Chapter 254: Chapter 12
Nordic Universe.
Helheim.
Freya.
The goddess of beauty and love, sat quietly upon a weathered boulder that overlooked the vast emptiness of the battlefield—a battlefield that stretched far beyond sight, consumed by shadows and whispers of despair.
There, a vast and endless darkness was threatening to consume the entire Helheim, held back only by a golden barrier erected by the Goddess of Death, Hel.
She sighed, her eyes dulled by centuries of death and despair.
Once, she had been the pride of Asgard, the radiant jewel among the Norse gods, her name sung in songs and her beauty praised in every corner of the realms.
She had been called the most beautiful goddess of all, a living embodiment of love itself.
Yet for a goddess who governed love, she realized bitterly, she had never known what love truly felt like.
Her delicate fingers brushed against her bluish silver hair, now dull from the endless centuries of war.
The soft wind carried with it the scent of ash and ruin, not flowers and perfume as it once did in her youth.
She had been born only a few years before the calamity began—the day the Outer Entity appeared, devouring galaxies and stars as though they were nothing more than crumbs scattered across the table of creation.
When she finally came of age, she was thrust straight into battle, stripped of the warmth of youth and thrown into the cold cruelty of war.
Sometimes, she would close her eyes and imagine that it was all just a dream—a long, painful nightmare.
In her mind, she would wake up again in Asgard’s golden halls, laughing, dancing, surrounded by admiration and joy.
She would once more be that innocent young goddess adored by all, free from fear and bloodshed.
But each time she opened her eyes, reality would greet her mercilessly.
This was no dream.
This nightmare was real.
"I wonder if I’ll die today..." she whispered softly, her voice nearly lost in the wind. "Or perhaps tomorrow?"
The thought should have terrified her, yet she found no fear in her heart anymore, only exhaustion.
She had seen countless friends and strangers die. And she had long gotten over the fact that she may one day join them.
Instead of death, what she feared most was not being able to find the one destined to be her love, her Odr.
Sometimes she had thought of leaving the battlefield to search for her love.
If they were all doomed to die eventually, then what meaning did this endless struggle hold?
Would it not be more meaningful, she wondered, to spend her remaining time searching for her Odr—the one fated to be her love?
Odr. The very name was sacred to her. For her it meant my beloved, my heart, my destiny.
When she was young and full of life, just after discovering her divine domain, she had eagerly gone to a seer, asking with bright eyes and a hopeful heart, "Who will I marry? When will I find him?"
The seer had smiled knowingly, as though peering far into time itself, and spoke words that Freya had never forgotten:
"He will appear before you when the time is right. You will know him the instant your eyes meet."
Those words had carried her through the ages, through loneliness and war alike.
But now, more than a hundred years later, she sat under a darkened sky, her hands trembling slightly as she wondered if that prophecy had been nothing but a cruel joke.
No matter how many battles she fought, how many lifetimes she endured, not once had she seen a man who stirred her divine heart.
The goddess of love—destined to inspire passion and longing in mortals—had never once been loved herself.
As she gazed upon the black horizon, where the cosmic void writhed and pressed against Hel’s weakening barrier, a tear finally rolled down her cheek.
It shimmered faintly like starlight before falling onto the dust below.
Perhaps, she thought, she would never find her Odr.
But a quiet part of her heart still refused to give up, she still clung to the faintest spark of hope that somewhere, beyond the chaos, her destined one was waiting.
But it seems fate thinks she hasn’t suffered enough as a deep, rumbling crack tore through the air, sharp enough to make even the faint winds of Helheim tremble.
Freya’s head snapped upward, her heart skipping a beat as her divine senses flared.
Above her, the golden light and mist that loomed over the realm, guarding it from the outside, split open with spiderweb-like fissures of glowing blue and violet, like shattered glass struggling to hold itself together.
The barrier—the last, desperate wall between their dying universe and the devouring abyss—was breaking.
