Chapter 243: Chapter 1: The Norse
Somewhere, in an infinitely expanding distance away from the Greeks, the universe of Norse was on the verge of destruction.
At this moment, the halls of Asgard was silent.
Once, these gilded chambers had resounded with the laughter of gods, the clinking of mead cups, and the echoes of songs sung in victory.
But now, only the low hum of divine wards and the faint tremors of a dying cosmos filled the air.
The flames that burned along the golden pillars flickered weakly, as if even they had lost the will to burn.
Upon the Throne of the Allfather, Odin sat slouched, no longer having his previous arrogance, as in the days of his youth, only a deep feeling of helplessness and powerlessness.
His once-brilliant single eye, which had gazed upon creation and pierced the mysteries of Yggdrasil itself, was now dim, tired, and heavy with despair.
Every breath he drew seemed to echo the exhaustion of his entire realm.
Beside him stood Frigg, serene yet sorrowful, her divine beauty dimmed by the fading light of the universe she once nurtured.
Her hands were clasped before her, knuckles white, as she fought to maintain her composure.
Her presence alone had once soothed Odin through endless wars and crises—but now even she seemed worn thin, her eyes red from sleepless nights spent praying to gods who no longer answered.
Odin let out a long, ragged sigh that seemed to echo through eternity.
"This universe... our home..." he muttered, his voice hoarse and quiet. "I forged its balance with my own hands, raised its laws from chaos, and guarded it for ages beyond memory. Yet now, it crumbles... slipping through my grasp like dust in the void."
Frigg did not respond at first. She only looked down at him, her heart aching at the sight of the man she had loved since before the dawn of the Nine Realms—a man who had once been invincible, now weighed down by despair.
Before them stood his council—those who remained.
The greatest of Asgard’s gods, their faces carved in grim resolve. Heimdall, ever watchful, his golden eyes flickering with sorrow as he knelt before his king.
Njord, weathered by the endless storms, his voice carrying the despair of oceans long forgotten.
Vidar, Bragi, Vali, and Balder, all stood silent, their pride swallowed by the grim reality that they were standing on the edge of extinction.
There are others more, but they are currently in the frontline.
Just then, Heimdall spoke first, his tone measured but heavy.
"Allfather, the lines in Helheim have already faltered. Thor and Hel have been forced to retreat and a third of the realm has already been devoured by the corruption."
Njord followed, lowering his head.
"My son Freyr leads what remains of the light elves to assist Thor and Hel."
Vidar clenched his fist, his jaw tight with anger.
"Loki commanded the beasts of chaos, Fenrir and Jörmungandr, as they stand guard before Asgard’s gates, keeping the entity at bay. For now. But even they... cannot hold forever."
Silence fell.
The only sound was the distant rumble of the dying cosmos—like thunder echoing through a hollow sky.
Odin listened, unmoving, his heart pounding slowly like a war drum that had lost its rhythm.
"Even Thor..." he whispered at last, his voice trembling. "Even he cannot stand before it."
The gods exchanged looks but said nothing.
It was truth, after all they had seen it.
The fragment of the Outer Entity, a piece of something so far beyond comprehension that even gods were reduced to mere dust before it.
It was not a being, not truly. It was existence rejecting them, a wound in reality itself, devouring all that dared to live.
Odin’s hands clenched the armrests of his throne until cracks formed in the divine gold.
"We are gods," he muttered bitterly, "and yet we crawl like worms before this... thing."
The weight of silence returned, heavy and suffocating.
Odin finally raised a hand, dismissing his council.
They bowed in silence and departed, leaving only him and Frigg within the vast, echoing hall.
For a moment, neither spoke. The light from the high windows was dim, filtered through the veil of a dying sky, giving Frigg’s face an almost ethereal sadness.
Odin looked up at her, his single eye filled with despair.
"Frigg," he murmured, his voice breaking, "what am I to do? I have already lost so much... the realms have been devoured, our children fight in vain, and it won’t be long before we too will perish. Must I now kneel to her? To the Night herself?"
Frigg’s gaze softened. She took a slow step forward, her hand reaching to rest upon his cheek, a gesture so tender it made the mighty god tremble.
For a long time, she said nothing, she only looked at him, at the man who had given everything to preserve what was now beyond saving.
When she finally spoke, her words were quiet, simple, yet heavy enough to tip the scales of fate.
"Dear, do you what you think is best. After all," she whispered, "what more could we possibly lose?"
Odin froze. Her words pierced deeper than any blade.
In them, he felt the truth of his despair: there was nothing left to protect.
The realms were almost gone, their children struggling to survive, their songs and history fading.
All that remained was a hollow crown and a broken throne.
And so, for the first time in eons, the Allfather bowed his head. His eye closed, a single tear slipping down his scarred cheek.
"So be it," he said at last, voice trembling but resolute. "If the Night offers salvation... then what’s there to hesitate about?"
Outside, lightning flashed across the void of the dying heavens, silent, colorless, and absolute.
Odin stood up in the dim silence of his throne room, the golden light of Asgard’s dying sun spilling faintly across the marble floor.
Frigg bowed her head and took a step back.
Odin walked down from the podium of his throne, every step he took echoed through the hollow hall like the toll of a funeral bell.
His hand trembled slightly as it reached into his robes and drew out a small shard of black glass—a mirror, its surface pulsing faintly with starlight.
