staring up at the statue of his mother.
"Uncertain, after many centuries, we could no longer decipher their writing. This place was lost for many ages, until a few years ago." The Dark Elf roams the chamber, running his hand across the workmanship of the Jötnar. His prolonging stare shows his fascination for their history.
Atreus, though far more inclosed with his curiosity, he too can't help but ponder the few remaining questions for his heritage. What happened to his people in Jötunheim? Why did his mother keep her lineage a secret from him and his father? To this day, those and many more oddities still linger.
"You seem to know much," Atreus comments. "What is your name?"
"My name is Bǫjnir, general of the dark clan," he replies. "And I must know now, can you help us?"
Taking a direct stand with one side will not help him. Atreus knows that if he professes his intentions to bridge peace, that he'll no longer have as strong of standing with the dark elves. He must be careful and only guide them towards that goal, or risk facing two armies in this realm.
"I will help," Atreus affirms. "But I must know for certain that I can depend on you as an ally."
"My immediate swarm is at your command," Bǫjnir agrees. "Though we are not many in number, most still following the King, we will aid in your battle. Only if you can prove yourself as mighty as you claim and prove your heritage."
"I'll assume you wish for me to translate the tablet in that case?"
Bǫjnir nods, along with his group of warriors backing him. They all stare curiously, almost anxious at what mysteries may be left behind by the giants. Atreus tilts his head, honoring their request. Taking out his old journal, Loki proceeds to read and write down the legend that is laid before him.
"At the beginning, Ymir's death birthed the light of Elfheim, bringing life to the newly born realm," he begins reading off. "During this primordial time, there was no light or dark, but all elves were equal, the exact same. They huddled around it, built their civilization around it, praised its radiance for millennia to come. In time, the giants came, offering their gifts and knowledge to your ancestors."
"What kind of gifts?" Bǫjnir asks.
"Magic, knowledge, and a way to utilize the light for the realms benefit," Atreus answers, scribbling notes at incredible speed. "The other picture is Odin, and the Aesir, envious of the light, desiring to take what doesn't belong to them."
Hearing the Allfather's name sickens the Elves in the room. Distaste and hate towards Odin are shared among them all as they spit and growl angrily at his mention.
"Even back then, these barbarians sought the light," Bǫjnir comments disapprovingly. "Why, though?"
"Most likely to use it as an exploit to subjugate your people," Atreus answers. " He's done similar tactics with others. He won't stop until everyone, and everything kneels to him and his tyrannical rule."
The severity of the implication rattles the elves within the room. They all glance to one another, ill confident towards facing such a menacing enemy. Discluding Bǫjnir, who only becomes enraged by his home being threatened. His trembling grip tightens as his hunger for battle builds like a mass flood within.
"It matters not what this Odin seeks!" He speaks out. "This Allfather will learn a harsh lesson on this day, that the elves are not to be looked down upon, but feared! The thousands of us within the shadows will descend upon him and his warriors! Our numbers will blot out the sun, and our shadow shall be cast over his army. In the darkness, his legion will fall!"
His soldiers become invigorated by his determined speech, they erupt into a war chant with spears and blades raised into the air. Atreus stands, confident that they will serve well on his mission to destroy the gates. Even so, they will need more numbers if they wish to do so. The Light must come into the fray, either by his encouragement or through the Asgardians.
"Then we must make preparations to dismantle the Bifrost bridges that they have constructed," Atreus states. "Gather all of your comrades and whatever you'll need, and rally where we first met."
"What will you do?" Bǫjnir questions.
"I need to pay some people a visit, do you know the quickest way to the temple where the light resides?"
The Dark Elves synch their fast nods, glancing at one another to make sure that they're all on the same page.
"We can show you the way," Bǫjnir answers. "But be warned, that is where many among the light clan reside. Not to mention one of the Bridges."
"I have nothing to fear of them," Atreus boldly states. "As for the gate, I will deal with that one on my own."
Truthfully, Atreus will rally the light to aid him in the raid, but will not admit it. His assured confidence brushes away there worry. Bǫjnir, with a nod, steps to the side of him. His hand lifts, to guide Atreus, along with the others who clear a path for him. As Loki makes his way out, the militia proceeds to follow him. Though their numbers are not the vastest, it is a start to his new army. In time, if all goes accordingly, the entirety of Alfheim will be at his command. Now comes the next challenging step, conjoining the two clans to one side.
