The mountain air was crisp, the sky a canvas of endless blue, and the rocky terrain beneath Valerie’s feet felt unforgiving. She winced as she rubbed her stinging cheek, glaring at the old man standing before her.
“You’re such a jerk, old man!” she snapped, her voice echoing through the desolate peaks. “You dragged me all the way to... I don’t even know where we are! Some mountain in the middle of nowhere, just to beat me up?”
Ryuu, the Azure Oni, stood calm and unbothered, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He smiled faintly, his expression that of a teacher amused by his unruly student. His glowing staff hummed faintly as he rested it against his shoulder, circling her like a predator assessing its prey. “Discipline, my young disciple, is born of hardship. To wield strength, one must first endure pain.”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from the guy with zero sense of modern training methods,” Valerie shot back, crossing her arms. “At least give me some armor or, I don’t know, anything! Why am I training in this?” She gestured dramatically to her gym shorts and top.
Ryuu chuckled softly, circling her like a predator assessing its prey. “It is a workout, is it not?”
“Yeah, but—”
“No buts, my disciple,” Ryuu interrupted, his tone sharpening like a blade. “A true warrior does not hide behind shields or excuses. Strength is forged in the fire of adversity, not cushioned by comfort.”
Valerie barely had time to protest before Ryuu’s glowing staff snapped forward, striking her thigh with a sharp crack. She yelped in pain, staggering back as tears pricked her eyes.
“What the hell, old man?!” she screamed, clutching her leg.
Ryuu’s expression didn’t falter. He planted the staff into the ground and folded his arms, his voice calm but unyielding. “Pain teaches faster than words. That sting you feel now? Remember it. Because out there, your enemies won’t hesitate. And the only armor you’ll have is the strength you forge today.”
“You know, most mentors offer encouragement. Maybe even a ‘you’re doing great, kid!’ But no. You swing glowing sticks at me like I’m a piñata.”
Ryuu tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “Encouragement can be a crutch if given too freely. A warrior’s strength comes not from kind words, but from scars—both seen and unseen.”
“You’re insane, you know that?” Valerie muttered, still rubbing her thigh.
“Insanity and discipline often walk hand in hand,” Ryuu said, stepping back and motioning for her to take a stance. “Now, stand. Again.”
Valerie groaned, planting her feet and raising her fists begrudgingly. “This is literally the worst training ever.”
“Good,” Ryuu said, his voice tinged with approval. “That means it’s working.”
Valerie glared at him, muttering a string of profanity under her breath.
The glowing staff swung again, striking just above her knee. This time, her scream of agony echoed across the mountains, quickly followed by an impressive collection of curses that would make a sailor blush.
“You suck! You’re the worst sensei ever!” she shouted, half-laughing, half-crying from the stinging blows.
Ryuu smirked, leaning on his staff as he watched her. “And here I thought you weren’t paying attention during our lessons.”
“What lesson?!” Valerie shouted, wiping her eyes furiously. “The lesson in how to hate you?”
“No, the lesson in how to endure,” Ryuu replied, his tone softening slightly. “Every strike you endure now makes you stronger. Every scream today will be a laugh tomorrow.” He paused, his gaze distant for a moment. “A warrior’s body may bruise, but their spirit must remain unbroken. Understand that, and you’ll be ready for whatever the world throws at you.”
Valerie grumbled something under her breath, but this time, she adjusted her stance without complaint.
“Better,” Ryuu said with a nod, stepping back to resume his circling. “Now, prepare yourself. The next strike will be harder.”
“Oh, I hate you,” Valerie muttered, gritting her teeth.
“And yet, you stand,” Ryuu said, a trace of pride in his voice. “That is why you’ll succeed.”
The sky above them bore witness to Valerie’s renewed screams, her curses rolling like thunder across the peaks, as the old warrior smiled to himself. The fire was kindling in his student, and soon, she would burn brighter than she ever thought possible.
----------------------------------------
“Father, what brings you to this dreary and uninspired realm of mine?” Hel inquired, her voice smooth and clipped, carrying an air of regal disdain. Her icy gaze fell upon the cloaked figure standing at the threshold of her grand, austere hall. “And disguised as an old crone again? Truly, your creativity astounds.”
The figure chuckled, the illusion dissolving like mist to reveal Loki’s sharp, mischievous features. “Ah, I see my little charades are wasted on you, dear daughter,” he replied, his tone laced with mock deference. His eyes swept across the stark surroundings with an exaggerated air of boredom. “Helheim—ever so dull. Tell me, do your subjects find endless monotony inspiring, or do they simply embrace despair out of sheer exhaustion?”
Hel sighed, her tone cool as winter frost. “Your antics have become tediously predictable, Father. And your pranks may work on mortals but—.”
