Pulling himself from the depths of the Elven ruins, Atreus looks out to a decimated field. Bloodstains, corpses, and weapons litter every corner of the garden. Many of the structures have crumbled, or have suffered critical damage. Yet, no longer does a raging onslaught ensue before his eyes. Instead, it's a stagnant, hopeless plain of submission. Both the light and dark clans of elves are weakened, groveling on the floor, powerless. The radiance of the glistening elves flickers and fades, no longer sustaining their flowing ability of flight. Along with the opposing faction, who cannot flutter or flap their wings, and lay bound to the ground.
The clouds above rumble with thunder and darken the once astonishing, vibrant colored sky. This is the tragedy of what unfolds when neither of the elves is in control of the Light. Discord and disarray infects the realm, leaving the denizens powerless to defend themselves against the warmongering forces. Even the once lush wildlife and the thriving natural environment wilts, dying from the absent radiance. Atreus has never seen such levels of helplessness before. His heart sinks to darkness as the blackening clouds cry above. Among the desperation, a familiar face stands out among the masses.
"Bǫjnir!" Atreus calls out.
The Dark Elf, who swore loyalty to him, resides against a marble wall. His spear is the only thing preventing him from collapsing. His eyes are deprived of color, along with that threatening glow. Even his flesh looks sickly and deprived of nutrition. Loki rushes to his ally's aid, taking him by the arm to keep him standing.
"What happened? Why did you attack the temple?" Atreus questions. "I thought you were going to rally your forces to the first encampment?"
"Couldn't- m-my king o-ordered all a-assault," Bǫjnir is near incapable of forming a proper sentence. His body and wings twitch and flinch at random, uncontrollable spurts. "W-why you h-here?"
"Uncovering the truth," Atreus replies.
Before he can explain himself, a nearby Light Elf collapses against the same wall. Lifeless with it's stare, it's head turns to the Last Son of Sparta, fingers pointed in tremble at him. The Dark Elf becomes enraged, a surge of determination guides him to slay his ancient enemy. However, Atreus ceases his attempts by laying him on the ground, away from his armament. A quick swipe of Atreus's hand and the crystalized spear is brushed aside.
"No, you can't kill them," Atreus states.
An immediate glare of disdain emerges on the Dark Elf's face. A growling hiss slips from his fangs as he tries to fight against Loki. However, his impaired physic proves effortless for Atreus to hold back.
"W-What treachery is t-this?" Bǫjnir questions with resentment. "They a-are the e-enemy!"
"You're people were deceived long ago, Bǫjnir," he tells the shaking elf. "This whole war, a ploy to blind you from the real threat."
This information, accompanied by a booming cry of thunder, silences Bǫjnir. His body, like cold stone halts in place, a flickering glow of shock flashes in the elf's eyes. Yet, unwavering denial shakes him from this frozen daze.
"H-how can t-that be?" He asks, latching his fingers onto Loki's wrists.
Atreus, for the moment, must bite his tongue to prevent explaining the truth. Explaining the history that he uncovered, might only invoke harsher hostility if he doesn't phrase it correctly. The forces of Asgard are also lurking among them, placing him and all the elves at terrible risk. Not too mention, the Aesir could still linger, lying in wait for an opportunity to attack. He must investigate, rekindle the divine heart of Alfheim.
"It's hard to explain," Atreus tells him. "But you have to trust me! You must not kill the Light Elves!"
Atreus's words can barely be fathomed by the quivering Bǫjnir, who shakes his head with uncertainty. His huffs of breath become a mix of growls and hisses towards the notion. The scars of the eternal war have left its mark on the Dark Elf, searing him with rage at the core of his being. Yet, as the seconds' pass and the world around them continues to skulk in despair, his reluctance sways.
"G-giants of f-frost, t-they sought the s-same," Bǫjnir claims. "I-is that why y-you're here, t-to forge p-peace?" Hopelessness fills his empty pupils, as his hands twitch and jerk around Atreus's wrists. "We've been at war for c-centuries," Bǫjnir states. "C-Countless lifetimes of s-spilled b-blood, between both s-sides... Y-you would have me t-turn a blind e-eye to my g-greatest enemy?"
"I know it's a lot to demand," Loki tells him, releasing Bǫjnir's hold gently. "But peace is the only option if you wish to win this war! You and I know both know well that they're not the threat here, they're not the ones doing this to the realm! Peace or oblivion, what will it be Bǫjnir?"
