Atreus's world fades to white, blank from the rapid speed across the realms. A void of silence in his mind as he's succumbed to unconsciousness. No thoughts linger, no memories, nothing but barren blankness. As hollow sleet seconds pass on, Atreus's senses gradually return to him. A frigid bite of winter rests onto his flesh, even reaching the depths of his lungs with each breath. The winds carry with them the sounds of curious whimpering, with gusts of sniffling air blowing against him. After his mind returns to consciousness, he raises his sights to the wolves above.
Sköll and Hati circle him, protective, nurturing, and solicitous towards his condition and idle position. Slowly, he awakens, unfazed by the persistent snout of Hati brushing and pushing on his abdomen. Instead, he places a light hand on her nose, stroking her snow-white face affectionately. Sköll also lends his jaws to lift the Last Son of Sparta from the slush that smothers him.
"Are we back?" Atreus questions, peeking at his surroundings.
Although it's evident to his eyes that he resides in Midgard once more, the state of the realm is in an unfamiliar condition. As Sol and Mani claimed, twilight has descended onto the mortal plane. Black and grey storm clouds blot the sky, with snow and thunder beckoned in the storm's wake. Distinguishing rather night or day take hold of the heavens is impossible. His focus on the condition of Midgard blinds him from the presence behind him.
"Fresh out of a fight," the exotic tone of Angrboða emerges from behind him. "How enticing..."
The giantess rests behind them, resting in front of a nordic obelisk. Her crimson eyes emit a steaming glow as she fixates on the wounded Atreus. At the sound of her voice, Sköll and Hati turn to her. Unconsciously and without hesitance, they lower their heads to her. Loki has a mild expression of concern, cautious intrigue at her sudden approach.
"Angrboða," Atreus addresses skeptically.
"You've cast yourself to the wolves, and now you return, leader of the pack," she speaks in high regard to his achievement.
Gracefully stepping towards him, she lightly grazes her sharp fingers across the wolves' snouts. The giants grumble in delight at her touch, lowering themselves further to receive her caressing. Though she gradually approaches, Atreus holds his ground. Even as she reaches out for him, he's unfazed by her delicate touch.
"It doesn't matter," he states in disgrace, spacing himself in shame. "Another Omen has been invoked! Midgard is one step closer to oblivion!"
"As was expected," she remarks while returning to her seat.
Her sly comment tangles itself to his mind, provoking the experience of battling the wolves. However, a crucial factor that replays in his memories is Angrboða's hollow presence in the Astral realm. Even now, the similarity in sensation between the eyes that peered at him then and now is unmistakable.
"You were there," Atreus deduces, unable to conceive the reason.
"Rooting for you from afar, isn't that what lovers are for?" She answers, averting a direct answer.
Atreus boldly rushes her, closing their already limited gap in growing agitation. Not even a foot of space divides them as he coldly glares into her crimson pupils. Despite his abrasive approach and apparent, confused frustration, she merely gives the frustrated Loki a smug smirk.
"Did you truly know what was going on?" He asks straightforward. "About how the Primordial's weren't in immediate danger?"
"Perhaps I did," she answers boldly.
"What?" As his question leaves his throat, his body trembles in bafflement. He steps away, unable to see the gain for her deception. "Then, why?"
"If I can get into your head, getting into the Valkyrie's is an effortless stroll," she comments, fond of her accomplishment. "Bringing paranoia to an ancient spirit, to cloud her thoughts with doubt was inevitably going to cause irrational worry. I knew, when that time came, that her fears would break her resolve, she'd call upon you... As for the hastens days and nights, Sol and Mani's last-ditch effort no doubt, which only served to expedite the process."
Her explanation only sends shame coursing through Atreus's veins, pulsing through his heart and soul. He knows he's fallen into her plans, played the fool, and only he can be at fault for his actions. He smothers his snarling, guilty face into his hands, unable to look at her without invoking his internal outrage.
"I don't understand," Atreus says, stricken with shame when finally confronting her. "You lend me your aid and then lead me astray with deception! What game are you playing at, Angrboða?"
Loki's arms expel with brief, wrathful heat, borderline close to bursting with rage. But, the mere seconds that follow allow him to settle the fury before he can think and act brashly. With clenched fists, his outburst is enough to cease the giantess's teasing.
"The only one who's playing pretend is you..." She claims, with eyes colder than Fimbulwinter. She paces around him, her gaze eyeing and weighing on his consciousness and dwindling his anger. The aura of sternness is enough to force Sköll and Hati to whimper and submit. "Lie to yourself and those around all you wish. It doesn't change the truth. You and I seek the same thing, Odin's death, the end of the Aesir and their legacy!"
Even mentioning the gods of Asgard fills her with rage, such a vile hatred that it sears in her eyes.
"You believe your little crusade will be enough, but we already know the solution," she boasts. "But your lack of will only delays Fate's course. Whatever happened to that fire, that bloodlust that we utilized so bountifully when working together?"
"I'm not like that, not anymore!" Atreus spews in denial. "I'll never resort to such barbaric actions to win this war! And I will not follow in your quest of chaos, to intentionally invoke Ragnarök and usher in the end! There's another way! One that doesn't involve senselessly sacrificing innocent lives!"