Time passes, and Atreus emerges from a tunnel far from the path of any prying eyes. Determined, he presses forward, brushing off the debris and dirt from his attire. To his surprise, all seems far too calm. No sounds of clashing steel, roars, and cries, no sound reaches out to him from the realm. Cautious, he traverses the land in front of him patiently. The vitality of the tree brush, luscious plains, and fields coming into view, brings him some comfort. A far more pleasant sight, in comparison to the land of the Dark Elves. Even so, the sightseeing would have to wait.
Coming into view of a crystal bright shore, Atreus spots an abandoned rowboat, much like the ones he and his father rode. The streams and tunnels may be the stealthiest route, with the skies too risky to fly through in his bird form. Though old, the raft should be able to hold up in the water. Pushing it into the water, he leaps onto it, taking the paddle in hand. This time, he's the one charting the course, choosing where to go.
Nostalgia fills his heart as he allows the river to carry him. Atreus still holds the fond moments of him, his father, and Mimir while they were out in the open water. Though he smiles, grateful for the brief breaks of serenity and laughs, it's swiftly counteracted. It all feels so long ago to him, barely a memory, but instead, dreamlike. As though it's not himself that sat in that boat, but instead a "boy" that is long gone. They have been buried by his years of harsh training in combat and delving into his giant heritage. Amidst his thoughts, one such familiarity calls out to him.
"Atreus," a female voice echoes.
He passes discerning glances at different corners of the luminescent cave. His mind now focused on deciphering if the voice is real, or a fragment of his past haunting him.
"Atreus," the maiden calls again, calm, alluring, and lustful.
With no one to be seen, it's evident to Atreus that the voice is a figment. He looks forward, attempting to block out the woman's longing voice in his conscious. Yet, her gentle and sensual tone places him in a blinded trance. The vivid memory of heated flesh pressed and held against him, weakens his grasp of reality. It tires him, wearies his hold on the world around him. Euphoria eases his stress, and for a time, grants him bliss among his dark thoughts. Only for it to snap him back when his purpose is reemerged.
"Loki!" The woman shouts!
At last, now brought back to the war stained reality of Alfheim, he leaves the dimly lit tunnel. The temple of the light beacons like a lone star in the night sky. The heavens still gradually shift in color and shades while all three sides strive for dominance of the light. However, one other peculiar detail is now visible. An enchanted barrier of pure light envelops around the entirety of the structure. Even as fiery boulders crash and shatter atop it, the Valhallians forces make no impact on it. Far off, North West into the shores beyond the lake is where the barrage hails from. Which is where the second gate lies.
Atreus rows with haste in that direction. Hopefully, there's still time before word gets to the war encampment about the other Bifrost bridge. Currently, no mass of soldiers can be seen, which means their numbers might not have been expanded yet. Rushing onto the white sanded beach, Atreus sprints off the shore and into the woods. While navigating the vibrant and luscious landscape, he comes across a light elf temple. This structure, along with others in the distance, has also manifested walls of light, to prevent Odin's forces from desecrating the sacred lands. The crystals atop them, are the source of this magic. The calm voices in his head guide him to enter.
Cautious with his entrance, he lowers himself, remaining unarmed to assure those within of his peaceful intentions. The Light Elves, majestic, glistening, and a marvel to gaze upon, still fascinate him. Yet, just like all those years ago, they pay no mind to him. Restful as an undisturbed pond, they etch magical runes into the foundation. Even when grazing past him, they pay no attention to his existence in the room.
"Hello," Atreus says in confusion.
Still, even his verbal call makes no difference to them. They float by him, as though he isn't even there.
"Excuse me," he tries against, uncertain why they're behaving like this.
War is upon them, and even this doesn't deter them from their own tasks. Atreus becomes impatient, but still determined to prevent causing hostility.
"Maybe they can't understand me?" He asks himself. This time, he attempts to speak to them in an elven tongue. "Can you understand me?" He asks, incidentally mimicking the tones and pitches of the dark clan.
His subtle question causes alarm in the Light Elves, they all screech in panic. Enough so to hurt his ears, he clenches his head from the sudden shriek. Urgently, and fearful, the Light Elves soar out of the chamber, with their howls echoing.
