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"putting ourselves into each whacked return

as the volleys went back and forth and back

like some contest between

the old world and the new,"

THE CHANGE Tony Hoagland

-Somewhere in Northern Europe-

The bleeding skies stippled with ash, a fierce heat lavishing the forest clearing in anticipation. A howling cry seemed to continually rip their eyes to the skies, a cracking, yawning void swallowing the whirlwind and bringing out a doorway in the marrow of the disturbance. A rift between realms.

A portal.

While the Gods were familiar with divisionary battles, the enigma of what this storm entails kept them on guard. Back-to-back, they constrained their differences into a determined well-versed duo of control.

At the vertex of power, the black vacuum above spat out its unit, (in an ear-piercing BANG) while an exorbitant number of strange creatures descended. The creatures were a chaotic mesh of shapes and sizes, many harbouring special armour and weapons, yet the most common of the army had the most humanoid shape.

These humanoid beings, while large in number, looked relatively weak. Their gaunt bodies were glued with silvery, rubbery skin, any muscle left had been slurped to leave an almost skeletal torso. As they trudged towards the duo, their arms raised in a (frankly) comical fashion, they noticed that their ricking sickly arms dangled various swords and scythes.

At once, Kratos moved, his Leviathan axe expertly brought to the ground in a rapid swing, capturing a wave of spindly limbs and bones to scatter the landscape in an almost-rapturous surge of ice and dirt. His movements were continually swift and exact, years of experience on his shoulders meant these weak creatures had no chance against the God's superhuman strength and power. He didn't think of the humanoid creatures' appearance, neither on the never-ending black hole above, spewing an endless sea of enemies. He only focused on his sworn need to protect.

Similarly, Atreus had swiftly unsheathed his Talon Bow, and while he still wore his modernised clothing, he made expeditious work to flaunt his abilities in a rather dramatic fashion. Wreathing past mounds of enemies, he loosened a precise amount of arrows in quick succession, releasing a pack of ethereal white wolves in his wake. Of course, he would never say it to his father, but Kratos knew that Atreus wished to show-off. To prove that his superior archery can combat the limits of his clothing.

He may even wish for Kratos to feel pride for his improved expertise. Little does he know…. that Kratos has always been proud of him.

In no time, the duo's kill-count reached a substantial amount, their moves never faltering with this ceaseless battle. Kratos felt his spartan rage boiling, thousands of thoughts and questions barrelling in his head. While it was well known that conversations about Krato's history with Atreus were well out of the picture, the simple look of these monstrosities brought out a slight anxiousness…a slightly troubled thought on the implications that the end of this battle will bring.

"Hey, I think I've heard about these creatures! Well…. a little bit about them at least…." Atreus exclaimed suddenly, his voice emitting an excited, fascinated tone. He sprang over the head of a creature as he spoke, promptly loosening an arrow into its head.

Kratos only took a second to narrow his eyes slightly in his direction, Atreus regarding it as a need for elaboration.

"I think they're called…. Undead Legionnaires? At least, that's the most common one. There seems to be a whole squadron of different Legionnaires here though. I've read all about them in my short visit to Greece." He continued proudly, springing his legs through their attacks in obvious excitement, "They were servants to the Gods…. it's strange though…. why would they attack us? ... Especially since these things haven't been seen for centuries…."

Kratos kept silent.

Atreus grew ever oblivious to his father's rapidly souring mood. Instead, he adapted a rapid mumbling tone, spewing out an assortment of theories and an urgent call for answers to scribble in his (in Krato's opinion) incomprehensible books. At this point, he was only slightly focused on the fight. A practised ease had consumed him, allowing him to release glowing elks and boars in a proficient, powerful manner (giving him enough time to analyse over his theories).

Kratos kept his eyes on the battle, ready to reprimand Atreus' unfocused behaviour if necessary. Yet, as Kratos continued the ruthless battle, his spartan rage on the cusp of a teeming explosion, it became apparent that their enemies were getting stronger. For every killing twirl of his axe, a new wave of legionnaires came swarming in, short swords and light armour gradually changing to heavy full-body armours and large metal shields and scythes.

