Eventually, Sigyn and Atreus reach the surface. Emerging from a spiral, bleak tunnel, they step into the world of discord. Before their eyes, an ensuing slaughter unfolds across the fields of serenity. The Dark Elves, despite Atreus's request, have begun laying siege to the temple. They bombard the sanctum from the skies, and from the ground. The Light Elves flee, relying on their magics to stall and slow down the invaders. Sadly, not all can escape the battlefield.

"This wasn't supposed to happen!" Atreus claims furiously.

"Why are they attacking now?" Sigyn asks.

"I don't-"

An odd sense sparks in Atreus's mind. Among the chaos and spilling of blood, something is wrong. A presence, familiar, strange, and deadly, watches them from afar. He's felt this cold stare before. It was unexpected, scary accurate, and nearly pierced him with an enchanted shot. With only a moment to act, Atreus activates a shield of Trolls Bane, and barricades a lightning-fast arrow. The razor-sharp tip of a bolt clashes with his stalwart, right before it could make contact with Sigyn.

The sorceress, now held tight in Atreus's embrace, stares in shock over the quick series of events. Her gaze quickly turns to fear the moment she spots who fired the arrow. From the tallest structure in the vicinity, the Son of Odin, Höðr, descends upon them. Dropping from a tower off in the distance, his heels crash and shatter the marble floor beneath him. Even without his sight, he manages to walk gracefully toward them.

"Lady Sigyn!" he calls out, the tip of his spear grinding and sparking on the pavement as he approaches. "You had us all very worried about you. Our dear Allfather and my brother, above all..."

Sigyn, unconsciously, grasps the same sashed arm from earlier. Her head shakes, and even her eyes water at the sight of the Aesir. Atreus, firmly standing himself by her side, bracing himself for an impending battle. For extra precaution, keeps his arm in her path, in case he needs to divert another shot.

"Come along now, it's time to go home," Höðr firmly states. The Aesir swings his short-handled spear, flinging wild sparks in their direction. "Don't make me have to hurt you."

Though the Aesir's words weaken Sigyn with fear, already wavering her ill confidence, Atreus, is unfazed. Taking a single glance back, her timid expression is painted on his mind. All too well does he know how she feels, recalling his days as a child, terrified of the Aesir. Seeing that look on her eyes invokes rage in him, that someone else has to endure the same.

Though careless and unwise, he places himself between her and the Son of Odin, becoming her shield to grant her relief and assurance. Stomping his feet on the pavement, angrily, he takes up a firm stance in front of her. His presence is bluntly made aware to the now curious God of Darkness, who faces the location of the rumble. Even with Alfheim in chaos, Sigyn shows more concern toward the two immortal men facing off.

"I don't know what Odin desires from her, nor the God of Thunder," Atreus states sternly. "But if you don't leave here now, you won't be leaving alive!"

Atreus's hate-filled confidence towards the Aesir renders Sigyn silent, who watches skeptically uncertain of what's about to transpire. A sliver of her wishes to intervene, but another dwindles her courage to step forward. Höðr finds amusement in Loki's defiance, a light chuckle escapes his throat at the threat.

"What do we have here?" He asks, scratching his stubbly chin. "A boy pretending to be a man?"

The Aesir lets out another soft laugh. All the more, Sigyn's wary grows as she helplessly watches. Atreus, with knuckles clenched, scowls at the haughty God of Asgard. He, too, remains firm, headstrong, and ready for what his enemy to act. Though the Aesir's expression is partially concealed by his sash, his facial shift is apparent as day. Höðr ceases his mocking chuckle and turns his face to Loki's position.

"You're the one from earlier, aren't you?" He asks, referring to their first interaction. "It's not very often I miss my targets, but then again, I thought my warning shot was enough to make you flee... I guess you're too foolish to know when you're outmatched."

Höðr's insults have no effect on the enraged Wolf of Midgard, who only stands his ground in heated anticipation.

"Stand aside, mortal," the Aesir commands, waving his spear. "You meddle in the affairs of Asgard!"

"All the more reason to stand against you," Atreus spouts, now slamming his feet while steadily walking to him.