For a heartbeat, she stood frozen, her mind refusing to accept what her eyes were showing her.
Then, without hesitation, her body moved before her thoughts caught up.
She sprinted across the bleak landscape, her divine aura flaring around her as she leapt over rivers of souls and fields of forgotten spirits.
The lost wails of the dead echoed in her wake, but she paid them no heed.
Every second counted.
When the obsidian spires of Hel’s castle finally came into view, the once-majestic citadel now radiating an aura of urgency and dread, she did not bother to announce herself.
The heavy doors of the meeting hall burst open with a thunderous echo as she stormed inside, breath ragged, her usually serene face pale and slick with sweat.
Inside, gathered around a massive obsidian table illuminated by the cold blue light of soul-flames, were dozens of gods and generals—war gods, death spirits, and the rulers of the nine realms who still remained.
Her brother Freyr was there, his golden hair dimmed by exhaustion, and across from him sat Hel herself upon her dark throne, her half-dead, half-divine presence suffocating yet regal.
"Freya?" Freyr looked confused, "What are you—?"
"The barrier!" Freya gasped, voice trembling as she clutched her chest. "It’s breaking!"
The words struck the room like a divine thunderbolt.
For a moment, there was silence—an awful, frozen stillness as every being present processed what they had just heard.
Then the hall erupted into chaos.
"What do you mean it’s breaking?!"
"Lady Hel’s barrier can’t be compromised that easily!"
"If it falls, the entire realm—!"
Dozens of voices clashed like weapons, panic rippling through even the proudest of gods.
The air grew thick with fear, the faint tremor of the crumbling sky above echoing through the stone walls.
Then, amid the clamor, a single raised hand silenced them all.
Hel, still seated upon her throne, lowered her hand slowly, her dull gray eyes heavy and ancient, her voice calm yet carrying an unspoken weight that demanded obedience.
"Freya," she said softly, "are you certain of what you saw?"
Freya straightened, meeting the gaze of the goddess of death without flinching.
"I am," she said, her tone steady despite the turmoil in her chest. "The fractures are spreading fast. The barrier won’t hold much longer."
A faint sigh escaped Hel’s lips—a sound so soft, yet it carried the heaviness of inevitability.
She closed her eyes for a moment, perhaps praying, perhaps merely gathering the last of her composure, before opening them again with renewed command.
"Then there is no more time to waste," she said quietly. "Mobilize the legions. We will meet the enemy before they reach our gates."
The hall exploded into movement.
Chairs scraped the floor, the sound of armor clanging echoed as gods and generals rose from their seats.
Each of them bowed their heads swiftly before rushing toward the exit, their divine power rippling through the hall like an approaching storm.
Hel merely gave a faint gesture with her pale hand, dismissing them, and one by one, the gods disappeared into glowing portals leading to the outer realms.
As the hall emptied, Freyr lingered behind, his tired eyes softening as he approached his sister.
Placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, he spoke gently, "Sister, you’ve been guarding that barrier for seven days without a single moment’s rest. You should take a moment to breathe, at least."
Freya’s shoulders rose and fell with her shallow breathing.
Her hair clung to her neck, her armor still faintly humming from the divine energy she had poured into maintaining the shield.
For a moment, she almost looked like she would agree. But then, she shook her head, her expression hardening.
"I can rest when it’s over," she said quietly, eyes burning with defiance. "If the barrier falls, I’ll be on the front lines when it does. I may be known as the goddess of beauty, but brother, do not forget that I am also the goddess of war and magic."
Before Freyr could reply, she turned on her heel, her armor gleaming faintly under the cold light as she strode out of the hall.
Her divine presence flared once more, sharp and unwavering.
Freyr watched her go, a weary sigh escaping his lips as the doors closed behind her.
He tilted his gaze upward, toward the ceiling that trembled faintly with distant thunder.
"She never changes," he murmured softly, half with pride, half with sorrow. "stubborn to a fault."