He kept trying to swallow away his rage, focusing on the years of training he had mastered while Atreus grew up. But his irritation on this current event was, slowly but surely, yearning his Spartan heritage to detonate. To rupture the grounds in fire and smoke. To mark the earth so the whole world could see it in spectacular fashion.

To just let go…

But he held on. He was not going to let his anger win.

He chanced a glance at Atreus, scrutinizing the way his son's fighting stance was a tad clumsy, his feet barrelling to dodge the swings of a Cursed Legionnaire a little too casually. The fact that Kratos could still hear his mumbling only fuelled his annoyance.

"Boy." he growled in warning, waiting until Atreus caught his glare, "Focus on the fight."

Really, he should've expected Atreus to give an impertinent pout, lashing out at the unassuming Legionnaires with a renewing vigour.

Kratos would've rebuked him more since now only frustration could be seen from every Legionnaire that fell from Atreus' bow, a riddling of wasted arrows notched in their skulls and torsos. Yet, he doubted that would solve anything, so he opted for an awkward silence between them.

Apparently, the storm saw this as an opportunity. In a dance of sadistic glee, the ground CRACKED and SHAKED, the twirling clouds sped to a distorted mesh of black and red. The duo could only watch the void widen, wind and ash rupturing the forest as it grew, and through it all, Kratos kept his eye on Atreus, trying to shout out his warning through the drowning shrieks.

On and on the storm screamed. The wind picked up. A white light sparked to life in the black, the silhouettes of behemoths descending and pounding their way into the frosted grounds.

Straining, Kratos could hear a muffled "We can take them!" from his son, and before he could scold him…before he could shout his name…. the beasts raised their weapons in a bloodthirsty roar-

-Half-Blood Camp-

Now, Percy always knew he was unlucky. His rather unsavoury past and his unforeseeable future proof of that. It was quite clear to everyone in the camp…. which is why he wasn't surprised when he caught the sight of Clarisse' cold glare at their current predicament. With a venomous storm above slowly swallowing the camp in a dark hue and a mixture of bemused and angry faces glancing in his direction, he wondered if he'll ever be out of the limelight...

Fortunately (or unfortunately), the storm cried out in a stringent shriek, demanding for attention away from the demigod, while the winds threatened to tear the camp to shreds. With the attention now off him, his barely hidden dread threatened to reveal itself, to tear at his insides and leave him to crumble away from the storm. Whether the fear was his own or was some sick witchcraft made by the bloodied clouds above, was unknown.

"This is so bad…." trembled a familiar voice. Turning his head, Percy watched Grover shake in his hooves, his eyes bulged like golf balls.

Percy was about to try to reassure him, but the now-familiar trots of his Latin teacher stalled his thoughts.

"Prepare yourselves campers" he demanded to the boisterous crowds, but he kept his eyes trained on Percy, "We must prepare for a battle!"

In twisted confirmation, the sky grumbled and rumbled with heightened vitality. In a similar fashion to the storm upon our favourite duo of Gods in Northern Europe, a void spilt the sky into a rasping rage. A rain of similar creatures crashed into the camp, thousands and thousands dropped for a sickening show.

Percy found himself analysing the creatures, waiting for any sign of weakness. Of course, it was a difficult task, given their appearance. With disgustingly stretched limbs…bones and coagulated blood bulging from diseased rotten skins, it was no wonder that he heard the familiar sounds of disgust and puking splattered around the campers.

"Chiron…. what are they?" Chiron's expression remained heavily masked, not even sparing an answer to Percy's worried query. Instead, he kept his intelligent eyes on the storm, studying it like a hopeless puzzle to be solved.

"All of you! Shut up and get ready!" a guttural growl immediately silenced the feverish crowds, the voice of Mr D. sending a frosted, anticipatory shiver to run through the teens. Percy was quite surprised hearing Mr D. form any words of encouragement (despite its sour aftertaste) yet bridging back to his abnormal conversation with Chiron last night, he really should expect the unexpected. To see Mr D. mirroring Chiron by masking any emotion he had for their predicament, it only fuelled Percy's confusion.

Was this related to their talk last night? Did they know this was going to happen? And how could these creatures get into the camp?

He didn't have time to figure out. Before them stood an army of these things, watching them with fearless eyes. Eyes that only knew to serve. To kill.