The more defiant he is to the Aesir, the more Höðr becomes amused by the retaliation. Little by little, the two immortal warriors step closer and closer, the tension in the air becomes thick and frigid. The flames of the war around them are numb and obsolete in comparison to this staredown.

"You don't want this fight, boy," Höðr warns, tightening his hold on his spear.

The gap between them has been diminished almost completely. A foot or more of space separates them from landing the first strike on the other. The Aesir is amused by the sturring conflict, his grin condescends Loki's disobedience. Atreus, however, is motivated by an urge that he hasn't felt in many years. A yearning to prove himself, like he once sought when he fought beside his father. For the first time, on his own, he challenges a god face to face.

"I think I do," Atreus replies, his dormant rage expelling immense heat from his flexing arms. A sliver of his spartan heritage fuels his anger.

Even with the sash over Höðr's eyes, Atreus can sense the glare behind the gold veil. Silence envelops them, not a word, a whisper, or even a sigh emits from their throats. The temple crumbles in chaos, death, and ash fills the air, and their focus is solely driven towards the other. Even Sigyn is now obscured to them, who's gradually stepping away from them. Her hands tremble with flickering energy glimmering from her fingers. An urge to help lingers, but fear restrains her incentive.

Finally, a scuff of intrigue escapes from Höðr's grinning lips. For a brief second, the Aesir turns himself away from Atreus, only to make the first attack with a swift lunge with his spear. Sparks and ringing of steel fly in all directions as Loki counters the strike with his bracers. Following after, are hurling fists, and side slashes between the two. The moment their battle begins, the surrounding Dark Elves cease their assault, realizing who shares the battlefield with them. The remaining Light Elves flee, caring little for the confrontation.

Inhumanly swift, and powerful with each strike, the immortal warriors relentlessly unleash a flurry of swings and blows against the either. Both of which cannot land a critical hit on the other, and merely block or avert the attacks. Höðr's persistent jabs and lunges prevent Atreus from drawing out any of his weapons. Trolls Bane alone must block and counterstrike the Aesir's assaults. An expression of fierce shock freezes on his face, never has he faced a foe like this singlehandedly. Eventually, with a full swerving swing, Höðr overcomes Atreus's defenses, blowing him back and through the air.

Even with the fortification of Trolls Bane absorbing a majority of the impact, the strike reminds him of the attack he endured from Baldur. With only a second to land back on solid earth and to recatch his breath, Höðr proves merciless while charging him. Once more, a barrage of punches, blocks, and slashes are exchanged between them, putting Atreus's reflexes to the ultimate trial. Again, the Aesir builds up another massive swing. This time, the Last Son of Sparta is prepared. Absorbing the force behind the strike, he redirects it back against him with both of his clenched fists.

Although Höðr also manages to shield himself with the handle of his pike, he too is thrown a vast distance back. Even when driving his golden spear into the marble floor beneath him, he's dragged several feet away from the strength of his own hit. Knelt on the cracked gravel, he raises his head up to the Wolf of Midgard. The Aesir's face turns to enticed shock at the skills his enemy presents, while Atreus is stern, bitter towards him. A few motions of his hands, wrists, and arms, and every joint in Loki's limbs cracks and pops.

"I don't believe it," Sigyn comments in near denial of what unfolded.

The sorceress knew that Atreus was more than an ordinary mortal. Yet, the events that have just unfolded leave her in disbelief. Even with his words towards the Aesir before, she was unsure about his full capabilities. However, he has proven the impossible to her, in her time of need. Never before has she seen a man like him, who could rival a god.

"Well then," Höðr comments, baffled while tearing his pike from the ground. "I underestimated you..."

"And that mistake will cost you your life!" Atreus states.

"We shall see..."

In synch, the Aesir and Loki charge at the other with high speed. Höðr brings down his spear, the shining gold of his weapon glows as he does so. Instinctively, Atreus catches it with one hand, the force behind the hit sending a wild gust of wind in all directions. The Son of Odin follows this assault by thrusting the blunt end of his pike. Once more, Atreus latches onto it to intercept the strike. Now the two immortals vie for dominance over the godly armament. Stuck in a stalemate of raw strength, the ground beneath them begins to crack and divide.