"Wait!" He calls out, extending his hand in their direction.
It matters not what he does now, they are long gone. Atreus, realizing the error of his action, buries his face into his palms. A groan of irritation is muffled by his hands, along with the drawn out sight that follows.
"Why did I think that was a good idea?" He asks, shaking his covered face. "If my words won't get through to them, maybe my actions will."
With no other denizens near, he moves on. Lowering himself to the ground, his body is consumed by Cyan, Jotnar energy, changing his form. Now in the shape of a silver hawk, still bearing his bodily mark. He takes flight, but now has the leaves, and trees to use as cover to hide and shield his vulnerable form. Even after traveling yards and perhaps a mile out, there's still no Asgardian's in sight. All seems suddenly too quiet until a havoc filled opening presents itself to Atreus.
Much like the other encampment, the landscape is torn apart to make room for the structure and camp. Sand and ash layers the ground, and war chants fill the smoke-filled air. For now, the numbers seem even with that of the previous base that he destroyed. However, there's a nick in the air, something off considering how defensive this base is. Atreus lands himself as far into the area as he can. On the ground, with no intrusive eyes, he returns to the form of a serpent. His body blends with the field, making him near invisible as he slithers to the heart of the encampment.
What he finds at the center, causes a stir in his confidence. One of the Aesir, Thrud, stands, with soldiers surrounding and kneeling to her. Her expression is a blend of concern, agitation towards those around her. Stopping just close enough to hear, Atreus plants himself off to the side so that none can see him nor accidentally step on him.
"What do you mean, we lost one of the bridges?" Thrud questions, aggravated.
"My lady," one of them speaks up, groveling closer to him. "The vile insects of the realm were able to infiltrate our encampment."
"How is that possible, you had an army surrounding it from the skies and on the ground!"
Her anger inflicts terror into the men, who dwarf her in size. Even as a child, she can bring down the most stoic and battle-hardened with just her vulgar words. The men flinch at her angered spouting, and refuse to look at her directly for long.
"Our forces within the air were slaughtered by some unknown interference," another Valhallian speaks up. "A large number of our hippogriffs turned against us! Creating them an opening to attack us directly. It's chaos over there, now!"
As Thrud stares them all down, one of the warriors, in particular, stands out to her. This one-man, with damaged armor and broken weapons, shivers among the crowd. She approaches, the tip of her runic seax now directed beneath his chin. His breathing is unsteady, frantic at this indirect threat to his life.
"What do you have to fear?" She asks. "You are a champion of the Allfather, nothing should weigh on your valor!"
"M-my lady," the man attempts to speak. "I was there, and it was more than just elves..." All the warriors of Valhalla shake their heads, disbelieving in what he saw. "I witnessed a man that could turn into a wolf, I saw him tear through our troops like a blade through parchment."
While the rest of his comrades don't stand with him on his claim, he does make an emotional impact on Thrud. She pulls her blade away, brainstorming the mention and who he could be insinuating. Atreus coils his body, tense by his reputation spreading quicker than anticipated.
"The Wolf of Midgard," she states aloud. "Finally, a worthy challenge! Fortify the defenses, no one leaves, and no one enters this camp!"
"Yes, Goddess!" the Valhallians rise and raise their blades and hammers in praise.
A majority of the men around her immediately return to their duties. Arming themselves, they rush in different directions to prevent provoking her any further. While ill confident, some stay along with her. Before their eyes, they watch as her mighty wings burst from her shoulder blades.
"I will find and face this beast in single combat!" She decrees.
"You won't be aiding us here, my Goddess?" A Valhallian speaks.
"I am already under different orders from the Allfather, you're failure will not be mine!"
A single flap of her wings, and her body blasts into the sky. A gust of dirt and ash fill the air from her departure, choking those caught in the cloud. Even Atreus bundles his serpent body to block the flying sand. Transparent as the wind she soars, Thrud vanishes into the sky. With the warriors distracted by her exit, Atreus returns to his humanoid form. Still remaining obscure by a nearby structure.
"Good thing the Aesir aren't the brightest," Atreus comments, happy that she's leaving the fortress undefended. "Even so, these numbers are going to be a problem."
