Chapter 40: Countdown

The sky, once whole, now breathes in fragments.
There is no rest after battle—only a pause that cuts deeper than any blade. Bodies move, but the soul… stays behind.

Amid ashes and ruins, Elsif leads the last survivors. His eyes no longer search for enemies, but for signs that the end has not yet come. He walks with resolve, yet in his mind, a question haunts him like a shadow: Did it really have to come to this?

On the horizon, a figure approaches carrying two bodies in his arms. Hades’s silhouette breaks through the fog, as if the Underworld itself refused to surrender.

No words are needed. Elsif meets his gaze. Hades nods. And continues walking.

There is no glory. No hymns.
Only open wounds.

But while some struggle to save what remains, others are already drawing the final line between life and the abyss.
The scales have begun to tip.
And this time, no one will stop them.

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

Amid rubble and faint cries, Elsif guided the few survivors who could still walk. His right arm held up an improvised banner—nothing more than a piece of white cloth stained with blood; not for pride, but so they wouldn’t lose their way in the fog.

“This way—everyone through,” he ordered, voice low. There was no strength left for shouting.

As he led them through the ruins, a thought lodged in his mind like a thorn he couldn’t pull out.
Did it really have to come to this?

That war, that fire… that silence. When did everything break?

A new tremor cut through his thoughts. A figure emerged from the horizon like a shadow dressed in black. It was Hades—and in his arms lay two bodies: one light, the other barely conscious.
Isaac… and Edén.

Elsif rushed to meet him.
“What happened to them?” he asked, unable to hide his concern. “Those wounds… they’re not normal.”

“I don’t have time to explain,” replied the god of the Underworld, his voice more broken than he wished to show. “Take care of them. Please. There are still people out there who need help.”

Elsif nodded. No more words were needed.

Hades vanished instantly, as if the wind itself had claimed him. But only seconds later, an invisible force struck. A sudden impact hurled him through the air like a toy, crashing him against the charred remains of what had once been a village.

“What the hell…?” he muttered, forcing himself to stand, shaking off the dust.

Before him, a fracture split the air itself.
From it emerged a creature that had long ceased to be what it once was—an elf, yes, but corrupted, transformed… something unnatural.

A cold shiver ran down his spine.
The very fabric of space… is breaking apart…

And not just there.

When Hades lifted his gaze, he understood everything.
The cracks in the sky weren’t mere distortions—they were windows, wounds revealing every corner of the Nine Worlds, all bleeding in unison.

“This is bad…” he whispered. “Really bad…”

From the fissures, more of them began to emerge. Dozens. Hundreds.
Elves twisted by a force that seemed older than time itself.

Then, amidst the cracks, a figure appeared—shining like a living torch.
Surt.

The fire titan held his sword, wrapped in a searing energy so dense that the air around it seemed to scream.

He looked to the heavens. There was no hatred in his eyes—only resolve.

“This one’s for you… rival.”

Surt raised his blade, gathering within it the energy of all worlds—as if the veins of the universe were converging into its edge.

“It’s time… to end this war.”

With a guttural roar, he unleashed all his power.
The ground split apart. Flames erupted like ravenous serpents, devouring everything in their path.

Meanwhile, at the Bifröst...

“So, you finally had the guts to show up,” snarled Heimdall, gripping his twin knives tightly.

Loki appeared, walking calmly—as if death itself dared not touch him.
“It’s been a while, dear Heimdall.”

“Bastard!” roared the guardian. “Do you ever think about all the pain you’ve caused?”

“I do. Do you?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe not everything Odin did was just? No, right?” Loki shook his head with a bitter smile. “Of course not. You all just follow orders. You wipe out entire races just to feed an old man’s fear—and then you have the audacity to call yourselves gods.”

Heimdall gritted his teeth.
“You killed Balder!”

“And you slaughtered thousands before him. Or do their deaths not count if they weren’t gods?”

“Shut your mouth, damn Jötun!”

Loki sighed, disappointed.
“In the end, none of you were ever worth it…”

Energy began to surge between them. Heimdall’s aura rose like a celestial spear, while Loki’s darkness unfurled—ancient as time itself.

Ra… looks like the moment’s finally here, thought the god of lies.

And without another word, they clashed.
The war was no longer an event—
it had become a countdown.

The air trembled violently as Loki lunged forward, brandishing his twin knives with lethal precision.
Every movement aimed to break Heimdall’s defense, yet each strike met equal fury—sparks scattering into the endless void of the Bifröst.

This guy is fast… too fast, Loki thought, stepping back. I can’t break through like this… I’ll have to kick it up a notch.

A roar tore from his throat as a surge of dark energy burst from his body like a living mantle. The runes on his blades flared with terrifying light.

Across from him, Heimdall gritted his teeth.
If I hesitate for even a second, he’ll kill me, he thought, before releasing his power like a lightning bolt too long contained.

The guardian’s body swelled with muscle and raw might, every fiber empowered by the ancient force of the Bifröst itself.
Without warning, he charged Loki with full force—the impact so brutal that the Jötun’s bones cracked on contact.

Loki was hurled backward, spinning through the air like a broken doll, until he caught himself on the edge of the bridge.
“Damn it…”

No time to breathe. Heimdall appeared before him—a colossal shadow offering no mercy. Loki ducked instinctively, slashing at the guardian’s leg. Heimdall dropped to one knee, and before he could recover, Loki delivered a flurry of kicks to his abdomen.

But he didn’t yield.

When Loki attempted a finishing blow—a high kick—Heimdall caught his leg and slammed him against the ground again and again.
The bridge thundered beneath each impact.

