Chapter 38: The Scales Tip

War is not always decided by the clash of blades or the roar of the mighty.
Sometimes, all it takes is a glance, a choice, a truth revealed—
for the weight of destiny to tilt entirely to one side.

Across fields drenched in blood and smoke,
the echoes still linger—of a roar that split the heavens,
and a thunder that halted time itself.
Those who witnessed that moment did not understand what had happened…
but they felt that something, deep within the balance,
had broken forever.

The battle between gods and monsters left more than ruins.
It left voids—voids where doubt, resentment,
and awakenings have begun to bloom.

The story that for centuries seemed written in divine ink
is now being rewritten by human hands—
shaking hands, trembling hands, determined hands.

And while some seek redemption among the ashes,
others finally find the moment to fulfill their oath.

Because in every war, there comes an unseen point—
when the victor is not the one with the greatest strength,
but the one who endures the final breath…
or the one who carries within them the spark
capable of setting the world ablaze.

Today, that spark is about to ignite.

——————————————————————————————————————————

The sky roars. The earth trembles.
At the center of the chaos, two figures face each other in silence:
the wolf and the god.

Odin watches coldly at his opponent—
the colossal beast with razor fangs and burning eyes
that do not flinch before his presence.

“I didn’t expect you to be so cautious, stupid wolf,” Odin mutters with disdain.

Fenrir doesn’t respond.
He simply stares back at the god, his paws steady as pillars of war.

Odin narrows his eyes.
Truth is… I didn’t expect a direct duel. But I have no choice.

The view shifts across the battlefield—
men and creatures tearing each other apart,
their screams fading into distant echoes beneath the weight of what is about to unfold.

“Even if I gathered a thousand warriors,” he mutters to himself,
“Fenrir would shred them all. They’d only get in the way.”

He exhales—
and in that sigh lies the burden of centuries accepted.

“Seems I have no choice… but to tear you apart myself.”

Fenrir answers with a howl that cuts through the wind
and makes the blood of both the living and the dead tremble.
The howl of a beast that has waited its entire life for this moment.

“I’ll rip you to pieces, Odin!” growls Fenrir,
before lunging forward with all his might.

But just as his claws are about to meet their destiny…

Flashback

A warm, distant scene.

Fenrir clumsily chases after a bone thrown with enthusiasm.
He catches it—awkwardly, but full of pride.

“Nicely done, Fenrir!” laughs Thor, patting his head like a happy pup.

“Hey, stop treating my son like a pet,” grumbles Loki, arms crossed.

“Eh? Can’t you see he likes it?”

“It’s pathetic.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. But he likes it, so we’re keeping the game going.”

Thor tosses him a piece of meat.
Fenrir catches it midair and devours it, wagging his enormous tail with joy.

In Helheim.
Darkness. A steaming cauldron. A poisonous aura hangs in the air.

“Back again?” the witch asks with a crooked smile. “I’m surprised such a busy god comes every month.”

“I have finished my business,” Odin replies, sombre.

“Mm, mm… and what do you seek now?”

“The same as last time,” he answers, without inflection.

The witch mixes roots, bones, and something else. The smoke grows—and with it, visions.

“Hmm…” the witch says in a low voice. “Your fate has not changed.”

“What did you say?”

“You will die in Ragnarök. After that battle, there is no future for you.”

Odin grabs her by the throat, furious.

“Don’t lie to me! I banished Hela as you asked! What more do you want from me?”

“If you want to know… let me go.”

Odin drops her.

“Your final hour is written between giant fangs. A beast… the son of someone close to you. Someone you still care for.”

“To hell with that!” Odin roars, trembling with rage.

“I warned you. Don’t play with fate. You can hide it, kill it, seal it… but you cannot change it.”

“Fate?!” Odin laughs with scorn. “I don’t care about fate! I carve my own path! No one writes my future but me!”

“Do as you please,” the witch replies, turning away. “But remember… even gods die.”

Odin plants his spear into the ground. The flame burning inside him is no longer doubt—it is defiance.