All seemed to go silent. As all the camp members tensed and poised for attack, weapons drawn towards their enemies, the breeze seemed to dissipate, causing an unnatural quiet to consume the camp. Even the storm seemed to stop, its earlier shakes and rumbles depleting away. It was as if the storm had eyes…watching the crowds….as if….it was contemplating...

And then…all at once, …they charged.

Battle cries and distorted gurgles deafened the forest. A tangent of arrows sprung forth, curtaining the sky for a millisecond before catching the first wave of the creatures, allowing them to fall lifelessly as dozens more stumbled into their place. All campers ran forth in a burst of determination, weapons of all kinds glittering innocently in the morning sun.

Percy felt himself grow numb from it all. His friends were running alongside him; while Grover looked terrified his expression was flailing with conviction, Annabeth's holding a more reserved aftertaste.

He didn't think when the first creature approached, instead, he let instinct take hold, slicing Riptide through the creature's torso as fast as he could. Annabeth and Grover had followed, Chase driving her knife through their heads in relentless fashion, while Grover (only knowing two songs on his reed pipe) decided to use his head and hooves to his advantage, bucking the creatures up and away until they dropped into a tangled pile.

In no time, the armies' formations had been scattered, bundles of creatures and teenagers battling it out in a ferocious manner.

It was quite a bizarre battle if Percy truly thought about it. As he swiped his sword through the neck of one of the more heavily armoured creatures, he swam over the implications that these creatures were able to breach the borders of the camp, despite Thalia's Pine Tree ensuring that no monster could ever pass the camps' magical field. The fact that Zeus was the one who initially created the barrier, it only alarmed the ramifications of what this could bring.

For an open second, he whipped his head to try and find the directors. At the corner of his eye, he noticed Annabeth give him a quizzical look as he frantically searched the new battlefield.

Finally, he spotted the tell-tale figure of Chiron, his figure galloping through the creatures. With a bow in hand, his piercings were outstandingly precise. His arrows never missed their targets, barrelling through dozens of enemies in one shot. Any other day, Percy would've taken a step back in utter awe at his skill. He would watch him gallop and stampede through the battle, expertly taking out all enemies in his path, while not getting a single scratch on him.

Chiron was in his element.

Of course, pleasantries nowadays were few and far between, so, gathering his resolve in one quick breath, he dashed in the chaos, ensuring his sword slashed away at any creature that stood in his way.

As he neared his former-Latin teacher, the consequences for this battle seemed to dwell on Chiron's entire form. While it was clear that he was holding his own, it was as if his mind restricted away from this fight to a more concerning manner. Not only did he clearly have an imposing dread on his expression (which freaked Percy out, tenfold), he seemed to have a severe amount of stress, eyeing the clouds consistently as each arrow made their mark.

Percy just hoped that he had found some answers.

A chaotic BOOM trembled the forest, bark and branches surging away from the battle scene in a startling need to escape.

Kratos easily dodged the giant's maces and hammers, backing away toward the bush in a desperate search for Atreus. They were rapidly separated when the beasts came down, their gastric, ear-splitting roars evaporating Kratos' warnings, while the sheer weight of the goliaths forced a vast unnatural fissure to split the Gods apart.

Knowing full-well the capability of these creatures, he swung Leviathan precisely in the head of the nearest Giant, the ice crystallising it into a makeshift statue. The Blades of Chaos came next, ripping and tearing its frozen skin until the air grew putrid with the smell of burnt flesh.

It was almost like a dance. A mixture of ice and fire rammed through any of the Giants that got too close in a euphoric display of blue and red. The axe would pinball through the army in quick succession, returning to its master with a vengeance, while the Blades would waltz in its hot chains till the sky was clouded in its fire.

Eventually, the goliaths were too close for a ranged attack, so Kratos optimized his strategy to a more physical approach. He could feel his Spartan fury boil excitedly for release, his Blades gradually searing to an unstoppable blaze as they tore through the air.

Yet he needed to find Atreus first.

Ducking the swing of a Giants' monstrous mace, he quickly lunged forward, ripping, and boiling the Giants' thigh until it fell in a heap. With the Giant down, yet still alive, he roared in frustration as he rammed his blades through its one giant eye, blood and flesh gushing and staining the perfectly white snow. He gave all the Giants the same treatment, blocking their blows with his Guardian Shield, infusing its power to make them fall, and made swift work to blind and slay them.

