Rivaling the speed of lightning and with the force of an eruption, their inevitable rematch is swift to commence. Höðr and Atreus do not allow any stagnancy as they rush the other with inhuman haste into melee combat. As before, The Aesir is swift and elusive with his actions, chaining each strike to follow the one before the other in rapid succession. The series of lunges, thrusts, and twirling swings carry with them the Aesir's blackened touch. But this time, the Wolf of Midgard can match him, unleashing his own flurry of lethal swings and jabs with his ignited blades. The scorching light of his wrath cancels out the ebony magic that coats the godly armament. Shadow and fire clash into an unstable schism, rippling darkness and light into a daunting display of fury and divine might. The two appear evenly matched in both the flashing of combustive rivaling energies, and the sparking of their parrying blows. Neither one is currently capable of outclassing the other through their different methods.
Even as the blind God attempts to overexert his opponent's focus with the momentum of his attacks, the Last Son of Sparta withstands and presses onward in his untamed feral fury. One such strike from the son of Odin crashes downward with every ounce of strength, only to be caught between the teeth of Atreus's infernal blades. The crashing of opposing might discharges a violent wave of heated energy in all directions, but does nothing to overburden him. Instead, the ire and hatred from Loki boil hotter, pushing and forcing the Aesir back as he locks the spear in his twin swords. Höðr is driven back, his feet digging through the gravel several feet, two ditches an inch deep left as a trail from their tussle. But utilizing the speed of this antic, the God of Darkness gives way just enough to side steps away. Imbalanced, Atreus loses his hold on the glaive, observing another sideways swing hurling toward him following after. However, to the Aesir's surprise, his foe angrily and by stubborn, senseless thought catches this strike the same way. Using the same method, Loki sways the hit away, allowing him to connect a slash across Höðr's collarbone. But this single blood drawing does not postpone their clash, brushing aside their injuries to hurridly resume their duel.
Sigyn, who has initialized forming a gap between herself and the duo, can only stare, mesmerized in worry by their prowess. Her ravaged arm trembles as she observes, standing with uncertainty about what will unfold. And the trauma of her past prevents her from assisting directly with the duel of gods. As well as the dangers of coming between them, as it would rival a mortal choosing to stand between two clashing hurricanes. If any assistance is to be offered, it must be from a distance. And in her silence, clenching her scarred limb, she unconsciously roots for Atreus to be victorious. Despite her disgust for what he told her, an internal pain pinches her chest with each heartbeat. She cannot bring herself to wish any ill intent to befall him and despises witnessing him endure the hardships of his quest. The longer she stares, the more potent this sensation becomes.
In the mere first minute of their confrontation, the Aesir and Atreus ravage the chamber with fire and shadow-stained stone. The destruction they've unleashed would be impossible for a hundred men to enact in equal time. In his rage, the strength passed down from his father, the Wolf of Midgard, invokes more tremendous eruptions of fire. With each slash he makes, waves of flame spray in the air and into the cavern, and explosions from his weapon impact breaks stone near and far. Unlike the Ghost of Sparta's variation of manifested rage, Atreus's strength is not nearly as augmented, but his magical capabilities are pushed to a more significant extent. And coupled with the twirling of his chained armaments forming a scorching barrier around him, the Aesir takes extraordinary measures to counteract him.
Dawning his aura of mist and darkness, Höðr increases his speed exponentially. A repeat of their first fight, the son of Odin is dashing and darting around the Wolf of Midgard. Relying on hit-and-run tactics, he closes the distance briefly to make swift jabs and pokes with his spear before shifting out of reach. Even with the hazardest ward that Atreus has placed around himself, he can't wholely avert each slash and puncture. But in his consumed wrath, the injuries inflicted don't phase him or dwindle his resolve to retaliate. He, too, finds brief openings to counter. Whipping one or both of his blades in the direction, grazing the Aesir with the flames before he can dash away. However, as the moments pass, bloodied with the innumerable scrapes and marks, his temper dies down. The surge of fury that is passed down to him subsides, allowing him some of his clarity to act rationally. But remain angry and motivated enough not to hold back.
Yet again, the Aesir lunges forward to plunge his glaive into the Last Son of Sparta. But, as neither could have anticipated, the strike comes nowhere near making contact. As if unconsciously, Atreus has also impossibly and quickly drifted out of the direction of the assault. The runes upon his body glow a light shade of purple as shadows drift him away from harm. Even Höðr pauses in place, baffled by the silence that carried his foe away from his aim. Atreus examines his tattoos as the glow recedes back into his skin. A thought whispers in his mind, recalling a phrase spoken to him that immediately answers his concerns about what just occurred.
Move like the shadows, one step ahead of the light.
"You've learned a few new jests and tricks!" Höðr spouts, mildly irritated. "But this game hasn't come close to reaching its conclusion!"
