Chapter 32: Muspelheim

In the oldest forge of the universe, where lava never cools and the fire never yields, the footsteps of those born without mercy rise. Muspelheim is not a realm — it is a sentence. Everything that breathes there does so amid flames. Everything that survives, survives by burning.
There, in the heart of eternal fire, there are no days or nights, only the promise of destruction.

Some believe chaos springs from disorder, but true chaos is cultivated with intent, with rules enforced by fury. Even the fiercest flame follows a rhythm, a will, a direction. And Surt… was that will incarnate.
He did not burn for pleasure, but from conviction.

Today, war knocks at his door not as a distant echo but as a familiar roar. And when duty presents itself, there is no room for doubt — neither in the gods’ heavens nor in the giants’ hells.
Because some battles are not fought by strength alone…
…but with fire in the soul.

“My love,” Sinmore murmured from the top of the obsidian stairs, “everything is ready for battle.”

From his throne of magma and living rock, Surt’s silhouette rose like a moving mountain. His shadow swallowed the hall, and the heat intensified with every step. The structure trembled around him, as if afraid of the titan who had forged that very realm.

Without another word, the giant rose. He lifted his right arm and, with a single, dry motion, a blade more than twenty meters long — black as the abyss — answered his call. It was an extension of his will, a promise of annihilation.
“Understood,” he finally said, his deep voice resonating off Muspelheim’s burning walls. “I will leave not a single trace of them.”

Fled, his second-in-command, stepped forward, sweat beading on his brow despite being used to heat.
“My king, what are our next orders?”

Surt rested the blade on his shoulder; a roar of flame danced along the edge.
“Send the bulk of the army to the battlefield. Let the rest accompany me… I will pay the gods a little visit.”
“Understood,” Fled replied swiftly.

“Wait for me, Frey,” Surt whispered, igniting his sword fully so it burst into dancing flames as if celebrating the imminent war.

The sky stained red as hundreds of fire Jötnar lined up behind their lord. Thus they crossed the Bifröst like a living storm. The bridge shuddered beneath their march, rumbling with the cadence of the world’s end.

In the middle of that rainbow of energy, Frey stood ready, sword drawn, gaze steady.
“I didn’t expect you so soon,” he said calmly, though his muscles were taut as war ropes.
“I was eager to tear you to pieces,” Surt replied without pause.

Frey tilted his head, sizing up the approaching army.
“And the others? Are they to rescue you when I’m beating you?”

A deep, fiery laugh answered.
“Many years have passed since that day, Frey. Right now, you couldn’t even graze me.”
“Are you sure? Don’t let your illusions run away with you.”

Surt turned his head to Fled and the rest of his warriors.
“Advance to Asgard. I want everything reduced to ash.”
“Yes, my lord,” Fled answered firmly, and the Jötnar began to move.

But Frey stepped forward and raised his sword; his voice sliced the air like lightning.
“Where do you think you’re going?”

An immense flame rose like a dragon, hurled by Surt. Frey barely managed to block it. The impact forced him back, the Bifröst’s edges shuddering violently.
“You bastard!” Frey spat, redirecting the blaze toward the sky, where it detonated into an explosion that stained the horizon red.

“Don’t you dare get distracted while you stand before me,” Surt roared, pointing the tip of his fiery blade at him.

Frey said nothing. He only tightened his grip on the hilt and launched himself into the attack.

Their clash was an eruption of power. The Bifröst groaned under the impact. Two wills, two legends, two fires fed by very different reasons… had just crossed the first edge of fate.

———Flashback———

“All-Father,” Frey said, bowing his head, “how may I serve you?”
Odin looked at him with the gravity of one delivering a sentence.
“I have a mission that only you can carry out. In Muspelheim dwells a fire Jötun… a very powerful one. His name is Surt. I need you to put an end to him.”