“And Thor,” Loki interjected with a sly grin, stepping further into the hall. “Let us not forget the great buffoon himself. Honestly, tricking him is a sport unto itself. Oh, and speaking of divine fools, have I ever told you with the tale of Zeus? I once convinced him that a sheep was, in fact, a celestial maiden cursed by a jealous goddess. The sight of him reciting sonnets to that poor sheep… Well, I scarcely survived the hilarity.”
Hel arched a brow, unimpressed. “Truly, Father, your penchant for the absurd knows no bounds. But spare me the tedious recounting of your juvenile exploits. I have neither the time nor the inclination for such drivel. State your purpose and be done with it.”
Loki feigned a gasp, placing a hand over his heart as if mortally wounded. “You wound me, my dear Hel. You’ve grown far too much like your mother—so serious, so severe. No appreciation for wit or whimsy. But no matter. I bring news, news of great importance. I have discovered someone. Someone extraordinary. Someone… who reminds me of myself, a rebel. A delightful prospect, wouldn’t you agree?”
Hel’s expression faltered, her usually stoic demeanor giving way to a flicker of unease. “What? You… found her?” she asked, her voice lowering. “Father, please, do not entangle her in your schemes. Whatever you are planning, leave her out of it.”
Loki’s grin widened, a glint of malice flickering in his eyes. “Ah, but it is far too late for that, my dear. And pray tell, how dare you and that insufferable sister of yours conspire to conceal her from me? Did you truly believe you could hide her forever?”
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Hel stepped forward, her grip tightening on her staff. “She does not belong in your games, Father. She deserves peace, a life untainted by your chaos.”
Loki’s tone turned cold, the mirth draining from his voice. “She is of my blood, Hel. My legacy. And whether you approve or not, she shall take her rightful place. Now, will you fight by my side, or must I remind you precisely who taught you the art of divinity?”
The air grew heavy, charged with tension. Shadows curled around Hel’s feet, a silent testament to her power, as Loki stood unmoved, his smirk daring her to challenge him. The unspoken threat lingered like a storm on the horizon, promising devastation should either make the wrong move.
“Her mother, my sister, fled for a reason,” Hel began, her tone cold yet measured, each word laced with the gravity of her station. She removed her crown with deliberate grace, allowing it to fall to the floor with a resonant clang. The shadows flickered as she turned, revealing the decayed ruin of one side of her face. “Look at me, Father. Look closely.”
Loki’s playful smirk faded, his sharp wit momentarily silenced.
“This,” she said, gesturing to the grotesque ruin of her flesh, “is the gift Odin bestowed upon me when he cast me into this wretched realm. Odin has never concealed his disdain for your bloodline. Look to my brothers. Fenrir, bound and chained like a rabid beast. Jörmungandr, cast into the depths to be loathed and feared. And me? I am left to rule the dead, cursed to bear the mark of his hatred for all eternity.” Her voice grew sharper, a blade of simmering anger. “And now you would dare to risk the same fate for that child? That innocent young soul?”
Her gown shimmered as if caught in an unseen wind, dissolving into ethereal shadows. In its place, a suit of blackened armor emerged, scarred yet regal, a testament to countless battles fought. Twin swords materialized in her grasp, their dark blades humming with latent power. Her gaze burned with defiance. “I shall not allow it, Father. Not while I still draw breath.”
Loki’s expression softened, the usual mischievous glint in his eyes replaced by something somber, almost mournful. “No, my daughter,” he said softly, his voice carrying an uncharacteristic solemnity. “This is not a matter of choice—it is a necessity. For us. For all of us.” He turned, his steps deliberate as he made his way toward the towering doors at the end of the hall. “I regret that it has come to this, truly I do. But I must do what I ought to have done eons ago.” He paused, glancing back at her. “I had hoped that, for once, my daughter might see reason and stand by my side. Your niece… She is the key. She will put an end to this eternal cycle. It must end.”
“Father, wait!” Hel’s voice echoed, a rare note of desperation cutting through her usual poise. “Eons ago? What nonsense is this? You’re not even older than ten thousand years!” Hel’s voice rang sharp and incredulous in the cavernous hall, her icy gaze fixed on Loki. “What do you mean by this eternal cycle? Do you speak of Ragnarok?”
Loki sighed deeply, as if the weight of countless lifetimes rested on his shoulders. He turned to face her, his expression uncharacteristically solemn. “Yes, child, eons ago. You heard me correctly. I have lived through countless cycles—watched innumerable Ragnaroks come and go. Every time, it ends the same way. Perhaps with slight variations, but the result? Always the same.”
Hel narrowed her eyes, her grip tightening on her staff. “And what result is that?”
“With us—my family, my bloodline—cast as the villains, the punching bags for the Gods,” Loki growled, his voice laced with bitterness. “Destined to suffer, mocked, torn apart by a fate we never chose. But this time,” he stepped closer, his eyes alight with a dangerous resolve, “I intend to end it. Once and for all.”
Hel scoffed, though unease flickered beneath her composed façade. “End it? Ragnarok is a set event, Father. A necessary upheaval to maintain balance and cleanse corruption. It is impossible to stop.”