Atreus begins scanning the area for vulnerabilities, some kind of opening, or way to sabotage their formation. This camp is built near identical to the other, a bland design, but efficient with protection and positioning. However, with the news of the different base crumbling, defenses have been raised. For once, Asgard's armies are playing the defensive tactic. A few moments pass and Atreus spots a possible solution to spread chaos.
Barrels, filled with flammable oil and liquid, rest in different locations throughout the area. Used to either reduce the scenery to nothing or to ignite the boulders of the Valhallian's catapults. However, they shall also prove to be a viable tool for the Asgardian's defeat. Atreus smirks, devising a perfect plan to conquer this outpost and destroy their gate. His cocky grin fades, along with his body as he morphs back into a silver snake.
Slithering to every corner of the map, his scaley body reaches every available tub of oil. One by one, he reverts back to inflict clean, silent kills upon the guarding warriors. Snapping necks, puncturing spines, and lungs with his seax, and locking his arms around their throats to suffocate them. Several close calls of compromising are met, but even so, it doesn't impede his task. Each barrel is open and leaks through piercings in the woodwork he makes. The sand grain floor becomes stained with black grog, dark ale, and oils. The minutes fly by, as the urgency to spring his trap becomes crucial.
To his surprise, an unsuspecting issue arrises during his task. In the distance, soldiers yell and rally, like flies to a rotting corpse. Countless Valhallian's take arms as they rush to one of the corners of the outpost. Curiosity proves too much for Atreus to ignore. No longer in a scaley form, he creeps his way to their direction. From the enchanting forest, emerald streams and lights flicker and rush the defending soldiers. A swarm of transparent figures of green light charge along with the eye-catching display of energy. Though the warriors of Valhalla swing their blades at the apparitions, their attacks phase through the apparent illusions. Even so, their little understanding of magic blinds them with futile persistence.
"What the-" Atreus questions what is occurring.
As his mind wonders, a familiar trail of magic appears in his peripheral vision. Even in plain sight, this levitating energy is ignored by the oblivious Asgardians. Atreus chooses to follow it, holding off on his assault until he gets his answers. Several times, an enemy uncovers his presence, only to be silenced by his blade, or by his grip snapping their necks. Eventually, he discovers the end of the trail, as well as the maiden who left it.
The hooded woman from the forest of Midgard stands at the foot of the gate. Planting her bare feet to the ground and her arms trembling at her side, primal magics consume her tattooed arms. Mixed shades of green, yellow, and violet dance and bleed around her limbs. Invoking some hidden powers, the runes and marking on the gate, gradually flares and burns. The task appears to draw her entire focus to the ritual, leaving her unguarded.
As she concentrates on the spell, her position and actions lead to her discovery. A group of soldiers from the sides begins to rush her, ready to kill. Only for their lives to end swiftly by Atreus's arrows of light. Though the shot was unheard, the sudden death of her enemies alerts her to his company. Her eyes peek towards him, both of them have an expression of shock on their faces.
"You?" She questioningly recalls.
Though their reunion has a list of questions behind it, this meeting will have to wait. More Valhallians come to avenge their fallen comrades, their battle cries reaching them across the fields. Atreus and the maiden lock eyes with one another. She's panicked, unsure of her odds against such a combined militia.
"How much time do you need?" He questions.
His willingness to aid her without question stuns her even more. She shakes her head in disbelief, only to be reminded of the desperation of the situation. Although a majority of the army is still drawn to her illusion in the distance, the few that are coming will be a danger to face alone.
"I need a few minutes!" She answers reluctantly.
"Than I'll buy you as much as I can!" He states, arming himself with the Blades of Chaos.
Twirling them from their chains in circles on both sides of him, intense heat builds in the shackles. Riding up the links, until Azure blue flames combust and spin violently with the twin swords. For the first time, even his blue brand gifted to him by his father emits a light glow. The girl glances in awe at the powers he displays. Yet quickly returns her focus to dispelling the gateway.
As many Asgardians come into range, their hesitance at seeing the blades halts them. Leaving them open to Atreus's first, long reached strikes. He cleaves through their armor and flesh with his searing armaments. Fire and sparks spit and fly in all directions with each collision of different metals, and stone. Unlike his father, who relied on brute strength to overcome his foes, Atreus utilizes precision and agility with his swings. Though both tactics and techniques are the same, the elements of executing them are vastly different.