The object was cold to the touch, yet it felt almost alive, humming softly in his palm.
This was the gift of Nyx, the Primordial of Night—given long ago when she had made her offer, a pact he had refused.
Back then, his pride as the Allfather had burned too fiercely to even consider her terms.
Asking for their Yggdrasil in exchange for some empty promises is something he will never agree on.
And yet now, standing in the ruins of everything he had built, he realized that pride was a luxury of the powerful—and he was no longer powerful.
He stared down at the mirror, its shadowed surface reflecting his tired face: one eye dim, one filled with reluctant resolve.
His reflection seemed to look back at him with accusation.
"Damn you," he whispered to himself. "Damn you for being right, Nyx."
At that time, Nyx had warned him his universe might face trouble and gave him this contact her if he needed help.
He inhaled deeply and set the mirror upon the dais before his throne.
As he poured his divinity into it, the black glass came alive with threads of cosmic energy, like a pool of liquid night stirring under unseen winds.
"Nyx," he called, his voice firm despite the ache in it. "Show yourself."
The air grew cold. The light in the room dimmed, swallowed by something deeper than shadow.
The mirror flickered, and for a heartbeat, Odin saw nothing but infinite darkness. Then, out of that abyss, she appeared.
Nyx, seated upon a throne woven from the stars themselves. Her long hair flowed like a curtain of galaxies, her eyes deep pools of night in which constellations flickered and died.
She was smiling, the kind of smile that could make even gods remember what fear felt like.
"Odin," she said softly, her voice echoing like a song sung by the void. "So... the proud Allfather finally speaks. I confess, I am surprised. I did not think you would call me before your world turned to dust."
Odin’s jaw tightened. That mocking tone—it was exactly as he remembered.
The same tone she had used when she first proposed their bargain, centuries ago, when his universe still stood whole and unbroken.
"Can you not hold on any longer?" she continued, eyes glinting with amusement. "Or has your beloved Yggdrasil begun to wither?"
Odin’s single eye flashed coldly.
"How do you know that?" he demanded. "I made sure not to have any contact with you Greeks!"
Nyx leaned forward slightly, her fingers brushing her throne’s armrest, where nebulas formed and died at her touch.
"Odin, Odin..." she murmured, almost teasing. "You should know by now that if I wish to see something, there is nothing in creation that can hide it from me. I am the veil that wraps all existence. Secrets do not exist before the Night."
Her words made Odin’s teeth grit.
"You have spies in my universe then," he said, anger flashing through his exhaustion. "That is a violation of the treaty!"
Nyx laughed softly—a sound that sent chills crawling down his spine.
"Treaty?" she said, her tone light, almost pitying. "Odin, that treaty became meaningless the moment your universe was breached. The balance was already broken. Your pantheon stands alone."
He froze.
Her words cut like knives, not because they were cruel, but because they were true.
When the fragment of the Outer Entity had appeared, Odin had sent pleas across the dimensions—to the Egyptian, to the Shinto, to the Hindu, even to the Chinese and Mesopotamia.
And each one, in their own way, had refused. They spoke of neutrality, of caution, of conserving their power should the corruption spread to them next.
He had been abandoned.
The realization still burned bitter in his chest. All their alliances, their boasts of unity among pantheons—all were empty, even with that man presiding the treaty.
And now, the only being willing to extend a hand was the one he feared most.
Nyx watched him with quiet satisfaction, her lips curving into a knowing smile.
"So," she said softly, "have you come to accept my offer at last? If you wish, I can ask Hades to make the entity vanish from your realm as though it never existed. Although, the price might be a too hard for you to accept. You have refused me before after all."
Her tone was sweet—almost kind—but Odin could hear the chains hidden within her words.
He swallowed, his throat dry. His pride screamed at him to refuse, to find another way, to fight to the very end as the Allfather should.
But the image of his universe’s burning realms and the screams of dying souls crushed that voice into silence.
He straightened, the weight of eons pressing upon his shoulders.
"No, I agree." he said quietly, each word like glass in his throat. "I... agree to your condition.
Nyx’s smile deepened.
"Come on, state our terms."
Odin hesitated, then spoke with grim resolve.
"In exchange for Yggdrasil, the Tree of Worlds, and the aid of my pantheon in your... Hyperverse project, you will save my universe. You will destroy the fragment, restore our balance, and preserve what remains of the Nine Realms."
Nyx’s eyes gleamed like dying stars.
"Ah... now you speak the language of gods again," she whispered. "Very well, Odin. I accept."
The mirror pulsed with her dark light, shadows spilling across the room like ink spreading through water.
Odin stood rigid, his hand clenched tightly as the seal of their pact carved itself into the air between them—an ancient mark, older than creation itself, glowing faintly before fading into his flesh.
Nyx smiled once more, that cold, eternal smile.
"Then it is done. Now we have an accord." she murmured. "Prepare yourself, Allfather. The Night shall descend upon your realm soon... and with it, salvation—or something close enough to it."
The mirror flickered, her image fading back into the darkness from which she came.
And when the room fell silent again, Odin stood there alone, staring at the empty mirror.
The reflection that looked back at him was no longer the proud god who once defied fate—it was a man who had traded eternity for survival.
In that silence, even the light seemed to weep.