The scale of what he suggests renders Bǫjnir submissive to his demand. Silence, for the moment, keeps him from openly agreeing to the proposal. Yet, each passing moment only adds disdain to the command and the truth behind it. The Dark Elf leans his head back against the wall, looking up to the blotted heavens. To go against his nature, to look passed countless lifetimes of bitterness and hatred, pains him as significantly as the absent Light. What consequences could he face should he defy the creed of his people? Whatever punishments await, their survival is his priority.
"You told me that you would aid me, you said you trusted me," Atreus reminds him. "Prove it to me now, believe in me!"
Again, the Dark Elf lays idle, distasteful to the notion of sparing his greatest enemy's life. Angered that his hatred towards the other clan may cost him dearly, but to trust them may also bear similar punishment. Bǫjnir's fangs clench tightly as a primal growl leaves his canines.
"Warriors!" He cries out. "T-the Light are not our e-enemies! C-cease your attempts at their life- and stay s-strong!"
Those who serve him mutter and whispers with disbelief, their voices travel in the wind. Although much resistance to disobey remains, the Dark Elves are too weak to refuse the command. Each one falls against or near a solid surface or wall, accepting their new orders.
"Okay, now I need to know what's going on," Atreus states. "What has happened to the Light? Why is it having this effect on all of you?"
"M-my people never sought t-to blot the pillar, only filter its r-radiance," Bǫjnir claims. "So that we m-may bask in it, and s-slow d-down the c-cycle of r-rebirth. A-all elves are co-connected to it. It f-flows through all the realm, gr-grants us p-power, and l-life. The w-warriors of Odin h-have concealed it e-entirely. It m-must be free, or we m-may-"
"I will stop whatever they're doing." Atreus interrupts him, already suspecting the long, destructive implications of the tower's absence. "Rest, and be on your guard."
Bǫjnir lays back, all his strength drained, and his body sickened with fatigue. Atreus stands, the thunder and lightning above makes his body tense, and even flinch at the booms. Such despair resembles that of the night all those years ago when Kratos stood against Thor. This time, however, he will not run, and he will not let those of Alfheim suffer the same helplessness as he did then. The grey, husk of the once pristine temple guides him. Without hesitation, his bow already in hand, he rushes inside.
With the pillar of Light gone, a small portion of his bow's power was lost. This has rendered him unable to use it to open his way through the temple's magical gateways and passages. Even his arrow count is considerably low, limiting how much he can fire. He must be wise with the last shots he takes. His only path is the same, decrepit tunnels that he and Sigyn used to find the Giants' Shrine. With the sorceress now on his mind, he ponders where she could have gone. Or if he'll ever see her again. Either due to where she fled to, or if she managed to escape the Aesir altogether. Such thoughts should be put on hold, but her image lingers in the back of his mind.
Another curiosity also pesters and distracts him from his mission. The voices that he's been hearing have gone dormant, utterly absent in the wake of this wave of darkness. Among them were the words of his father, Kratos. Though what he spoke of was most unpleasant, Atreus still wishes to hear his dad again. Once he frees the celestial beam, he will learn what his father meant by revenge.
Traversing the now grim and decrepit halls, many corpses of the Light and Dark Elves stain and clutter the floors of every room and corner. The brutish force inflicted on these bodies resembles that of the Valhallian's. No doubt have they gone through these chambers, using the conflict between the two clans to their advantage. Such honorless, cowardly tactic can only be befitting of the servants of the Aesir. All the more, Atreus's rage builds, ready to be unleashed on the warriors of Odin.
Through the bleak, dark crevices of the temple's ruins, Atreus reaches a viewpoint. From this vantage point, he raises his eyes to the platform above, where the Light of Alfheim would reside. However, even the heart of the sanctuary is enveloped by the shadows of its absence. Atreus thinks back to how beautiful this place was, how awe-inspiring it was to be in the presence of such radiance. Now only a faint glimmer remains, choking back the desecration of Valhalla's warriors. Atop the pedestal, several voices can be heard, a bundle of commotion and chattering noises mix and blend other. Making it difficult for Atreus to comprehend the context of the discussion.
Creeping in the shadows, and climbing up to the monument, the voices and conversations gradually become more transparent. With the Light subdued, the whispers of Atreus's father and of others won't distract him. The greater of heights he reaches, the more visible of the Asgardian's desecration becomes.
"Our work is done," one of the warriors mentions. "With the pointy-eared beasts out of spirit, our forces will purge them in the name of the Allfather!"