The chains spin, enwrap his limbs, and dance around Atreus as he spins, swings, and strikes with fluid motion. No matter how his enemies approach him, his wild flames and razor teethed, swords form a near-impenetrable, dazzling barrier around him. From one path, the enemy cannot reach, but some proceed to invade from the other sides. With a single motion, Atreus sheaths his father's armaments. Swerving his body in both directions, his bow and arrows are already in his grasp.
"Þruma Úlfur!" He shouts.
From his electrified arrows, visages of static wolf spirits spawn. Storming towards one of the groups, the pack of elemental canines crash atop the group. Their bodies spark and shock from the crash, paralyzing them in place. Atreus, following this, launches several shots of lightning at the other approaching party of Asgardian's. They, too, are brought to their knees by the electric barrage. Both sides are left open for an onslaught, as Atreus draws his seax.
With three mobs of troops on different sides of him, Loki steps back, close to the blonde maiden. With his runic sword, he invokes one of the runes before throwing it to the right side. The blade violently spins, forming a small static twister that envelops it. From one side, swerving to the next, the vortex blows away the Valhallians that stand close to them. Their bodies fly across the camp, and off the stone platform that Atreus and the girl stand on.
As time passes, most of the runes on the gate have been drained of power. The image of the golden walled, city of Asgard shimmers and warps. Only moments away from the gateway standing no more, and the girl's illusion dissipates. With nothing to stall them, the soldiers are immediately drawn to the chaos that Atreus unleashes. Their war chants and screams alert him to their impending arrival.
Atreus's persistence dwindles at the thought of facing such numerable odds. Though the flammable barrels have spilled across the camp, he cannot ignite them without risking getting caught in the chain of blasts. Along with the girl behind him. The only solution that comes to mind is retreating. However, he may not have another chance as smooth as this to conquer this fort. As the countless Valhallians rush to the gate, the girl raises her head to the sky.
Thaumaturgy booms in her voice, as she projects an unfamiliar language to the heavens. Though Atreus has never heard it spoken before, he can understand the meaning behind her shout. A plea for aid reflects across the plains, shaking him from the startling quake of her voice. For a moment, the warriors yield at the rumble, questioning what incantation she has cast. Their concerns are quickly answered, as the forest behind them waves and gusts furiously.
Like a swarm of fireflies, the Light Elves flash, and fly from the woods. Their swift, elegant, yet sporadic flight patters distract and cause panic in the army. Along with their dazzling display of lights, they utilize an array of magic against the Asgardians. Tendrils of light sprout from the ground to ensnare, trap and slow down their march. Though it doesn't impede them all, it does work to Atreus's advantage.
The Last Son of Sparta is speechless at what the light clan is capable of. More importantly, how and why they came to their aid.
"You can speak to them?" He asks the Sorceress.
"They'll help us, but not for long," she responds.
"Gotcha!" Without even looking away, Atreus blindly stabs the chest of a sneaking Asgardian.
The warrior's death is instant, prompting Loki to continue keeping the enemies at bay. His arrows fly, sending fire, light, and lightning to decimate the straggling numbers that approach. When close, his Blades of Chaos cleave through their ranks. Although he has been inflicted with several wounds during this battle, he overcomes the odds overall. Finally, the last of the energy from the bridge is depleted. The structure no longer maintained by the spells carved into it, the gate cracks and gradually crumbles under its weight.
Doing all they can, the Light Elves begin to vacate the base. Before doing so, two of them swoop down to take the Sorceress away. Like before, they ignore Atreus, bypassing his existence.
"Wait, what about him?" She pleads, only for her request to fall on deaf ears.
"Don't worry about me, I still have a job to do!" He claims, passing a nod.
The maiden watches helplessly as he's left behind, with the remaining army rushing at him. The Elves' daring escape goes exquisitely, without any casualties. Atreus, cheerful at this, turns to face the countless amount of enemies. With the Bifrost gate crumbling behind him, a cloud of dirt and dust obscures Loki.