The god of fertility frowned in disbelief.
“A Jötun? Wouldn’t it be better to send Thor?”
Odin shook his head slowly.
“Thor is on a mission with Loki. And you have the sword fit for this task. With it… you should have no problems.”
“Understood.”

Muspelheim burned. The heat bit at the skin like invisible blades, and yet Frey advanced with steady steps to the mouth of a cave as black as night.
A flare erupted suddenly, like a roar from the very core of the world. The blast knocked him back.
“Damn it!”

He raised his arm in time, but the burns appeared as a reminder of his lapse.
If he had reacted later, he would be carbonized now…, he thought, eyes fixed on the darkness.
“Mountain-breaker.”

With a clean, precise cut, Frey split the cave’s entrance. Burning rocks shot into the sky like splinters hurled by a god.
He studied the debris closely.
Did I do it?

A titanic shadow moved through the smoke.
A gigantic sword descended with fury, aimed straight at his skull.

Frey blocked it by instinct, the metallic clang rolling like thunder.
“I have to admit you’ve got good reflexes, god,” Surt growled, emerging fully from the fire.

The Jötun was massive, even by his race’s standards — a volcano with eyes, a calamity with legs.
It’s… enormous. Ten times larger than any other Jötun I’ve seen… Frey thought.

“What’s the matter? Pissed your pants?” Surt sneered, a cruel smile on his face.
“No,” Frey replied, spinning his sword easily. “I only regret having to kill someone so strong.”
“You’re arrogant for such a runt.”
“Size doesn’t matter. Knowing how to move does.”
“Nonsense.”

Surt slammed his sword into the ground. A flame burst up beneath Frey’s feet, which he barely dodged.
“That was close…”

The Jötun launched another brutal slash. Frey blocked, but the force shoved him back; his boots began to sink into the molten rock.
His power… it’s crushing. If I don’t dodge the next one, he’ll split me in two.

“Come on, little god, you bore me,” Surt taunted.

Frey gritted his teeth. He had no other choice.
He vanished.

Surt’s cut opened an abyss in the ground.
“Did he disappear?” the Jötun muttered, turning. “Where…?”

A brutal pressure stroked his back.
Frey stopped Surt’s sword just in time, but the force of the blow drove him back several steps.
How can he have so much strength? My whole hand is shaking…

“What’s wrong?” Frey said, keeping the pressure on. “I see you trembling with fear.”
“Shut up!”

Surt unleashed a new attack with all his might. Frey blocked it with hardly any effort.
“What…?”
“Since I used this sword…” Frey’s eyes shone, “my victory is assured.”

Surt’s sword flew out of his hand. Frey delivered a direct kick to his torso that left him winded.
The Jötun dropped to his knees, gasping.
What… just happened? How did he get so strong all of a sudden…?

The god’s boot came down on his head.
“What happened, Surt? I thought you’d be more powerful.”
“Damn you!”

“Fire Technique: Infernal Rain!” the Jötun bellowed, with the rage of a wounded sun.

The sky turned crimson. Igneous rocks began to fall like meteors. Frey moved among them, destroying one after another. Still, some struck him, adding fresh burns.
Now it’s impossible for anyone to beat me. No normal being could withstand this, Surt thought with a grin.

A voice rose behind him, cold as a blade.
“I’m afraid to disappoint you. But you’re very weak.”

Surt spun in fury and managed to carve a deep cut across Frey’s chest. The god crashed violently, his body drawing a bloody line across the rock.
“Come on… weren’t you as strong as you boasted?”

Then the wound began to close. Surt watched in horror as the body regenerated.
“This can’t be…”

Frey smiled. In an instant, he slammed Surt to the ground with a single blow.
Surt spat blood, stunned.
The tip of Frey’s sword grazed his throat.
“Finish me off…” the Jötun rasped. “End this.”