The Aesir takes charge, reinstigating the confrontation with another preemptive dash. However, the success he hailed in their battle thus far abides him no reward of equal quality. Atreus, quickly adapting to his new ability and reoccurring his dancing and swinging of blades, now holds his own. While unable to recreate this shadow-shifting power to rival the God of Darkness, he can dodge the more lethal attacks and limit the damage he receives with greater ease. Even to the extent that his window of opportunity has broadened for him to be more on the offensive with his tactics. With each darkened displacement out of the Aesir's path, he can do the same with his own arsenal. Much to the son of Odin's displeasure.
From afar, the duo moves with such momentum that even Sigyn finds it challenging to keep her focus on their duel and locations before they reappear again. Although Atreus is more foreseeable, he does not remain in one place for her to peer at him for long. But the further she observes, the fear that had coerced into her mind throughout the time she left begins to shrivel away by her hope. The tremors that ran rampant through her body diminish as she watches, finding Atreus's growth remarkable just since she had left him. Whatever thoughts and negative disposition she felt had to be discarded for the moment. As ludicrous the notion was, the Goddess could only pray for his well-being until she mended her wounds.
Forced to press on further, and alone in this quarrel, Atreus finally earns merit for his valiant effort. Though tricky with the timing, the Wolf of Midgard swings his blades outward, carefully deducing Höðr's intended location to strike. Slashing the floor, hurling and splattering sparks, embers, and a wave of blistering fire, the Blades of Chaos rips across the Aesir's pectorals. Blasting the Aesir into the air by the force of his swing, Atreus hurls his twin swords directly toward the God of Darkness while still airborne. Like hooks barbed into flesh, the razor armaments dig into Höðr's abdomen, a splash of crimson gore boiling upon the Blades of Chaos.
"GET OVER HERE!" Atreus shouts, with a pull powered by his full strength.
Forcibly beckoned, the Aesir is hauled toward the Wolf of Midgard without an immediate method of escape. Before any reaction can be made by the son of Odin, Atreus has him within arms reach. All the while, as he had yanked his foe into proximity, he was pulling himself back to unleash a simultaneous blow with both fists. The empowering strike built upon using the celestial wolves blessing, makes a direct impact against Höðr. Now thrown even further than the initial attack dealt to him, he was forced to drive his spear into the stone floor to stop his tumble and stand as quickly as possible.
A respite unfolds. Atreus stands, his joints and bones cracking and popping as he shifts to harden his stance for their continued match. Sigyn remains stagnant, but works to nurture her wounds with magic, and self bandaging herself with her torn fabrics that can be spared. Yet, her confidence in Loki only burns brighter with the passing moments, as shown in her eye-widened expression when glancing at their duel. However, the decisive victory will not be chosen so quickly. As Höðr stands, huffing in exasperation that intensifies with each fading second. Eventually, he releases a roar of delirious hysteria from the Aesir as he is drenched in darkness once more. With his senses overloaded, he has become blinded by thrill-drunken thoughts, driven by a craving for more.
Before further actions can be taken toward him, the Aesir yet again dashes with god-like speed. But this time, he darted himself to the ceiling above, running along the walls and cloaking himself with the natural shades of the room. In mere seconds, all traces of the God of Darkness have vanished from both of their sights. Even with such baffling haste, his momentum is soundless as he disappears. Despite not fully recovering, Sigyn also forces herself to take the defensive.
"Where did he go!" She questions, her illuminating hands barely piercing the shades that surround them.
And before even a syllable of a response can leave Atreus's lips, he uncovers the answer from the corner of his eye. Several arrows, smoking with black mist, fly through the sky toward him. Mustering his agility, he crosses his arms, invoking the shields of Trolls Bane to activate and stand in the path of the projectiles. Yet, even as he embraces himself to block the enchanted shots, what occurs eludes all that his thoughts could anticipate. Instead of thwarting the attack, the arrows phase through his bulwark, piercing both limbs and chest. But as well as blasting him back from the force of the enchantment-bolstering effects. Coming to the realization of what happened, he can observe that his defenses are fruitless in defending him from such magic. The arrows are lodged into his arms, making zero contact with his gauntlets and appearing as fog bleeding from his bracers.
"How do you think you can block a shadow, Loki!" Höðr questions with his booming voice originating from all directions. "You can't defend yourself from what you cannot touch!"
Not being permitted to fully tend to his wounds, he utilizes the quickest but barbaric means to treat himself. With the Blades of Chaos ignited, burning away the darkness, Atreus cuts and breaks the arrows out of his arms and torso. But not even a handful of seconds pass before Loki is bombarded by more bolts of soaked blackness. This time, however, he is pushed into the defensive, dodgings and misty stepping out of the ammunition's path that barrages down on him like ebony rain. While only being able to detect the minor details of moving shadows above with sight, his only viable tools for survival are his hearing and instincts. Just as he sways from one assault, only a mere glimpse of the Aesir skims past before resorting to dodging another attack. In his stead, Höðr leaves behind flickering patches of magenta light in place of his prior nook to take his shots. In time, several of these star-like flakes decorate the hazardous ceiling.
"Þruma, Bruni, Ljösta!" Atreus shouts, the lumination of his markings matching the runic magic of his arrows.