“I will prove you wrong. Not even fate can defeat me.”

Odin’s footsteps thunder through the halls of Asgard like an imminent judgment. His eyes burn with relentless purpose.

Fenrir, still young, runs through the palace gardens unaware that his destiny is closing in.
A gigantic hand seizes him by the throat, lifting him as if he were mere prey.

“What are you doing, father?!” Thor cries, horrified.

“Let go of my son, you cursed old man!” Loki bellows, unleashing his power without restraint.

“Shut up!” Odin spits, with a look that chills the blood.

Thor hesitates for a moment. Loki does not. A burst of dark magic and divine chaos shakes the corridor. But Odin is no longer king—he is the sentence itself.

In a fraction of a second, both lie unconscious on the ground.

“Silence…” the god murmurs. “I will not allow them to rebel against my authority.”

Fenrir trembles. He does not understand. He does not fight. He only watches with wide eyes. It is the birth of resentment.

In a hidden place of the world.

The wind howls as if foretelling a tragedy. Tyr and Ull try to restrain the young wolf while he writhes with animal fury.

“Hold still, damn wolf!” Tyr shouts, feeling Fenrir’s fangs sink into his arm.

Tyr does not scream—he only grits his teeth. But the blood flows.

“Chain him!” he orders, sweating.

“But your arm…!” Ull stammers.

“Do it now!”

The enchanted chains close like shining serpents over Fenrir’s body. Once bound, Tyr raises his sword without hesitation and cuts his own arm to free himself.

Blood falls like an oath.

“And remember this, Fenrir…” Odin says, approaching with calm steps, “…you will never leave here. You are condemned to die in chains.”

Fenrir pants and does not answer. He only stares with a new fire—one that will never be extinguished.

Back in Asgard.

Odin returns with Tyr and Ull. At the entrance to the hall, Thor and Loki wait for him, still dazed.

“Cursed old man…” Loki growls, his voice broken. “What did you do with Fenrir?”

“It’s none of your concern,” Odin replies arrogantly.

Loki grabs him by the chest, trembling.
“Where is my son?!”

“Remove your filthy Jötun hands from my clothes,” Odin snaps with disgust, then drives a punch into Loki’s stomach.

Loki collapses to the floor and, without mercy, Odin stomps on his head.
“Don’t you dare order me around.”

“Stop!” Thor roars, clenching his fist.

“You dare defy me?”

“Even if you’re my father… if necessary, I’ll beat you.”

Odin smiles—not out of pride, but as a threat.

He lifts his foot from Loki’s head.
“You’re lucky someone cares for you…”

He turns and walks away without looking back.

Thor rushes to Loki.
“Are you alright?”

“I’ll kill him… I’ll kill him as many times as it takes,” Loki whispers, eyes burning. “I’ll take everything he loves. Everything!”

Then he begins to laugh—not with joy, but with hatred.

Years later…

In the deepest solitude, bound to a black, dry rock, a massive, emaciated wolf opens his eyes. He is no longer a pup.

His chains creak with every breath. His fur is stained. But his eyes… they still burn.

“I will kill you, Odin… I swear it.”

Back to the present.

The sky cracks. Two presences advance through the war: one is frozen fire, the other living darkness.

Loki and Fenrir walk together—like prophecy made flesh.

“It is our moment…” they think in unison.

A titanic aura of power explodes around them. The Nine Worlds feel it. The scales begin to tip.

Fenrir’s paws slammed the ground like thunder. His claws tore through the air with every attempted strike. But Odin was not there. Or he was. Or perhaps no longer.
Every swipe, every bite, every charge… always met empty space. Always too late.

“What’s happening?” the wolf thought between gasps. “I feel him before me. I feel his breath… but I can never touch him.”

Then everything changed. The rhythm. The hunter became the prey. And the prey, a god thirsty for blood.

Odin’s spear flashed, slicing Fenrir’s flank with millimetric precision. There was no effort in the motion—only absolute certainty.

A second later the wolf’s body was lifted by a blow to the chin and hurled skyward by a brutal kick. When he slammed into a mountain, the rock had no choice but to give way.

