Up, down, left, right, straight, or back, even with one of his ignited armaments in hand, such directions are indiscernible in the darkness. No matter how far Atreus ventures, he's either met with a solid ebony wall or a blank space devoid of detail. The only indicators of his location are the audible cues and hints that echo through the veil. The dripping of water upon a deep puddle, the wind creepily coursing through the caverns like blood through veins, and the endless flapping of wings from bats overhead. He skeptically follows the ominous sounds, hoping to be led down the right path. And without the irritable Hugi to keep him company, it's his only solution.
Step after step, glance after strenuous glance, nothing alters, and no further indicators occur. And while concealed in this prison of sightless promise, even the grasp of time he had held is now slipping. Who knows how long he's traversed the endless shaded caverns, nor any prediction of when he'll meet an end. His pace increases, losing care for caution due to blind intolerance to these so-called "trials." The world is nearing its end, and he's playing mind games with bored, ambiguous giants who should have been presumed dead. But, just as he's beginning to tire from promptitude, a calling finally abides by his wants.
The hissing of freshly sparked flames sizzles in the air around him. Though his sight is still obscured, the area around him has warmed considerably instantly. But the oddest sensation that shackles his focus is trembling beneath his feet. Heavy stomping, pounding rumbles ripple through the earth with such force that any mortal being could fall prone. His mindset returns to caution, standing his ground to brace for an altercation. Through diligent thinking and keen concentration on the source, he turns his body to follow where the rhythmic thumping originates. His blades are already drawn, with him pulling his arms back for a lethal swing.
"It's about damn time," a heavy, heated voice calls out from the darkness.
In the form of a spiraling inferno, another figure presents himself to the Wolf of Midgard. However, unlike the prior jötunn, this man was vibrant, glowing like a wild flame in the abyss. His hair radiates a bright red but with flickers and blends of orange, along with his ragged goatee and hairy brows. His attire is also comprised of saturated leather and fur of matching shades. His distinct demeanor is passive and uncaring towards Loki, even when sitting near him on the floor. Finally, the single notable quality that he matches with, compared to the other giant, is the exact similarity of Atreus's physic and face.
"And here I was thinking I'd burn myself out before you got here," the stranger tiresomely comments.
Despite this man's calming temper, Atreus refrains from reducing his defenses in their presence. Instead, he bolsters his distance with a step back, not allowing himself to come within arms reach of the identical stranger.
"Who the Hel are you?" Atreus questions, mildly irritated. "And why do you look like me?"
"Logi," the man answers with a hiss behind his tone. "Not to be confused, of course, with you, Loki." Logi stands, bringing with him a wave of heat that brushes past Atreus. Each step he takes is silent, with an occasional spew of steam echoing in the blackness. "I bear your face because I bear the fire you conceal in your heart. As Hugi is your mischief and trickery manifest, I am your fire made incarnate! Born to test your resolve!"
Prowling like rival predators, Logi and Atreus circle each other from opposite ends. While the Wolf of Midgard is stern with his focus and expression, the fire giant is passive and collected with his attitude.
"So you're a giant as well," Atreus deduces. "You're with this Skrýmir, no doubt in that case! But why put me through this? What are these tests?"
Logi chuckles in a charcoal cough, with tiny embers breezing from his jaws as he does so. Loki is unfazed, remaining in a stagnant state of defense in the case the man initiates combat.
"Why does anyone test anyone?" Logi answers with an elusive question of his own. "To get answers... We want to know what we can of the infamous God of Mischief, the Son of War, and the path you may or may not pave... Fate being as fickle and unpredictable as a wild blaze makes it hard to speculate with random prophecy and theories. Though some of our kind can see glimpses of the future, sometimes one answer creates several more questions in its stead. And so we seek the resolutions at the source, and how you act, react, and drive your intentions will give us that knowledge."
"A woman's life is at stake," Atreus argues. His anger steams hotter from being a pawn.
"Everyone's lives are at stake, Loki!" Logi retorts back, with spontaneous fury spewing from his throat. "The life of that girl, every mortal, god, and giant alike! And you are at the epicenter of it all! The catalyst that remains the same, an observer of every calamity! You have a purpose, and you will not be permitted to leave until we learn what it is!"
Startled by Logi's eruption of quick anger, Atreus takes another step away. In the wake of such outrage, the stake that lingers over the realms like the sun and moon resurfaces in his mind. Ragnarök is upon them, a constant reminder that now smothers the heavens of Midgard. If his efforts are to ensure Sigyn's safety, to stop the Aesir, and maybe the Twilight of the Gods, Skrýmir may have some of the answers. Loki bolsters his mental fortitude, and hardens his body in a tense flex to brace for the next challenge ahead.
"What is your test, then?" Atreus questions with clenched fists.