The army holds the line, spears lunged forward, shields held up. The men already certain that Atreus is unharmed, form a defensive perimeter to keep him at bay. From the brown cloud of fumes, all that is seen is glowing, searing chains that spin steadily. Blue flames alight, sparking the stone ground as steel and rock clash. Emitting a dim light, as well, is Atreus's spartan brand and Norse tattoos on his right arm ad torso.
His menacing, slow approach causes immediate tension among their ranks. Some of the soldiers tremble uncontrollably, most break into cold sweats. Chatter among the crowd whispers in the eerie winds. Even so, Atreus knows the possibility of victory in this fight will be near impossible, not to be gambled with. Instead, he returns to his previous plan but must be far enough to take his shot.
Taking the initiative, Loki dashes towards the front lines. A brief reaction of fear flinches the spear and shield-wielding Asgardians. Only for their defenses to prove futile, as Atreus flings, his scorching blades upward. The single tall tower in the fortress allows him to latch his armaments into its foundation. With one hard pull, he launches himself into the air. As he swings himself over them, he takes up his bow.
"Bruni Kráka!" Atreus shouts, unleashing a blazing arrow.
The shot soars directly down, as Atreus slips passed them. Just as he's about to land, Cyan energy consumes his body. Once more, he changes into a silver hawk while the army is distracted. As for the bolt, right before impacting the floor, a burst of flame from it produces a murderous flock of raging crows. All of which soar into alternate directions. For a moment, the warriors all collectively sigh at the avoided attack. Not knowing of the spots, the flaming birds will crash.
As Atreus narrowly escapes the encampment, the girl and the elves watch from the jungle's edge. They watch as explosions and wild, devastating flames engulf the large base in a matter of seconds. Before their eyes, the elves' most troublesome enemy has been decimated. Not long after, a single shiny grey bird darts toward them. Just as it lands, a flash of light reverts Atreus back into his original form. He crashed into the ground, sending a gust of wind and dirt in all directions.
"Do I have your attention now?" Atreus questions the Elves, while he rises up.
Now fascinated by him, as though he's some form of exotic animal, the Light Elves flicker close to him. Their hands press and rub his body and armor, even stroking his fur vest as though believing it's apart of him. He pays no ill mind to their intrusive behavior, only watching them cautiously. As he observes them, the Sorceress approaches in awe by his actions.
"How-what-who," no single question satisfies her curiosity.
He looks to her, just as mind boggled towards her as she is to him. He steps closer to her, brushing off the Elves, who stay within a few feet of him
"I was just about to ask the same thing," he jokingly replies.
Before he can continue, she presses her soft hands on his bare chest. For once, he's taken aback by the direct, yet subtle contact. She caresses him, running her fingers on his biceps and pectorals as though studying him. Unconsciously, he tenses the muscles on every part of his body, confused and uncertain of her intentions. At last, while her hands travel to his face, does she look him in his silver-blue eyes. Her face instantly becomes red, while jerking her hands away and creating a small gap between them.
"You're not mortal," she says intrigued. "I've never sensed anything like you before, but there's no mistaking it."
"That's putting it mildly," he replies, shaking off his warm feeling and thoughts. "What I am is complicated."
"I can detect as much... I-I have so many questions..."
Just as she begins stepping away, Atreus raises his hand to calm her. He stays in place, preventing himself from giving her anything to worry about from him. Though anxious, his subtle gesture does provide some ease.
"I assure you, I mean you no harm," he tells her.
"I figured," she sighs in content. "I can't thank you enough for your help... Who are you?"
In any other case, Atreus would introduce himself as Loki to prevent anyone from knowing his true identity. As well as spread his infamous title to spread fear to his enemies. However, something about this blonde, enchanting woman discourages his intention to do so. Never has he been so fascinated with someone of this nature, of this girl's caliber and capabilities.
"I'm Atreus," he tells her.
As their conversation continues, the Light Elves proceed to gradually head back to the temple. The denizens of the realm silently gesture for them to follow. With the sounds of the elves whispers guiding them like a soothing song, she blindly trails behind. Atreus, dazed and drawn to her beauty, is briefly entranced by her. After snapping himself back, he follows behind, walking faster to keep up. She stops, waiting patiently for him to catch up. The moment he does, the too stand face to face. Even with the dire situation on all ends, this moment provides them both much-needed peace.
"What is your name?" He asks.
"Sigyn," she answers.