With a split-second opening in sight, he sprinted as fast as he could to the rapidly yawning fissure, adopting his pure rage as he surged over the spreading abyss below. Falling in a roll, he made quick work blocking an ancient oaken mace, its spikes powdered with rusted blood. The ground fractured with the pressure, yet Kratos held firm, his livid scarlet flames charring the age-old wood to a crumble.

The beasts' stentorian roar thundered the sky with fury, its now-empty fists barrelling down in a featureless hysteria. With the ground continuously crumbling to a turbulent mesh of stone and mud, Kratos was reminded of his son's overconfident moves and words.

He needed to find him.

Fortunately, he didn't have to look too far. Dodging a particularly nasty punch, he noticed a familiar form through the mounds of fists and hammers, the individual weaving past blow after blow with a jittered edge. Kratos watched wordlessly as arrow after arrow flashed through the Giants' tough skin, its low sinister growls spiralling into guttural preparatory howls as each pierce failed to make them fall.

In a calculated decision, he raised Leviathan as it glossed with ice, waiting for its power to surge and swirl the axe in an orb of celestial blue. With a shout of fury, he threw the axe forward on three incoming Giants, silent as the axe met the head of the middle behemoth with a pageant of crystallised power. A cocoon of ice immediately spread forth, basking the three Giants in a scornfully chaotic statue of spiked ice.

Not wasting time, he unsheathed the Blades of Chaos once again, permitting his rage to glow the weapons in an eerily hot fire. In much the same way, he threw the Blades ahead of him, trapping the iced Giants in a wall of white-hot flame. With the blades cemented in the brittle earth, he pulled with all his might until the very foundations of the forest tremored in fear and, in a rampageous blast, the immobile Giants tumbled and shattered in the earth.

With the very Earth trembling from Kratos' rage, he seized the opportunity by leaping through the mess, heartless to the Giants collapsing from the tremors.

He only had one target.

With a blinding howl, he forced his way up the back of the armoured creature, gripping its heavily charred skin and muscle until its flesh split like a swathe. Rising to the head of the Giant, he plunged the blades ruthlessly through its giant eye, not batting an eye as a vile rain of blood and bone scattered the grounds. As he ruthlessly pummelled its head, he kept his eyes on Atreus, a very clear sneer forming on his face.

As he easily leapt off the body of the beast, it became clear from Atreus' muffled sounds of frustration that he was in rage of Kratos interference.

"I could've easily taken him down!" he yammered, his eyes slowly splitting with unbridled rage.

"You were acting too reckless." Kratos growled in warning, "You were wasting too many arrows. This is a battle, boy, not a show of power."

Atreus turned away in a fit of rage, his form quivering in a treacherous temper.

"You never let me fight alone when I'm here! You know full well that I'm more than capable of handling these pathetic creatures!

"Atreus!" he shouted in fury, grabbing his arm in a firm grip, "Act your age, boy! This attack is not a coincidence. That storm will come back! And in that time, you must understand that you can't blindly attack your enemies. You can't let your rage consume you! I may not guide your shots anymore, but you need to train to-"

"I have trained! I train every day in the cities!" he yelled, forcefully yanking away Kratos' grip "You wouldn't know because you never leave the forest!"

They both went quiet, their anger slowly dissipating away in the wind.

"I…I-I just…"

"Come on, Atreus. It's best we leave this place." Kratos informed.

At this point, the storm had all but disappeared, any remnants of its existence scattered in the air. Kratos had a fair idea of who was behind such a phenomenon, but the implications do not matter when he was concerned for the now vulnerable forest.

He was unsure about how the ancient spells of the forest could be ravaged through so easily, the unparalleled power of that storm was unlike the warfare of his past. It was stronger. Yet it held back.

Deciding it was best to get answers from a more reliable source, the duo mutely made their way back to the house, the only sound heard was the slight crunch of snow on their feet. Even so, the calamitous power of the storm made itself known by their every step, a serpentine pattern of timber and rock scaling through the forest in an unrepentant ire.

While Kratos was fully aware of his son's solemn attitude behind him, he knew that Atreus at least perceived the dangers of what that skirmish could cause for them. They could lose the whole forest.