Frey didn’t answer. He walked to the fallen blade and picked it up.
This weighs like a god’s punishment…
“I’ll keep it as payment. If I hand it to Odin, he’ll be calmer.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sorry, Surt… but I can’t kill someone just because I’m ordered to.”
“What do you think you’re doing?!” the Jötun roared, trying to rise.
“See you,” Frey said, turning his back.
“Bastard! Come back here!”
“Until next time.”

The present caught up with them again.

“I won’t tolerate such disrespect again,” Surt spat, tearing off his helmet and wrapping his body in living flames.
Frey did not flinch.
No doubt… he has grown much stronger. And I… no longer have the sword of victory. But still… I must succeed. Even if it costs me my life.

They charged once more, and the Bifröst burned as if the war had already begun.

Surt’s sword fell like a black lightning bolt wrapped in fire.
The impact hurled Frey through the air as if his body weighed nothing. He tore through clouds of steam and light before regaining control mid-flight.

But Surt didn’t wait. He leapt after him, sword raised with clear intent to annihilate.
Frey twisted in the air, muscles taut like steel cables. In a swift motion, he caught his opponent by the torso and hurled him with all his might toward the Bifröst.

The blow shook the bridge like thunder. The runes holding it together flickered, and cracks spread like lightning over frozen glass.
“Damn it…” Frey thought as he dove downward. “If this keeps up, the Bifröst won’t hold. I have to take this fight somewhere else.”

He landed on one knee, cushioning the fall, and without wasting a second, began to run.
Behind him, Surt’s blazing fury rose through the mist.
“Where do you think you’re going, you damned coal heap!?”

If he destroys the bridge, the Asgardian troops will never reach the battlefield… and we’ll die here for nothing, Frey thought, dodging a slash that tore through the sky.
“Catch me if you can, you walking volcano!” he shouted over his shoulder with a mocking grin.

Surt clenched his teeth in rage.
“You little bastard!”

The chase was brutal. Bursts of flame, slashes, and explosions rained upon the Bifröst while Frey dodged them by mere inches. His boots left trails of light as he neared the edge of the celestial plane.
Then he saw it—solid ground beyond the clouds.
“Now or never…” he murmured, heart pounding in his chest.

Without hesitation, he leapt into the void.
Surt froze for an instant, disbelief etched across his burning face.
“What the hell is he doing? He’s completely insane! No god could survive that fall!”

But Frey’s shout from above dispelled all doubt.
“Come down here, you bastard!”

The Jötun narrowed his eyes. Down below, through the clouds, the god of fertility was still alive—and every fiber of his being burned with resolve.
“Damn lucky fool…” Surt hissed with a crooked grin.

He propelled himself downward with monstrous strength, descending like a blazing meteor. The impact shook the earth so violently that even distant mountains trembled.
A massive fissure split open beneath his feet, and rivers of lava burst forth like the veins of the underworld. Frey barely dodged the first searing torrent.
“Here… I’m at a complete disadvantage…” he muttered, feeling the heat scorch his lungs.

Surt gave him no respite. His sword danced like a living storm. Frey blocked, parried, dodged—but the onslaught was relentless.
The ground quaked. The rocks burned. The sky darkened.
Slash after slash, the two titans gave everything they had.

At one point, Surt struck him with a blow so brutal that Frey was sent flying. His body spun several times before crashing into a wall of rock.
Blood spilled from his mouth; his breathing was ragged. The heat was unbearable.

“Come on, come on!” Surt roared with a deranged smile. “Entertain me more!”

Frey wiped the blood from his lips. His eyes, glowing like embers, showed no fear.
“You truly are a monster… that’s why…”
He rose. Power burst from his body in an uncontrollable torrent.

The earth trembled with his scream.
In the distance—even within the halls of Asgard—the shock was felt. Odin lifted his gaze from the throne, astonished.
“That energy…?”
Freyja shivered, her soul trembling.
“Brother…”

“This will be my final attack,” said Frey firmly. “I hope you give it your all too.”
“You can be sure of that,” replied Surt, unleashing his full might. “I won’t hold anything back.”