The already weakened floor and structure, that they stand upon begins to falter and collapse. The heels of these warriors are gradually dug deeper, into the marble platform that they stand upon. Neither one can overcome the other, resulting in a standstill as the battlefield breaks under their divine prowess. Growls and groans pry from their jaws as they angrily remain firm and stalwart. Eventually, the floor between them becomes too unstable to maintain their hold. In one swift motion, Atreus yanks the Aesir toward him, then with a tackle, sends them both plummeting to the underground catacombs.

"Atreus!" Sigyn calls out, rushing towards them. Just as she reaches the crater's edge, Höðr and Atreus have vanished into the shadowy abyss.

The two crash and tumble onto a different level of the sacred temple, both obscured by a thin blanket of darkness. The Blades of Chaos burn blue in Atreus's grasp, searing the floor that they're impaled into while he rests on one knee. Höðr, just a few meters away, also brings himself back onto his feet. Dark smoke and shadows bleed from his dimly glowing, misty blue runes on his body and armaments. Even beneath the sash that conceals his eyes, a transparent glow from his pupils pierces through the cloth.

"Let the hunt begin!" The Aesir states, twirling his spear.

Atreus, springing himself onto his feet, rushes the Son of Odin. A single whip of his arms and the Blades of Chaos extend and seek out the Aesir. The chains burning red, and the azure flames soaring like fireballs through the air. However, even without his sight, Höðr can detect where the bladed armaments are coming from. Perfectly connecting the sharp end of his spear with the blades, he redirects and smacks them away. Utilizing the enchanted links of his father's short swords, Atreus continues to unleash a flurry of long-distance slashes.

Fire, shadow, and metal dance and flails in all directions around them during their battle. Flashes from the grinding metal flicker the room and add a golden hue to the other enchanted colors. With the blind god juggling and twirling his pike, Höðr prevents any of the fiery blades from making contact with him. Little by little, the Aesir gradually shortens the gap between them, with Atreus too blinded by the heat of battle to realize it. Eventually, Loki flings his twin swords for a more accurate strike at the god's chest, granting Höðr an opening.

Although he endured scrapes by the attack, the Aesir spins his pike once more, entangling the chains around his handle. With Atreus bound by his wrists and by the spear, Höðr yanks him forward to him. Loki flung through the air, receives a direct blow to the gut with the blunt end of the Aesir's pike. Immediately following, he is hurled and slammed onto the marble pavement, cracking the ground and throwing him to the side.

"Mistaking my blindness as a weakness, foolish boy," Höðr comments in mocking amusement. "I'm not as impaired as you'd believe, your movements are predictable!"

Calling back the blades, Atreus lifts himself off the broken pavement. Keeping his distance, he begins forming a quick strategy, treating this initially believed impaired foe like any other, a deadly threat. Twirling the chains, he reignites and builds up the hellish flames on Ares' twin weapons, forming spiraling, fiery lights around him. Once more, he hurls them in the same location.

The Aesir grins, humored over the repeated attempt. Again, he catches the chains around the hilt of his pike and yanks Loki to him. However, this time, he aims the pointed end at him, intending to plunge his godly weapon into his gut. Yet, unsuspectingly, his attempts are thwarted. When close in range, Atreus backhands the spear with one of the shields of Trolls Bane. Following the aversion, he lands a direction, spiked gauntlet punch to Höðr's face. Now within arms reach and past the god's defenses, he hurls both of his fists at the Son of Odin's abdomen, throwing him backward.

"Clever," Höðr mutters, crouched down while wiping the blood from the slashes across his face.

Not even willing to reply, or talk down to his enemy, Atreus hurls his blades onto the ground. A wave of wild, blue flames scorches and flares toward the Aesir. Even after his recently inflicted wounds and received injuries, the God of Darkness retaliates. In one swift motion, Höðr plunges his pike into the solid ground, impeding the path of the berzerk fires of Ares. Once more, the runes and sigils across his body and godly equipment burn dimly. An aura of shadow and mist divides the inferno and shrouds his body.