Among the rubble, Fenrir rose, breath ragged.
“Damn… He has the advantage of space… I can’t match him here…”

Odin descended calmly, his smile unbroken.
“Come on,” he said with feigned disappointment. “What’s wrong? Is the great wolf trembling?”

Fenrir answered with a broken smile—one that revealed not teeth but scars. His claws began to glow: red as hatred, golden as the legacy he still bore.

“Ah…” the god murmured. “Finally you take this seriously.”

The next attack was as fast as it was unexpected. In an instant Fenrir was upon him, fangs wrapped in energy, ready to split him in two. But Odin did not hesitate. His spear turned and, as if he knew every fiber of his enemy, it blocked the strike. Then came the counter— a dry fist into the snout that forced the wolf back.

“If it were someone else, he’d be dead…” the god thought. “But I am not someone else.”

Fenrir stepped back a few paces. Something began to change. His body stretched, hardened. Every muscle seemed about to explode. Veins shone like electric cords. His eyes burned.

From above, Odin watched without blinking.
“I did well to have him chained,” he reflected. “If this monster had trained… perhaps he’d already be dead.”

“I WILL KILL YOU!” Fenrir roared with all his being.

His fangs elongated like blades. His shadow widened until it covered the whole battlefield. Then he threw himself forward.

This time—this time he reached him.

Odin was sent flying like a ragdoll. His body tore through mountains as if they were paper. The earth groaned. The sky shrank in fear.

Fenrir wasted no time. In the next instant he was on top of him. A kick fueled by centuries of hatred buried the god into the ground. And when the earth closed over him, Fenrir ripped it open with his claws to extract his prize.

Odin hung trapped, suspended between air and the fury of his fate. His captor’s breath struck his face like an icy wind from the abyss.

“This is my day, Odin,” Fenrir growled. “Today I will avenge everything. For every chain, every blow, every damned year of confinement. Beg. Come on. BEG!”

Odin began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?!” the wolf bellowed.

“Do you think this is a victory?” the god replied, eyes sharp. “Do you truly believe you have a chance against me?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You are… very weak.”

He said it with a smile that cut deeper than a thousand blades.

“Bastard!”

Fenrir squeezed harder. But it was he who screamed.

His paws began to bleed.

“What a pity…” Odin said coldly. “I wanted to toy with you a little longer. But if you’re getting serious… I suppose I must as well.”

Something fell. A simple patch. The silence that followed swallowed everything.

“What the hell…?” Fenrir whispered.

What he saw was an eye that seemed to contain whole constellations: the Eye of God.

“I was limited,” Odin murmured. “But now…”

He vanished.

And appeared before Fenrir. Without warning. Without transition.

“…it’s different.”

The god’s fist struck with brutal violence. The wolf’s face warped under the blow. Fenrir’s body flew toward a lake—and the lake vanished instantly, evaporated by the force.

Odin hung suspended in the sky. His spear floated beside him, shining with a light that seemed torn from the very end of the world.

“It’s time to finish this.”

Odin’s spear began to float slowly, spinning as it absorbed the energy the god released. In seconds the weapon swelled to gigantic size, its radiance bathing the battlefield in golden and violet light.

“Fuck fate,” Odin muttered with a crooked smile. “I’m far better than you.”

With a single gesture the spear was launched like a comet of pure devastation.

“Die.”

The projectile tore across the sky at impossible speed and struck Fenrir’s body directly. The impact unleashed a shockwave so colossal it swept everything before it. Dust, rock, and fire engulfed the place.

“Did I fail…?” Odin whispered in disbelief. “I never fail…”

The answer came in the form of a figure emerging from the smoke. A familiar figure.

“Wow, I almost got here late,” Shun said with a light smile, still shielding Fenrir from the explosion.

The god narrowed his eyes.
“You damned bastard… what are you doing here?”

“Nothing in particular,” the pink-haired man replied casually. “I just came to run some errands.”