With a desperate roll, Loki broke free and reflexively kicked the guardian in the neck. Heimdall staggered, dazed but far from defeated.

They pulled apart by a few meters. Both panting. Both bleeding.
And yet… both smiling.

This is bad, Loki thought. With every passing minute, that bastard gets stronger… I have no choice.

“Zetsubō no Uzu.”

A dark vortex formed behind him, as if the void itself had answered his call. Orbs of black energy materialized from nothing, converging in the air with a chilling whistle.

“What is that?” Heimdall asked, frowning. “Your little tricks won’t work on me.”

“Die.”

The orbs descended like meteors. One after another, they struck the celestial bridge, carving a massive rift—a bleeding wound through the sky. When the smoke cleared, Heimdall was still standing… but his right arm lay several meters away.

“Guess it wasn’t such a cheap trick after all,” he said with a strained smile.

Loki narrowed his eyes.
“Well, that’s a surprise… and here I was planning to kill you.”

“I’m no ordinary man,” Heimdall replied, stepping back.

This fight can’t go on much longer, the guardian thought. I have to finish it now.

With a deep exhale, he lunged. Loki raised his knives just in time, but not fast enough to block everything—cuts opened across his face, his chest, his arms.
The deadly dance resumed with renewed ferocity—clashing, retreating, striking again. The entire Bifröst quaked beneath their feet.

Damn it… he’s taken the advantage, Loki thought, staggering back. If this keeps up, I’ll die. But I can’t hesitate. Not now.

“Come on! This is a knife fight to the death!”

He was about to charge—when the world went dark.
His vision blurred. His body felt heavy.

“What…?” he gasped.

A blade pierced his stomach—cold, precise, fatal.

“You’re not the only one with tricks up his sleeve,” Heimdall whispered in his ear.

Poison? Loki thought, falling to his knees. When…? His knife…!

He collapsed to the ground. The wound in his abdomen burned like liquid fire.

“I’d say it was a pleasure having you as an opponent…” Heimdall muttered, spitting blood to the side. “But it wasn’t. You disgust me.”

He spat on Loki’s face and left him there—motionless.

Good thing it didn’t happen in the center of the Bifröst, Heimdall thought, wiping the blood from his mouth. That attack could’ve brought down the entire bridge.

Across the span, Loki could barely move his fingers. His body was a pool of blood.

This can’t end here… not yet…

And then, memories began to drift through his mind—
like ashes in the wind.

“What did you say…? A prince?”
Loki’s voice echoed in his mind like a whisper from another age.

“Exactly. A child born in darkness, who will change the course of the world with his very first breath,” replied the hooded figure he once called friend — Unknown 35.

“You can’t be serious. That has to be a joke…”

“Do you think I’d lie to you?”

“We already had someone who changed the world,” Loki muttered, narrowing his eyes. “We already had a god who reshaped everything with his strength.”

“This child will not rule through terror, Loki. He will unite races, worlds, faiths. He will build a new order—one without the hatred that brought us here.”

“And that doesn’t sound to you like the delusion of a man who’s already given up?”

“It’s not mine to question. My father wrote it before he died.”

“Your father…? That man?”

“Yes.”

“And how will we know when that moment comes?”

“We won’t. It will simply happen. But there’s something else you need to hear—though you probably won’t like it.”

“Say it.”

“The day he appears… I’ll already be gone. You’ll have to take my place.”

“Don’t give me that. No one can beat you.”

“It’s destiny. And that cannot be changed.”

“Destiny? To hell with destiny. No one decides what happens with my life,” Loki growled defiantly.

“Calm down… one day, you’ll understand.”

“I’ll prove to you destiny doesn’t rule me. Never.”

Back to the present.

A burning light seared through his mind.

“Like hell it does!” Loki shouted, forcing himself up with supernatural strength. “The prince is already here!”

Heimdall, still panting, took a step back.
“What… what are you saying?”

Destiny… Loki thought. If everything will unfold as he predicted… I’ll accept it. Gladly. I’ll welcome death—so long as it ensures his victory.

Far away, Edén’s body was bathed in a healing light.

Loki rose, staggering but unbroken.
“Being exposed to poison for so long taught me something important…”

His left arm began to turn black, spreading with a deep violet hue.

“What is that?” Heimdall asked, alarmed.

“The way to get rid of it.”

Without hesitation, Loki severed his own arm with a blade of pure energy.
“There. Problem solved.”

“This can’t be happening…”

Without another word, Loki charged again. His knives danced through the air like dark flares. Heimdall countered with equal mastery.
The blades collided, gleamed, bent under pressure—forming a frantic, brutal symphony that was more music than battle.

There was no technique left.
Only instinct.
Only the desire to win.

Both surpassed their limits, leaving behind pain, exhaustion, and fear.

And in that absolute climax—
the blades pierced flesh, bone, and soul.

Two hearts were impaled at once.

Heimdall spat blood, eyes wide in disbelief.
“It can’t be…”

Loki fell to his knees, smiling through the pain.
“I win…”

Both bodies collapsed—drained, breathless.

To hell with destiny, was Loki’s final thought.

On a sacred stone, three battles were eternally carved:
Fenrir vs. Odin.
Thor vs. Jörmungandr.
Loki vs. Heimdall.

With his last breath, Loki looked up to the sky and smiled peacefully.
“I leave it all… in your hands, prince.”

The Bifröst began to crumble slowly.
Celestial stones fell into the endless abyss as a scream broke the silence.

“Loki!” —it was Elsif, running desperately among the wreckage.

But Loki could no longer hear.

Only his legacy remained.
And the beginning of something new.