In a mirrored response, Atreus now unleashes his own arrows into the sharp reaches of the chamber. Fire, light, and lightning blast above in a colorful but cataclysmic display. He, too, drifting with his shadow step, averts Höðr's arrows while simultaneously releasing his own into the rafters. The ceiling drenched with liquid fire drips below, steadily illuminating the space above and limiting the Aesir's ability to cloak out of sight. In their crossfire, even greater destruction unfolds all around them. Stone crumbles to powder, and wild flames and unrestrained magic from their projectiles quake the chamber. Their battle only rises to create more instability in the mountain, until it culminates into a breaking point.
With his veil withered away, the blind God instigates a drastic, devastating measure to finalize his victory. Even upon admitting earlier that Sigyn had to be returned to Asgard alive, the God of Darkness risks all their lives in his following action. Activating those flickers of light with a pounding of his fist upon the rock surface, an innumerable number of detonations of purple energy set off rapidly into a chain effect. As his magic combusts into countless flashes, rock, and sharp boulders plummet downward. As the first immense stalactite pierces the ground, the floor beneath Atreus's heel begins to sunder and falter. The first mounds of debris are dodged, but as the seconds come crumbling down, so too does the quantity of earth come crashing down.
Only by the last-minute intervention of Sigyn does one of the massive stones miss its mark. With both hands held outward, the brands and sigils upon her scarred arms ignite with enchanting light. A wave of energy pushes the stone aside, crashing it against another plummeting rock nearby. Several times more, she sways away the greater-sized gravel from burying them. But, even as the two stand side by side, the world around them shatters, beckoning them to fall as well. And as expected, neither one can react in fair timing to prevent their descent beneath the caving floor. They, along with the Aesir, are taken by gravity and now soar into the deepest caverns of the mountain.
With the rupture of the mountain's inner networks, Atreus and Sigyn cannot ensure their own safety in their fall. The Aesir's persistence is relentless. From afar, he dashes incomprehensively quickly toward them. Soaked by his despairing shadow and mists to bolster his immense speed, he makes his move. But, growing wise in experience from the recent ambush, Atreus can anticipate this intention. Before the Aesir can yet again plunge his spear into the Wolf of Midgard, his efforts are deterred by a backhanded swing. Disarmed by the unsuspecting counter, his momentum into Atreus results in them tussling into an airborne grapple.
The duo exchanges a series of brutal punches, locking their grips onto the other while mindlessly pummeling each other ferociously. Amits their falling brawl, Loki and the Aesir shift themselves to collide with the other into the declining rubble, or even the solid clumps of stone sticking out from the edges of the pit they descend into. The solid masses shatter before coming close to faltering their godly physics, causing spews of blood to spill from their injuries, but nothing fatal. Grit and their environment are their primary arsenal as they inflict harsh damage on one another. And with each painful hit dealt, their ire and diligence to usurp the other deter their focus from the approaching surface below.
Sigyn is the only one apparent to their inevitable landing and takes action to prevent the impact. And as she reaches out to the Wolf of Midgard, the tattoos on her arm flare. Unconsciously calling upon the roots and plants of the earth, nature itself extends itself to catch both the Sorceress and Atreus in its vines. The Aesir is stripped away from them, plummeting along with the rubble of his making. But, this setback doesn't go unwarranted, driving him to take his black bow into his grasp. With only seconds to spare before he crashes into the new chamber below, he lets loose several enchanted arrows of fire and shadows toward his prey. However, to the dismay of Sigyn and Loki, the bolts sway past them, igniting and disintegrating the plant life that dampens their fall. While her attempts did slow them, Höðr's actions inevitably resulted in their further descent with him.
From a time long passed, the three breach an old mine all too familiar to the Wolf of Midgard. One of the same abandoned caverns that the giants had taken shelter in that he and Kratos had traversed when he was a boy. And though no semblance of trespassers or new settlers is present, the room nonetheless falls into greater ruin and devastation. From the avalanche of stone and rain of pebbles, much of the ancient constructs and structures shatter beneath the weight. In the blink of an eye, a dense cloud of dust, ash, and smoke blankets every inch of the open space. All three have vanished within the veil of chaos ensued by Atreus and Höðr's clash.
The moments that pass after the ear-rupturing quake fall in silence to rival the dead. Every gram and grain of dirt has settled, every boulder shifted to rest and lean, and not even the smallest insect traverses the mess. The realm as a whole hushes in wait for the fog of war to dissipate and clear to reveal the aftermath of the bloody exchange. But still, the minutes continue to pass into history, and the mist lingers long after it should have faded. Devoid of any whispers, of audible signs of life, even the simple gasp or breathing does not flicker in the ravaged mine. All things settle into the blackness of the cave, with bare minimum light to offer clarity in the clouds of discord. The magnitude of annihilation would leave any to presume that the mountain was beginning to cave in upon itself. No man could cause such destruction, as no mortal could perform such a feat, and if so, no one could survive the end results. And as no signs of life emerge after several long minutes more, the pique conclusion would be that nothing will rise from the rubble.