Odin ground his teeth. But it wasn’t Shun’s presence that unsettled him—it was the question forming in his mind: how did he get in here?

Shun barely turned his head and looked at the wounded wolf.
“Can you still fight?”

Fenrir nodded slowly.
“Yes…”

But inside, the beast was bewildered. Who the hell is this guy…? His energy was so dense it swallowed everything else. Nothing else could be felt. Only him.

“Good,” Shun said. “I’m going to need your help.”

Odin frowned.
“What is a special forces member doing here?”

“I already said. Errands.”

“Don’t lie. Someone of your rank wouldn’t move unless it was important.”

Shun sighed.
“Let’s say I’m here to detain you. Or, in the worst case… finish you.”

The air tensed.

“What did you say!?” Odin roared. “Do you think the council will stand idly by if I die?”

“This is no longer their affair,” Shun replied, eyes narrowed. “Your crimes exceed their jurisdiction. I’m here on the king’s orders.”

The words seemed to stop time.

“The king…?” Odin whispered.

“If you don’t resist, they may preserve your body. They might even reduce your sentence… if you cooperate.”

The god did not answer right away. He must be lying, Odin thought. No… he is close to the king… maybe it’s possible…

“Come on, Odin,” Shun continued in a firmer tone. “You know what’s good for you. You know very well you don’t stand a chance against me.”

A flash cut the air. A slash opened across Shun’s side. The youth barely glanced at it.

“A very foolish choice… coming from someone as wise as you.”

“Shut up!” Odin bellowed. “I won’t allow a human to give me orders! Me, a almighty god!”

Dark energy began to billow from his body like poisonous smoke. Everything around him started to tremble.

Shun frowned. Even if I manage to seal him, he won’t cooperate. The only option… is to finish him.

Changes erupted from Odin’s body. His ears sharpened, an aura of thorns circled his head, and two white wings unfurled from his back like a celestial punishment.

“You, wolf… I have a plan,” Shun murmured.

“A plan…?” Fenrir whispered, still confused.

The transformation completed. The energy the god emitted was no longer divine: it was unnatural, broken, violent.

“Do you like my final form?” Odin said proudly. “It’s the result of years of research on different races. I stand above them all. I am the highest rung of evolution.”

“Uh…?” Shun made a mocking face. “Yeah, sure…”

“Bastard!” the god roared. “You dare mock me?!”

Then two malformed, pulsating masses—filled with an indefinable energy—emerged from his back.

“Go,” Odin commanded in a solemn tone. “Fight for me, my brothers… Vili. Go.”

The masses took shape: two imposing, strange figures, dark copies of Odin’s fallen brothers.

“What the hell…?” Shun murmured, a mix of surprise and scorn on his face.

“Kill him!” Odin ordered.

The two figures lunged at Shun at blinding speed. The young man dodged the first and second strikes with minimal, calculated movements.

“They’re fast,” he thought. “If I’m not mistaken, those were the names of his dead brothers. Rune magic? Still… keeping entities of this level under control…”

With a fluid motion Shun caused both enemies to collide with each other. But instead of falling, they recovered in seconds and resumed the attack.

“They don’t tire either,” he reflected as he evaded. “Physical damage does nothing. And I doubt spatial techniques will work. The only option left… is to eliminate the source: Odin.”

Vili grabbed Shun from behind, immobilizing him. Ve raised his fist to strike, but Shun freed himself in time and, spinning, hit both with a series of rapid, precise blows.

“Nothing…” he murmured. “Nothing works…”

Still, he kept hitting—first Ve, then Vili—combos, sweeps, pressure strikes. All to no avail.

“I have to reach him,” he thought, eyes fixed on Odin in the distance. “Time is running out.”

Ve was sent flying through the air, his body crashing into a stone wall after taking a barrage of consecutive blows to the jaw. Without pause, Shun spun on his axis, and with just a spark of concentrated energy in his arm, he hurled Vili toward the horizon with a single, dry strike.

Odin watched in silence.
What does he think he’s doing...? he thought, frowning. He hasn’t stopped attacking, but he doesn’t look tired… he doesn’t even seem to be trying… what is that bastard made of...?