“So I once believed,” Loki admitted, his voice low and almost wistful. “Time after time, I tried. I tried to divert it, to delay it, to break free. And yet, I was always the one to ignite the flames. The harbinger of Ragnarok.” He let out a bitter laugh. “The irony, don’t you think? But this cycle…” His voice turned softer, almost reverent. “This cycle is different. This time, I found her.”
“My niece?” Hel asked, her tone edged with suspicion.
“Yes! My granddaughter. My beautiful granddaughter,” Loki said, his lips curling into a rare, genuine smile. “Strong. Driven. Unlike any I’ve ever seen before.”
Hel’s eyes narrowed further. “Did she not exist in the previous cycles?”
"Oh, she did—but I never knew the truth. I never saw her for what she truly was." Loki replied, his smile fading. "Your plan succeeded in those cycles. You and your sister ensured she lived as a mortal—happy, unaware of her true nature. A hero, praised for her deeds, devoted to peace. Humanity’s shining beacon of hope."
Hel froze, her mask of indifference cracking. “This… plan of mine. It worked?”
"It worked flawlessly. Your sister—my daughter—lived through those cycles, cunning beyond measure. So clever that even I could not find her, no matter how I searched. A perfect disguise." Loki’s voice softened as if in reluctant admiration. "But in this cycle, something has changed. She is gone—dead—taken by the hands of a madman. A madman who knew far more than he let the world believe."
Hel shook her head, stepping back as doubt clawed at her. “This… this is madness. Is this one of your tricks, old man? How can you even retain memories of a previous cycle? The reset obliterates everything—it is impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible,” Loki said with a dangerous smile. “Not for me. Thank your grandmother for that. Unwittingly, she helped me understand the nature of time and space. It was her teachings, however unintended, that allowed me to sever my mind and essence from time itself.”
“You lie,” Hel whispered, though her voice trembled with uncertainty.
“No, daughter, I do not,” Loki said, his voice unyielding. He turned sharply and began walking toward the grand door at the end of the hall, his every step echoing with purpose.
Hel hesitated, then followed, her thoughts a maelstrom of questions and doubts. “And now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Loki paused at the threshold, his hand resting on the doorframe. “Now, my dear, we end Ragnarok. But first…” He turned to face her, his grin returning, sly and sharp. “We play the game one final time.”
As the massive door groaned open, the very air of Helheim seemed to shudder. The dull, lifeless skies churned with a feral energy, swirling darkness consuming the heavens. Suddenly, a beam of shadow shot down from above, slamming into the barren wastelands with an earth-shattering force. The ground trembled as runes ignited in black fire, forming a sigil of incomprehensible power.
From the burning runes rose a colossal gate, jagged and ominous, pulsing with a malice that could only belong to one place.
“The Void Abyss…” Hel whispered, her voice betraying a rare tremor. Her hand tightened on her swords as the gate loomed larger before them. “The seal was said to be unbreakable. How has this come to pass?”
Loki stepped forward, his expression a curious mix of awe and amusement. “The birth of a new god,” he said simply, his voice soft yet chilling.
Hel spun to face him. “New gods are born every millennia, Father. That is no extraordinary occurrence!”
“Ah, but this one is different.” Loki’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief and something more—pride. “This is no ordinary godling. She is a new kind of god.”
Before Hel could respond, the sky split open, raining down 180 souls in a torrent of despair. Their wails echoed through the desolate plains as they plummeted into the Abyss, their cries for mercy swallowed by the void. The gate quaked, its flames roaring higher, greedily devouring its first victims.
Loki watched the scene unfold with a glint of dark satisfaction. “Ah, the first to enter the Abyss. A fitting punishment. Eternal damnation in a realm of pure nothingness, stripped of sensation, with only their thoughts to keep them company. How deliciously cruel. To suffer for all eternity, driven mad by their own minds. Magnificent, isn’t it?”
Hel’s expression hardened, but unease simmered beneath her composed exterior. “This… this is not the work of a god. No god would damned their subjects to such torment. This is evil incarnate!”
Loki turned to her, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “Evil? No, my dear. Not evil. Justice. She punishes only those who deserve it.” He paused, his gaze fixed on the towering gate. “And I know one thing for certain: she would never harm the innocent. For if she ever did… she would become her own punishment.”
Hel’s lips pressed into a thin line as she studied her father. “You and your vague riddles. Can you never speak plainly?”
“Where would be the fun in that, child?” Loki replied, flashing her his trademark grin.
Hel turned back to the Abyss, her grip on her swords tightening as the gate’s power pulsed through the air. The sheer weight of it was suffocating, pressing down on her like a physical force. She took a deep breath, her voice quieter now. “Alright, old man. Against my better judgment… I will fight by your side this time.”
Loki’s grin widened, but Hel barely noticed. Deep in her heart, beneath her warrior’s resolve, a new feeling had taken root. It was not anger or even defiance.
It was fear.