Ever so brief, his speech silences and halts Angrboða in her tracks. In his preach, he triggers that same disdain in her as before. Her clawed hands tremble, positioned to tear something apart. However, just like him with his rage, she rapidly ceased the inflamed wrath within herself. What replaces it is mockery, in the form of laughter.
"Innocent?" She questions, amused at the notion. "There's no innocence Atreus, only foolishness and arrogance."
Once more, she steps to the side, returning to her seat atop the nordic gravestone. Though her condescending grin remains, Atreus can sense the opposite. An old scar resurfaces, triggered by possible thoughts of her past, of her experiences. These deeply recessed memories cause such heartache that she instinctively commits mild self-harm in response. With her hands latched onto the other, she lightly buries her claws into her hands.
"Where were the Vanir when Thor hunted and slaughtered our people like animals?" She asks, her true expression gradually bleeding through her guise. "Where were the dwarves and mortal men and woman to shelter us in our time of need? Where were the elves, to guide us out of the darkness of despair, and into the light of salvation?"
With each question, Atreus shares in her guilt, of her remorse and sorrow. His dread runs soo deep that he's fallen silent, unable to form a proper answer. Instead, he falls victim to the painful reminder of his heritage. His sigh is a quivering one, as he finds difficulty enduring the despair.
"We are among the last of our kind, with the giants brought to the brink of extinction," Angrboða reminds him. "All because of the cowardice of the other realms! And you would ask me to grovel at the other races, to hold a pleading hand to them for aid, when they already had turned their backs on our people before?"
Her ideals and logic behind her hatred continue stripping Atreus of his will to answer. He understands her bias, and he's felt her disdain, her disgust towards the world. Their time together fueled their conjoined resentment, which is what drove them to perform several atrocities. Every choice they made was an attempt to rile or weaken the Allfather. But unlike her, he felt guilt for his crimes. He moved on, letting her linger in her suffering, her pool of despisal, alone.
"The other races can burn, for all I care," Angrboða states firmly, standing once more. "Let the entirety of Yggdrassil fall to ruin, crumble in ashes, taking every realm with it. So long as Odin is dead, I can pass away in the embers of Ragnarök peacefully..."
"Angrboða," Atreus speaks gently with her name. "What if you didn't have to die? What if there was a way to bring down the Aesir, which didn't involve the end of everything we know and love? I know your pain, and I, too at one point, felt the same-"
"You still do," she interjects. "Your fantasy is delightful in thought, but realistically doomed to fail. Just like your facade, pretending to be a hero when you know there are none. Just the weak who submit and scrounge, and the strong who rule and thrive."
Angrboða, with a snap of her fingers, summons the giant wolves to her side. They direct their sights to Atreus, with Sköll and Hati letting loose a wind-blowing growl. As they do, solar and lunar magics bleed from their fangs and body. Loki shields his gaze from the radiant, ancient energies. Only to watch as those primordial powers seep into his flesh, igniting his nordic marks in gold and light blue lights. Bashing Trolls Bane together, a wave of heavenly light surges across the plains. An astral aura shimmers across his forearms, coursing with enchanting might. Even spiritual duplicates of the two wolves manifest next to him. Much smaller but unmistakable in their captivating traits.
"But go ahead, play the hero all you want," Angrboða says in mild amusement. "But when the time comes, you'll have to face the truth. Will it be the pursuit of justice, or will it be vengeance? Sacrifice, or triumph?"
Imparting her last question, the giantess takes her leave. Without delay or retaliation, the wolves follow behind obediently. The massive canines only tilt their heads in appreciation as they trek along. Yet, Atreus is still idle and wary of the questions. Will his actions risk more than he seeks to gain? Will he have the resolve to make the necessary sacrifices to save the realm and dethrone the Allfather? Or will his efforts be in vain? The longer he dwells on the coming events, a sequence from the recent past sparks in his conscious.
"Angrboða?" He calls out to her, temporarily halting her. "What do you know of the Herald of Ragnarök?"
She steadily turns her gaze back to him, displaying minor intrigue at the title. Even that vibrant glow in her eyes bleeds from her eyelids. She has no qualms with the name. Her smirk makes her knowledge evident of the subject.
"Enough," she replies. "I take it you only know of that name because of your time in the Light of Alfheim."
"If we find them, maybe they know of the coming events," Atreus theorizes. "If we stop them, we might stop Ragnarök. What can you tell me?"
"He is the bane of the gods," she claims, turning herself to him. "Revered as the embodiment of chaos, a warrior with no equal... And if the Fates deem it, he'll rise to sunder the world tree and tremble the nine realms... You cannot defeat him, Loki..."
Again, she turns a blind eye to the Wolf of Midgard. But, it was her calling him Loki that truly startled him, that bound him in place. It's rare for her to address him as such, especially in that tone. He knows her knowledge must exceed what she's passed on to him. Yet, with her already worrisome mentality and behavior to the subject, he dreads what else she keeps to herself. The mightiest warrior in all the nine realms, the bane of the gods. What kind of entity could create such a legacy yet remain such a mystery to the world?