"Such tenacity," the Aesir states delightfully, as his form becomes obscured by darkness and smoke. "Let's see its limit..."

Unlike before, Höðr's speed has heightened by his runic powers. With a single motion, his ghastly visage has stretched yards of distance. In the blink of an eye, he reaches Atreus, the front of his spear already rammed forward for a fatal strike. Though the Last Son of Sparta receives a large cut across his stomach, he does manage to avoid the majority of the attacks lethal aim. Yet, before he can counter, the Aesir is already on the rapid move around him. Utilizing a duel mix of throwing and ricocheting his seax to limit the god's movement, and waving around the Blades of Chaos, Atreus attempts to counter his speed with precision.

Once more, the two clash steel and blade, a mass of sparks, embers, smoke, and fire engulf and fly in all directions around them. Whenever the runic sax is thrown, Atreus immediately calls it back after it misses. Only to kick or jab it in a new location to repeat the same process. Though valiant in his tries to compete against Höðr, he cannot land another critical hit on him. Other than some minor grazes and cuts on his armor and flesh, the Aesir avoids the restless fury of Loki's attacks. Several times, he breaches Atreus's imposing tactics, managing to place a blunt kick or punch on him, before shifting away. Even so, each breach leaves him more vulnerable than the last.

At last, showing instability and gradual reduction of swiftness, Atreus takes the opportunity. With all the haste he can muster, he sheaths his several blades and dawns the Talon Bow. Impatience and anger pester on his mind, gnawing at his thoughts and impulses. Yet, he manages to keep his blinding emotions at bay. Burying his wrath, he draws from his quiver and aims his shot.

"Bruni!" He shouts as his arrow burst into furious flames.

Releasing the bolt, a line of flames follow in its wake, erupting into as a fiery explosion upon contact with the Aesir. Though his shaded aura partially protects him from the blast's force, much of his clothing cinders and burns on his person. Standing, teeth clenched into an entertained groan, he strips and tears the scorched cloth on his chest, bearing in the open more of his nordic tattoos. A familiar pattern for a brief second sparks Atreus's curiosity, before being buried like his already distracting emotions. Before his enemy can counter, the Wolf of Midgard already has another arrow prepared.

"Þruma Kráka!" He calls out, this time, one of his runes invokes as he releases an electrified arrow.

Launching the projectile, the static energy within explodes into a flock of thunderous crows. The enchanted birds soar and screech as they pursue the Aesir. However, Höðr in retort arms himself with his own, grimly bow and with an unconscious flick of his wrists, returns his fire.

"Skuggi Kráka!" The Son of Odin yells, delighted to test his marksmanship.

Unleashing his own projectiles, he imbues his with a devilish shadow, much like the mists that he enveloped himself in. As it silently glides through the sky, the arrow splits into a fogged cluster of crows. The two elemental flocks collide perfectly, erupting in a blast of darkness and lightning in all directions. Atreus, paralyzed by the unforeseen display, stares in concerned awe.

"By the gods," he whispers to himself.

"A fellow archer?" Höðr questions, all the more enticed more with the battle. "You are quite something, stranger, I am most pleased with your capabilities."

Atreus is silents, his eyes locked on the Aesir as he steadily steps to a different advantage point. Höðr, without even seeing him nor looking in his direction, mirrors his motions. Despite stepping on the debris riddled floor, his path doesn't impair him or affect his route of following Loki's movements.

"What are you?" Höðr asks, with only minor details to make a guess. "It's clear that you are no ordinary mortal, you would be dead already if you were. Perhaps..."

"What I am is a bane to your Allfather," Atreus claims sternly.

The Aesir breaks into laughter over the outraged threat, stopping in place. Atreus also holds his ground, prepared for whatever may occur next. Amid their ceasefire, the uproar above echoes across the desolate chamber that they reside in.

"My father sure knows how to make enemies," Höðr states humorously. "Never one to make allies with those he didn't find useful or who he believed were too inferior... Now I know where you stand."