The ground split apart. The heavens roared. The entire battlefield became a crucible of pure power.
Both warriors gathered everything into their blades. The swords gleamed like twin suns facing each other.
And then—without warning—
the final clash began.

The blades of Frey and Surt shone like black suns on the verge of collision.
Each poured every ounce of their power into a single strike.
There was no room for doubt—no second chances.

Both gods charged.

The impact was so immense that the world itself seemed to hold its breath.
The shockwave swept through everything in its path.
Mountains crumbled, the ground split to its deepest roots, and the sky tore open in a flash of raw energy.

Their blades vibrated. Sparks burst where steel met steel.
But then… Frey’s sword began to crack.

“Damn it…” he muttered through clenched teeth.

In a desperate act, he channeled all the energy from his blade into his body—into his muscles, his soul… his will.
The sacred weapon shattered into fragments.
And in that very instant, Surt’s sword pierced him through.

The strike was devastating.

Frey hit the ground, his chest torn open by a wound that bled uncontrollably.
His body trembled. Each breath was agony.
And yet… there was a smile on his face.

“Looks like… I asked for too much,” he whispered between gasps.

Surt stared down at him, frowning deeply.
“Your reflexes… are still sharp. I meant to cut you in half, but somehow you still managed to react.”
“You’ve grown strong… very strong,” Frey admitted calmly.

Surt’s expression twisted as he noticed the wound wasn’t closing.
“Why aren’t you healing? Why don’t you use your sword? Wasn’t that what gave you regeneration?”

Frey let out a hoarse, almost childlike laugh.
“Ah… that. I no longer have it. I’m not the bearer of the Sword of Victory anymore.”

“No…” Surt stepped back, disbelief shaking his voice. “That can’t be true.”
“If I’d told you… you would’ve held back.”
“Damn it! Why?! Why did you hide that from me?!”
“Because I needed to see your true power. And now that I’ve seen it… I have no doubts. You’re stronger than ever. Even without your sword, you’re much more…” His voice faltered.

“Why are you saying all this now?!”
Surt fell to his knees, extending a hand wrapped in heat to try to heal his rival.

But Frey shook his head.
“It’s no use. The cut… went too deep. I only have a few seconds left.”
“No! Why did you put this burden on me?!” Tears streamed down the Jötun’s face.

“You weren’t… the wrong choice,” Frey murmured, his tone soft and warm enough to freeze the soul.
“Surt… you’re a good man.”
“Shut up! Don’t say that now…”
“Listen. You have to stop all this. Only you can end Ragnarök.”

Frey’s breathing grew weaker. Blood drenched the earth beneath him.
“I leave the future… in your hands.”
“No! Damn you, Frey! You can’t die and leave me with this curse!”
“I’m sorry…” His voice was barely audible. “I’m too weak…”
“That’s not true…”
“Go… to the highest mountain in Midgard. There lies your sword. It… can end this war…”

The air grew unbearably hot.
Frey’s power was fading with each heartbeat.
“Maybe… in another life… we can fight at full strength. As true rivals…”

Frey’s pale face softened into a final smile.
“Thank you… rival…”

His hand slipped from the hilt of his broken sword.

From Asgard, Freyja fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face.

Surt gently closed Frey’s eyes.
He remained silent for several seconds.
Then he rose.

Flames surged around him in fury.
“I swear…” he said, his voice burning hotter than fire itself, “I will fulfill your last wish. I’ll end this damned war.”

His face, darkened by grief and rage, rose amid the inferno.

The scene shifted.

In a dark chamber, sealed by ancient chains, Edén slowly opened his eyes.
Still bound, he lifted his gaze.
In front of him, with an almost maternal smile, Iss watched him.

“Mother…?” he whispered.
Iss’s smile widened.
“Hello, my beloved son.”

And behind her… a dark, demonic presence began to take form.