As the mid-morning sun trailed the sky towards noon, the Gods soon found themselves by the outskirts of their home, its harmless rustic charm washing them into a peaceful relief. Even with the glamour of the cities and the hush of the countryside always within Atreus' reach, he couldn't help the overwhelming sense of tranquillity when setting sights on that wooden hut.

So calmed in fact, he found himself joyfully running ahead of his father, all arguments forgotten as he jittered for the thoughts of Mimir on their battle.

"Ah! You're finally back! Now, what was all those explosions about eh?" asked the head in question as Atreus burst through the door with a passioned need to write. Kratos wasn't far behind, eyeing the head that was now sideways on his shelf, thanks to the earthquakes he supposed.

Atreus seemed to revert to a mumbled mess, conversing the battle to Mimir in an unintelligible blabber, while he scribbled relentlessly on one of his journals. Kratos could hear an amused chuckle from the head, an almost- nostalgic look on Mimir's face for Atreus' excitement. He may be a teenager now, but beneath that intelligence lay the same curious, energised boy from so long ago.

Glancing around his home, it was clear to Kratos that the storm held little remorse for the shack, shelves and skins lay scattered and broken on the floor, while the support beams above seemed to groan in agony from the storm's torment.

It would need a lot of repairs. But he had a much more important task to attend to.

Reaching Chiron in a dishevelled manner, Percy glanced up in hope for answers. The battle was steadily becoming worse, the screaming storm scattering the teens like sheep, while the creatures grew in strength and power like a ravenous pack of wolves. With the camp gradually succumbing to exhaustion, it was only a matter of time before they were overrun.

It all felt like a nightmare. But instead of oily battlefields of lightning and fire, with the sun all but snuffed of any life, it instead grew like a sickening beauty. A camp of life and peace drenched in a war they never expected. It felt like forever ago, when the morning sun cast elegant joyful shadows on the lively campsite. Now, the sun seemed to bleed in anger through the storm, his blazing rays almost burning the ground below.

Percy just couldn't believe that they could be beaten.

The Camp was supposed to be a haven of safety. A means of protection. And now it was just another battlefield.

Shaking his head lightly, he looked to his teacher (while dodging a cheeky swipe from a bronze sword) as he reared through a pile of the creatures, loosening a few quick arrows to ensure their defeat. Ensuring that their talk was uninterrupted, Percy swung Riptide with a renewed vigour. Everything was spiralling out of control, and the only person he knew would keep a level head was Chiron.

With the area momentarily cleared, Chiron turned to Percy with a grim but determined look.

"Chiron…please tell me you know why this is happening?" Percy asked desperately. Everything that's been happening in his life seems to be slowly corroding his hope as if the universe wished to make him as miserable as possible. Thinking back on his mother…. how could he ever hope to save her now?

"Percy. It's best that you leave." Chiron intendedly ignored the question. "Take your friends with you."

Percy sputtered; his expression riddled with profuse shock. He knew he was considered a criminal in the hands of the Gods…but to leave the Camp behind in this mess? He couldn't begin to imagine his despair if anything happened to Chiron. Or the whole camp in fact.

The skirmish grew ever worse with their talk, the perpetual earthquakes now utterly massacring the camps' buildings. While Percy knew that the Camp could hold their own, the youth trained endlessly for the opportune moment, it didn't refrain his horror on the prospects the end of this battle could bring.

In his frozen misery, he didn't comment when Annabeth and Grover came stumbling by his side, their skin peppered with minor scratches. In fact, he became deaf to the duos' perturbed conversation with the activities director, their eyes drifting to Percy's form in a look of desperation.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if things could've been different…

He suddenly found the battle slowly flowing away, the surge of swords and spears glinting in the burning soon replaced by the tall, imposing shadows of the forest. He didn't know what was happening, but he didn't care. He just blankly kept his eyes on the white centaur, his form in a deft tangle of rotten limbs and broken swords. The centaur seemed to slowly fade into the distance as if the rickety arms of the forest were choking the camp into submission.

Too soon, the shadows of the trees swallowed the camp whole. He didn't know their fate, didn't know if Chiron was okay.

All he knew…was that he was angry. Furious of his failures, resentful to their secrets.

What could they possibly hope to achieve by running?