Then, Shun stopped. The storm ceased instantly. His body stood still, his gaze fixed directly on Odin’s eyes.

“I’ll admit it,” he said in a voice that echoed beyond the wind. “Your techniques are quite interesting… but they only work on weak people. Or stupid ones.”

Fenrir tilted his head, confused. Did he just call himself an idiot?

Shun raised an eyebrow, as if he had heard his thoughts.
“And luckily for you,” he continued, “I’m strong.”

The wolf gritted his teeth softly. He’s definitely an idiot…

“But it’s about time we end this,” Shun added, flexing his fingers. “I hate to say it… but every god so far has been a disappointment. None of them compare… to him.”

Odin blinked.
“Him?” he repeated. “Who are you talking about?”

Shun averted his eyes, as if he regretted saying too much.
“Ah… looks like I let something important slip.”

Fenrir squinted. Is he really that clumsy… or is he doing it on purpose?

Shun sighed—and raised his hand.
“Divine Punishment.”

The sky, moments ago covered in black clouds, burst open violently. A halo of light descended, purifying the battlefield. Trumpets, like celestial echoes, began to sound from the void.

Odin looked up.
That sound again… but it’s not the same. No… this time… this time it’s—

A dark shadow took form at the center of the radiance.
A light that did not illuminate… but devoured.

And in the next instant, the god’s all-seeing eye—Odin’s greatest power—ceased to see.

“Death…” he whispered.

The energy enveloped him, pierced him, disintegrated him. His armor cracked like glass. His skin burned. His bones shattered. His body fell like a comet with no direction—and when it struck the ground, an explosion tore through the earth for miles around.

Fenrir was thrown back by the shockwave. Part of his fur was singed. He rose, panting, eyes fixed on the epicenter.

Nothing. Only a crater—a colossal wound carved into the world’s surface.
I can’t feel his power anymore… he thought. Is he really… dead?

Shun’s voice broke the silence.
“Sorry… the whole ‘plan’ thing was just a distraction,” he said with a grin that didn’t bother to hide anything.

Fenrir let out a low growl of agreement.
“Yeah…”

“Well then…” Shun added, looking into the crater.

What he saw was a charred, nearly skeletal body—and even then, it was incomplete.

“You’re tough,” he said with genuine surprise. “You’re the first one to survive a technique where I used twenty percent of my power.”

But then, a hoarse voice—barely a thread of air—escaped from the burnt remains:
“I’m… not… done… yet…”

Fenrir froze. Small strands of flesh began to sprout over the bones. Regeneration.

“Disgusting…” Shun muttered.

Is that even possible…? thought Fenrir. At this level…?

Shun clenched his teeth. So you’ve reached that stage… that’s dangerous.

He didn’t hesitate. He raised both arms.
“Celestial Seal.”

Thousands of threads of light descended like living filaments. They coiled around the regenerating body, wrapped it, and finally compressed it into a cube of radiant energy that closed with a sharp pulse.

Fenrir had no idea what he had just witnessed.
“What… was that?” he murmured.

Shun lowered his arms, exhausted but steady.
Seems his sacrifice for knowledge wasn’t in vain…

“My mission here is complete.”

The wolf looked toward the empty sky.
“What will happen to him?”

“He won’t bother us again. He’s dead.”

“Dead…?” Fenrir repeated.

“Hate to ruin your purpose in life, wolf,” Shun said with a faint smirk, “but that fight was lost from the start. That old man reached a point you’d never achieve in your entire existence.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s a secret,” Shun replied, smiling crookedly again.

There was a pause. The silence was no longer heavy—it was calm.

“What’s your name?” Fenrir finally asked.

“My name? Call me Shun.”

The wolf nodded.
“I hope to see you again, Shun.”

“See you, Fenrir. Enjoy this new chance.”

Shun turned away. But before leaving, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
Well… now it’s your turn to do your part.

And on a distant hill, Eden and Iss stared at each other, as if the world itself had frozen just for them.