The warmongers chant and cheer over their triumph over the elves. Far off into the distance, resting atop a perch in the shadows, Atreus observes them. At last, he uncovers how the warriors of Valhalla imprisoned the bridge between life and rebirth. The Asgardians utilize runic steel structures that cage the divine pillar. Fluid white magic bleeds from the triangle-shaped plates placed to make a pyramid. The barrier alone is capable of wrapping around the Light, preventing its radiance from reaching the heavens of Alfheim.
"Our only task is to secure this location until our forces arrive," another Asgardian says. "They should be here within the hour."
Atreus carefully observes the situation, counting down every soldier there. Well over a dozen, along with an Einherjar leading the mission. The elite warrior stands out with his towering shield and the same runic carved armaments. However, this one holds a silver spear with nordic sigils on it. The platform is a tight fit with all the warriors, along with the Asgardian construct caging the beam. Charging in headfirst could leave him vulnerable from all directions, and unleashing his remaining arrows might not vanquish all of them. As well as damage the structure, if he relies on explosive fire.
His best option is to reduce their numbers gradually. With rushed thinking and time of the essence, Atreus moves to execute his plan. He returns back to the darkness of the pit, to prevent any eyes from detecting him. With no one to be seen, and shadow concealing his body, Loki alters his form. Blue energy envelops him as he changes into a silver hawk. A swift flap of his wings and he silently soars into the air.
Subtly and with high speed, his feathered body reaches beneath the heart of the temple. Reverting back to his humanoid shape, Atreus climbs and swings on the bars and railing below to approach his targets. His skill in acrobatics renders him silent to their ears, his agile swinging goes unnoticed as well. Climbing and dangling his way to each corner of the podium, Atreus dispatches the warriors at the edges. Hurling his chain upward, he yanks each and every warrior by their throats to keep their retaliation hushed. His blades pierce into their backs or necks as their bodies are dragged into the abyss.
Of course, even with his intentions being subtle, the first vanishing Asgardian alerts the others to suspicion. Most of the Valhallians reside at the platform's outer ring, with only a handful holding their ground near the center. With each vanishing ally, their nerves and senses begin to betray them as wary infects their focus. The rattling of chains, the sound of crushing windpipes, and the disappearance of bodies add to their anxiety. Cold tingles and sweats reverberate and course from their flesh. Even the warm leather attire beneath their armor does little to ease the sensation.
"What's going on?" One of the Asgardian's questions, cowering behind his shield.
"It can't be the elves, they're supposed to be powerless!" Another shouts.
Once more, another victim is taken before they can intervene. Only this time, too close for the Einherjar to feel comfort by. The warriors' back away from the edges, fortifying their defenses in wait for their foe to reveal themselves. In the wake of their abrupt, panicked tactic, an ominous silence takes hold of their environment. Not even a breeze of sound grazes passed them, no whispers, not even their own breathes can be registered to one another. Their worries only grow, weighing on them like shackles bound to hanging stones. The slightest shadows from the corners of their eyes blind them with fear of their real threat.
Swinging himself into the air from the bars, Atreus launches his seax at the Einherjar that leads the Asgardian forces. The elite warrior thwarts the attack with a backhand swing of his shield, bashing the runic blade away. However, this defensive maneuver, along with his current position, leave his subordinates defenseless. In the time it takes the Valhallian to redirect his focus, Atreus already barrages the group with relentless, fiery swings of his blades. His preemptive assault, on top of his mind games weighing down their valor, and his inhuman prowess prove vastly superior.
Like a wild storm of metal and vibrant flames, Atreus twirls and spins his shackled twin swords violently. Bodies are cleaved away off the cliff or struck down with hellish fury. One enemy charges from behind, clasping the leather hilt of his golden blade while rushing Atreus. Who, in turn, without so much as a glance back, calls upon his seax. Stepping to the side, he alludes the glistening shortsword, and with a back end swing, rams his runic armament into the Asgardian's chest. With his brute force, Loki drives the warrior into the ground along with the sax.
Now only he and the Einherjar remain, the two staring the other down sternly. Atreus rises, slipping his blood-soaked seax from the corpse, and meeting eye to eye with his next challenger. The horns of the warrior's helmet match that of a ram, with his magic-infused sight glowing beneath the metal cowl.
"You're too late, wolf," the Einherjar spouts proudly. Despite his gull statement, the elite champion takes up a defensive stance even when a considerable gap stands between them. "As we speak, the Allfather's army marches here. Even if you strike me down, a legion will take my stead to stand against you!"