Though agitated by the harsh remark, Atreus knows to keep his rage at bay. The enemy he faces is unlike anyone he's ever fought before, one wrong move could leave him fatally open for an attack. His thoughts race, skim, and produce too many concepts and ideas to keep track of. What else is this Aesir capable of, and is he capable of matching it?

A question that will be left to answer later. As Atreus ponders his solutions, another distant arrow flies toward him. Before it can make contact, Atreus smacks it away with the back end of Trolls Bane's shield. The projectile shatters from the instant barrier, sending sparkling shrapnel across the air.

Leaping away, both he and Höðr take notice to the archer who sent the shot. Though the Aesir only leans his head toward the source of the sound, he acknowledges the interfering Ullr. His nephew drops down from the same opening edge of the cavern.

"Uncle, there's someone else here!" He aims to warn his master.

"Even a blind man could have told you that!" Höðr spouts impatiently. "I was dealing with this on my own, you should be hunting down Sigyn!"

"She's gone, uncle... She's left an apparent trail heading to the Temple of Tyr, the sorceress must be intending on departing from the realm."

Sigyn's gone? The question echoes in Atreus's thoughts, silencing the other worries that cloud him. Though it's understandable to hide from the Aesir, why leave the realm when she was so willing to aid in his goals before? Even when she knew her enemies were close, she still offered her support.

While discouraged by her sudden departure, the more dire situation in front of him is his current priority. Already ill confident about facing Höðr, challenging him along with Ullr seems impossible to do. With the small window presented to him by the Aesirs' discussion, the Son of Kratos scans his surroundings. Searching for anything that will aid in his retreat.

The ceiling above is already damaged from his and Höðr's initial encounter, prompting the only solution to give himself an opening. With his bow out and the Aesir gods' still distracted, Atreus launches a flaming bolt into the air. Though The God of Darkness is the first to hear the engulfed arrow, he cannot intercept it in time. A furious explosion triggers the unstable plates, collapsing the roof on top of them. Höðr and his nephew manage to clear away from the crashing ruble. Atreus, during the chaos and deafening crash of stone and steel, vanishes within the dust and dirt clouds.

"Damn, he got away!" Ullr states, disappointed in himself.

"That he did," Höðr comments with intrigue.

"Who was he?"

At first, Höðr dismisses the question with his silence. His keen sense of hearing deciphers the several noises and echoes within the barren halls. With the rumbling commotion still persistently reflecting from every corner of the room, he stops his attempts at trailing where Atreus had gone.

"It would seem that we have a wolf among us," Höðr remarks, hinting towards Loki's prominent title among the gods. "And this one's bite has proven sharper than his bark."

"The Wolf of Midgard?" Ullr speaks aloud. "Are you sure?"

"I'm quite confident in my assumption, yes..." Utilizing the blunt end of his spear, he taps the floor, relying on the noise to guide him. Finally, he connects it to his nephew's foot. Extending a firm hand out, he grasps Ullr's shoulder. "Find Thrúd, follow Sigyn's trail, and bring her to me."

Höðr Begins walking with his pike guiding him like a cane due to the countless small sounds disorienting his sense of direction. He and the other Aesir proceed to vacate the ruins from the same way they came. Ullr accompanies his discombobulated uncle, who grasps one of his ears.

"But uncle, I want to help you fight," Ullr declares.

"The wolf is mine to kill," Höðr states. "Besides, though we have far more important tasks to deal with than this minor squabble, I'll be reporting to Odin of his nearing victory here. As we speak, his elite force is most likely at the Light, soon, Alfheim will be his."

A few minutes or so pass, and both the Aesir vanish into the distance. However, unbeknownst to them, Atreus never fled. Emerging from behind the pile of debris and stone flooring, a silver serpent slithers its way into the open. Raising its head up, coiling its scaley body, the snake looks to the sky. Cyan blue energy bleeds from its body, enlarging and shaping it. Atreus appears, his eyes widened by the heavenly event that unfolds. The Light of Alfheim begins to rapidly flicker, thinning substantially as the seconds' pass. Eventually, dissipating altogether, the sky becomes black, clouded by dark, harrowing storms.