"Survive," Logi softly replies, his arms held out and raised.
With this minor gesture, the shadows around them dissipate. From the darkness, a harrowing howl of wildfire engulfs the now-visible chamber. Several Jötunn structures are carved into the caverns, statues of long-gone giants extending and reaching out from the walls, stone shrines carved, and tower beyond the height of Atreus and loom over him. Several carvings, runes, and sigils entail the anguish of the giants and all they've lost. Disarrayed by the sudden blaze, the Wolf of Midgard cannot help but distrust his own vision. The words warp and shift as he stares, whispers of countless voices project into his ears and mind, and even the smell of salt water and burning charcoal invade his nostrils. This Jötnar sanctum is discord incarnate, from the searing symbols, the flames spewing from the eyes and mouths of the statues, as well as the unnatural inferno that cages him. The smell of salt water and singed charcoal invades his nostrils, both the bitter cold of winter and the heat of the room basque him in discordance.
Atreus's first instinct beckons him to assault the one responsible for the ignited chamber. Static energy courses through his fingers, into the arrows, already pulled back upon his mystical bowstring. Yet, upon unleashing them toward Logi, the fire giant isn't hit. Instead, his body morphs into the patterns and shapes of primal flames, averting the attack altogether. His reaction remains stagnant and bland to the effort while brazenly stepping forward to the Wolf of Midgard. In retaliation for Atreus's brass action, the fire briefly ignites to a greater extent around him in a wrathful flash. The inferno rages brighter in Logi's presence, his steps engulfing the floor beneath his with furious fire. Loki can only keep his distance, frantically scanning the chamber to find an escape or way to dismiss the blaze.
There are no openings to the outside. Even the passage he took appears to have been none existent. He can glimpse or briefly detect only minor, peculiar details in his panic. The minuscule hint of oils and gases grazes his nostrils in his search for salvation. But, the one exceptional quality he can commonly spot is the absence of burn marks or singeing from the fiery element in the room. Despite the intensity of the raging heat, nothing appears to be genuinely burning. But, this could only be a ploy upon his psyche due to the rising temperature and urgency for action.
The only feasible option, though reckless as it may be, was to form a gap between him and the roaring elements. Few locations are untouched, several of which are Jötunn rafters and constructed ledges long abandoned by those who once resided here. In a flash of cyan blue, Atreus dawns the shape of a silver hawk to soar into the charred air. Rather by the grace of his godly and giant heritage or other unknown circumstances, the black soot and smoke doesn't deprive and strip him of the already minimal oxygen available. With the haste his elegant wings can provide, he reaches one of the upper levels with relative ease. Yet, upon reverting to his original form, he can only stumble to a halt as Logi has now vanished.
"Violence can only incite further violence," Logi's voice sparks to the side of Atreus. "One cannot extinguish the blaze with more flames. Your childish actions of rebellion, of war, will only bring further suffering to those around you. Your well-woven deceptions have become so intertangled that even you fall for your own ploy. How many more shall carry the burdens of your mistakes?"
"Shut up!" Atreus yells out, this time swinging his chains blades in futile outrage.
As is repeated from before, the twin swords sway through Logi's apparitionist form like metal through air. The might carried in his swing embeds the armaments into the stone face of a Jötunn statue. The eyes of the construct explode with a primal fury at the strike, once more fueling the wrath of the room. Logi is yet again unimpressed, tapping his searing fingertips upon the chains.
"The rage you contain persists, ever roaring and clawing to be unleashed," Logi addresses. "Anger is a weapon only the most careless would utilize. And In the end, no one is spared the pain of its use, even its wielder."
Yet again, the Wolf of Midgard is cornered by Logi's infernal touch as the blaze rises in his wake. Atreus leaps from the peer, shifting once more into a majestic hawk. However, the unnatural spirals of flaming bolts pursue him in mid-flight. Several aerial maneuvers, dips, loops, and dives stave off the sentient flames from scorching him. The voices of giants long gone are now crying out, and mirages from the heat warp the chamber into inconceivable shapes and sizes, disorienting the Last Son of Sparta in his goal to survive. The brimming overstimulation of his senses begins to sway his focus and momentum. His staggering flight patterns open him to a critical blast. A stray burst of heat clashes with his feeble form, sending him into a singed plummet. Upon crashing into the stone pavement, he's ultimately reverted back to his original state.
The temperature continues reaching higher digits, now rippling the air in blistering fumes. Carried within the winds are the same outcries of unforeseeable giants and spirits of these catacombs. In body, mind, and spirit, Atreus is relentlessly barraged with despair and doubt. The realm itself feels to have turned against him, instilling these negative sensations unwarranted. Was this his requiem for his own self-disgust? Was this the universe's way of punishing him for turning away his father's teaching in the past, and allowing himself to be ignorant in the company of Angrboða?