"A legion, doomed to fail!" Atreus mocks confidently. His assured knowledge of how to fight them presses him to gradually step forward.
"Fail?" The Asgardian chuckles, overly amused by the statement. Unconsciously in worry, his legs steadily walk him backward to keep the gap. "If not for my gods having better matters to attend to, you'd have died the moment you stepped into Alfheim... And now, with this realms forces powerless, nothing will stop Asgards armies from usurping what's rightfully Odin's!"
"So long as I stand, Odin's conquest will fail," Atreus states, sheathing his seax for his father's armaments. "When I send your rotten soul to him, tell him that Loki has cheated him out of his victory."
No words follow from the Einherjar. Instead, his answer is with action, fueled by depravity, rage, and determination. The warrior with a battle cry lunges at Atreus, driving and jabbing the front end of his spear at the Son of Kratos in rapid succession. Having just fought and stood his ground against a far superior spearman, Loki avoids the lethal strikes. He two flails the Blades of Chaos in exchange, sparks fly as steel from two different worlds clash and collide. As their battle rages, the embers and blue flames from their parries illuminate the chamber and platform. The only hindrance is the tight space between him and the Einherjar, who quickly uses this to his advantage.
A single bash of his shield and Atreus is pushed against one of the triangular plates that binds the pillar of Alfheim. With only a second to react, Atreus jerks his head to the side, his collar bone slashed by the Asgardian spear. A splash of blood stains the golden construct, along with his fur vest. Persistent jabs continue being thrown at him, while he's backed into the wall. However, only minor grazes are inflicted on him before he swiftly turns the battle to his favor.
A quick swerve to the side, and Atreus averts the last lunge. Latching his hold on the hilt of the spear, he swings the Einherjar into the plate. A single horn from the warrior's helmet breaks off by the impact, while the construct is undamaged. Loki immediately follows this upper hand by ramming his blade at the Asgardian's abdomen. The razor tip and the searing flames inflict sharp pain as attested to his loud growl. However, the Einherjar's armor, along with his quick thinking prevents the puncture from being lethal.
Pushing off the wall with his shield, the Valhallian creates distance from Atreus. Using his towering barricade to cover most of his body, he returns to jabbing and swinging his spear from a range. It proves futile as Loki utilizes his own protective barrier with Trolls Bane. With each harsh and mighty blow dealt, Atreus redirects the force of the strike back at him. More specifically, wearing down the fortifications of the Einherjar's shield. Each punch and slam with his gauntlets leaves deep dents into the stalwart.
Finally, with both his fists, Atreus rams into the shield with all of his might. Even with the warrior augmented by Odin's runic magic, the Asgardian cannot withstand the prowess of the demigod. His stalwart, broken and bent in half, is sent flying off the endless cliff. A brief moment of harsh slashes from Atreus follows, only a handful could be averted or blocked with the spear. Driven back, the Einherjar regains his footing, now less hindered by the weight of his barricade. With both arms, he charges back at the God of Mischief.
The battle persists, the high ranked lieutenant holds his own fairly well with his boost in speed. Several strikes are made against the Last Son of Sparta. Some of which manage to scrape his armor, and even make contact with his flesh. Urgency clouds Atreus's battle tactic, making him more reckless to finish the fight before his reinforcements arrive.
Brash with his chances to land a critical blow, Atreus receives another deep slash across his arm when rushing the Einherjar. His blood spills on the floor while he bypasses the Asgardian's defenses. Instinctively stabbing his seax into his foe's right arm, he finally manages to disarm him. Grasping the spear, he pries the golden armament from the warrior, casting it off the edge. His enemy backs away, fatigued, in pain, and defenseless to fight back.
With a whip of his chains, Atreus hurls the Blade of Chaos at the defeated Einherjar. The already weakened armor cannot withstand the direct implement, both twin sword scorch into the Asgardian's chest. His body is quickly taken hold of by Azure flames. Pulling with all of his strength, Atreus yanks the warrior into the sky. A savage sideways swing, and Loki casts the still screaming Asgardian into the abyss below. The echoing wail and blue fire gradually fade into the endless pit.
Though he stands triumphant, victory and salvation are still far from his grasp. The Blades of Chaos quell and become cold in a split second before Atreus places them back on his back. He redirects his attention back to the pyramid-shaped construct that constricts the Light of Alfheim. Even in the time of the brief fight, the temple's stability weakens. Stone and metal rust and begin to crack, loos debris crumbles and breaks before his eyes around him. The tides of shadow and despair wash over the realm, and time's running out for all of Alfheim.