"The world burns, ignited to be the torch that beckons the end," Logi remarks. "The Herald of Ragnarök bears the flame of ruin in hand, ushering the Twilight of the Gods. None know them, and yet all fear them as the catalyst that ends the realm... And the immortal reign of the Aesir and Vanir."
"I will stop the herald before that happens!" Atreus claims in an antagonized shout.
Despairingly, even through the overload of noise, vibrant deluded vision, and mixed temperatures, one subtle contingent breaches his mind. That same dripping of water now gently ripples in his thoughts, briefly subsiding the internal turmoil. But, just as earlier, the discernable drip cannot be ignored, now visible to his eyes. With his eyes tethered to the reflective puddle, the steam of the extinguishing flames nearby also latches his attention. Logi looms over him as he is deterred by possibilities.
"Stop the Herald of Ragnarök?" Logi questions, amused by the proclamation. "How do you intend to stop that which you know nothing of?"
Though Logi's words can reach Atreus's the surface of his conscious thought, the Wolf of Midgard sidelines the question silently. Now gazing to the surface of the catacomb, where several dripping, sharp stalactites hang ominously. Freshwater coats each razor rock that hangs, waiting to come crashing down on anything in their path. Atreus, lightheaded from the heat and the barrage of anguishing voices assaulting his mind grins. With his bow in hand, and several scorching arrows strung back, he glares condescendingly at the fire giant.
"Time to find out," Atreus remarks, hinting at Logi for sharing the same quality as the Herald. "Bruni!"
His projectiles soar through the air at his call, scorching with rivaling fury as the flames around him and Logi. Each bolt streaks to the ceiling above, crashing and erupting upon contact with the stone shards that idly stick. The fire giant glance up, displaying the first sign of mind-boggling concern at Atreus's intentions. Only when the first creases and cracks splinter with squirting streams of water that worry takes hold of him. As the trickling liquids bleed from the mountain, dowsing the inferno, Atreus expedites the process with several more shots.
"Are you cracked?" Logi outroars, perplexed.
Though Loki's antics have yet to fully unleash devastation upon the tomb, he observes a puzzling phenomenon unfolding before him. Logi's visage begins to ripple, contort, and his own voice echoes into an absence of sound long before any water makes contact with him. Ultimately, in the several seconds of amalgamated warping, the fire giant vanishes altogether before the currents come crashing into the chamber. Even the surrounding blaze is gradually unveiled to be far more underwhelming than believed as it dissipates before making contact with plummeting water. Distracted by the faltering flames, he's unable to clear away from the crumbling hydrating roof dropping down.
Countless gallons of water crash through the stonework, drenching and smothering the chamber in seconds. Atreus, cannot make any marginal distance before the roaring tide sweeps him in a violent current. The voices drown under the rapids, dragging him through the ancient settlement's darkest recesses. As he thrashes and flails under the tide, the room continues to shift uncontrollably into different shapes, colors, and thematic decor. The stone faces contort and blend into the waves, and the constructs blacken into the depths. Until a path transparently appears behind a veil of rock and rubble, draining the water swell into its immense passage. The cave system is smoothly carved, offering an extravagant amount of space in height and width. The Wolf of Midgard can only lash and flay wildly as he's delivered to the end of the path.
Twirling and spiraling in all directions and angles, he's thrown and pinned beneath the current, and no form he possesses can aid him in controlling his trajectory. Finally, after enduring what felt like minutes under the water's mercy, he's eventually flung through the passage's exit. Yet, he's hurled out into another empty chasm within the mountain immediately after, atop an elevated vantage point. Only to crash back into another pool below. Waving and swimming to the breach, he crawls onto solid earth with several water-convulsed gasps and coughs. Even as frantic and hectic as the series of events has escalated, this one moment of reprieve is enough for him to settle flat upon the flat paved floor. The discord has mellowed as a much-needed breather is taken.
His back to the ground, eyes on the new ceiling, he tiresomely examines the new room he's uncovered. Where he had crawled from is a paved river system that enters and exits out to the surface. The stream is gentle. Despite the mounds of water dumping into it, there's a gentle atmosphere to the sound of it flowing. As for his entry into this place, an overly massive, stone-carved staircase ran from the side of the room, leading to the passage. The chamber is a perfect dome shape, with marble beams for decor on the side intersecting at the center of the surface. Boundless carvings and stone-marked depictions of stories and legends inscribe every inch of the walls around him. But, the distinct familiarity with their shape and patterns springs Atreus to his feet. Guiding and exhorting him to observe at a closer distance.
"The Hel?" He questions, connecting his thoughts to a singular notion.
Though his approach is steady and prolonged to recuperate energy, what he uncovers is swift to his recollection and beyond what he could have anticipated. These murals match those of the other Jötunn shrines and those found in Jotunheim from many years ago. With an unmistakable call back to his past, he again witnesses the foretelling of his journey since childhood. From his mother's passing to the lengths he and his father went to accomplish her last wish, all entailed in exact detail, as shown before. His heart hesitates to beat, and his whole body pauses at the more dreadful quality he overlooked as a boy. That vivid image of him cradling his passing father is embedded in the ancient rock wall. Staring upon the depiction resurfaces the anguishing moment, bringing the Wolf of Midgard to a staggering halt. The solemn moment is dragged through his consciousness like a boulder through the mud. Unbeknownst to the Last Son of Sparta, his fingertips already graze the seared blue brand on his face reminiscently.
He continues to examine the retelling further in unsettled awe, now witnessing his story unfold. His history and the origin of his quest is etched accurately, retelling his first encounter with Angrboða. Their first meeting occurs during the cremation of Kratos upon a pyre identical to Faye's. Gradually leading to their rebellion against the Aesir, depicting the duo committing multiple assassinations of helpless worshippers in their sleep. As well as his moments of honing his skills and intimate history with the giantess. Ultimately leading to one of Atreus's most traumatic events. One of the final images depicts him dragged to the mountain in chains by a hooded stranger. Eventually, becoming bound in chains within the heart of the summit. A serpent drips venom upon his face, as he's helpless to prevent it. The one eye heavily scarred upon his face squints reactively as Atreus relives the events with haunting despair.
Yet, this emotional ravage is put to rest by a fog of confusion over his mind upon glimpsing the following image. A white wolf, large in size, appears to shatter the chains with a howl. At that time, Atreus was unconscious from deprived sleep and hunger. Devoid of hope from all his cries being unanswered, strength from his desperate attempts at breaking free, and abandonment by his one and only ally of that time frame. He had only come too long after his savior had broken his bonds. A single name is roughly carved into the picture below the beast.
"Garm," Atreus whispers, having no recollection of the title.
From then forward, as he continues to follow along with the mentioned events, everything plays out exactly as he had experienced. Upon being free, his first act was to reassemble the arsenal left for him at his prison. Promptly driving him to take charge of his own path, and seek out the Huldra Brothers. His journey to Niflheim, battling the Lindwyrm, against the Asgardians of Alfheim, and the Aesir Höðr. Every event in chronological order had been carefully and patiently paved into the stonework. All of these carvings lead the Wolf of Midgard to the final, indistinguishable factor in the chamber. A gargantuan set of dark wooden doors, illuminated by two massive braziers made into makeshift torches. The gate stands over twenty feet in height, nearly reaching the ceiling, with gold-plated rims and dragon-themed handles.
Just as the question of who built this place is brought into his thoughts, the answer presents itself. A heavy splash from behind him crashes down mounds of water upon him. This time, bracing for the downpour, he prevents himself from being cast down by the surge. And as he no longer shields himself, he can faintly distinguish a massive shape dripping from the pool. Whatever entity rests within the water is camouflaged, translucent, almost invisible if not for it being drenched and its form leaving an imprint upon the stone floor and river. Atreus reaffirms his courage toward the unknown force that rests before him. His bow is already tightened in his grasp, with several static arrows prepared.
"Show yourself!" He commands, a flicker of yellow ferocity in his pupils when doing so.
"At ease, lad," An unnaturally heavy-pitched voice bellows out to him, humored. "You passed!"
From the temperate, rumbling words, the inconceivable shape ripples into clarity. Like waves in a pond during a rainstorm, the figure of obscurity steadily reveals itself, simultaneously leaving the handmade river with patient content. Every step the concealed entity takes rumbles the room, baring such force that Atreus is scarcely bumped off the ground's surface. But is stunned astonishingly by the revelation of what has been testing him.
A hulking humanoid figure reveals himself gallantly, towering over the Wolf of Midgard threefold, if not more. Even his long curly black beard and hair makes Atreus in comparison seem insignificant, draping down over the giant's rotund belly. His pale flesh makes his locks and fur more prominent in darkness in comparison. If not for his overly long, fur cloak being dark brown, it would blend in color with his flowing mane. Covering his broad stature are dark brown and tan fabrics. Adorning also austere leather bracers, brown fur boots, and several Jötunn totems and trinkets of considerable size. But for this man, they are small enough to be worn as bracelet and necklace decorations. His eyes glow a feint blue, matching in color with Atreus's mark. And as a final commemorative testament to his legacy, the giant bears a few black markings and runes from his homeland. Most of which are covered by his attire or hair.
"It's good to finally meet," Skrýmir comments delightfully. "We have much to discuss, Loki."