"Aye, they used to be real soldiers them lot. That's where the name came from, see? They were called legionary in Ancient Rome…of course that was before they became all spindly and rotten lookin'."

"Fascinating."

With the sun now lazily rolling in towards noon, the Gods were now trailing their way through the forest once again, the landscape sodden with slushed dirty snow and splintered wood. Any other day, they would be thankful for the large supply of wood, giving the damages of their home needed some dire repairs. Of course, this wasn't the case, and though Atreus was overthrown from the catastrophe for his urgency for information on their attack, Kratos was less than pleased.

The fact that Kratos had to deal with a rather obnoxiously teasing head now only fuelled his frustration.

Hel, it reminded him of a rather childish conversation he had overheard when he was busy fixing a rather old shelf after one of Atreus' visits. Atreus and the head were outside, outright giggling by calling Kratos "salty" for the whole situation.

He had no idea what salt had to do with it…but whatever. He wasn't going to dwell on Atreus' confusing terms.

He had a couple of dwarves to talk to.

Thankfully, the prattling of Mimir died away once the dwarves were in sight. Over millennia, the two brothers set up a forge quite close to Kratos' home for ease of access, meaning there was no need for the Gods to make any long trips.

Brok was the first to approach, a grumbling look on his face "What were you doin' creatin' all that fuckin' ruckus? " he accused, pointing at Kratos with a rather stewed tone "You gone messed up the forge."

"It was a red storm." Atreus cut in, very aware of the dirty looks the two were throwing at each other, "We couldn't ask Mimir about it. It seems that a spell was cast to prevent him from remembering anything about its origin. All we know, it that the main army was made up of Undead Legionnaires. Know anything about it?"

"Eh? Someone say my name?" Mimir inquired cluelessly.

Sindri seemed to perk into existence, given Atreus a slightly worried smile. "Ah...ha…that doesn't sound good…" he stammered, making sure to keep his eyes away from Kratos' heavily bloodied axe. "But we might know something about it."

"It definitely sounds familiar," Brok mumbled, tapping his fingers in a rhythmic pattern on the table. Kratos scowled when he noticed a very peculiar glint in his eyes. "But if ye what to find its origin, ye have a long trip ahead of you."

"What do you mean?" Kratos snapped, aware of the knowing look and the annoying smirk rising on Broks' face.

"Well," Brok began, "The only known origin for such an event could only dwell in America. California to be precise."

"You've been to California?" Atreus asked excitedly.

"Of course, we've been there!" Sindri spoke brightly, before noticing Broks' glare, "I mean….we have been there…years ago…but we had to stay out of sight, you know? Ha….."

"Anyways..." Brok continued "If you want to get to California, no better way than to use our trusty lil' invention we gave you Atreus. Now, what was it you called it again?"

"Oh! You mean the Earth Rider?" he inquired; his head tilted slightly. The Earth Rider…. a strange little bracelet to allow Atreus to practically teleport around the earth when he so pleased. Of course, it had its downsides, it completely exhausted Atreus after every use.

Kratos remembered when the dwarves gave Atreus the bracelet, a look of pride shown on their faces from such an accomplishment. He supposed it was quite a difficult item to make, the fluorescent blue Greek Runes cast into its outer layer, which Kratos had helpfully translated as saying "Earth" and "Rider" (which explains the name) and the Norse writing inside that translated to a good luck spell of sorts.

Of course, Kratos was rather opinionated with the whole exchange, and he downright sent a burning glare in their direction for even suggesting that he receives one too.

"But…I thought it could only teleport one person" Atreus cut into Kratos' thoughts "Besides…taking a one-stop trip to California? The bracelet can't handle that!"

Sindri threw his hands up in a placating gesture, "Now, now…no need to get all flustered. Since you can't get to California in run go, how about starting somewhere a bit more desolated? Like Alaska!"

"Alaska?" Kratos glowered.

"Yeah! Full of snow an' shit….it'll be a good start." Brok barked, already back to his trusty forge with a bent bit of metal on its surface "Besides…with the way you two travel…you'll get there in no time."

"That still doesn't explain how two people could use the same bracelet…" Atreus looked at the bracelet in a confused manner, shaking it about as if it would give him clues to the puzzle.

"Oh! That's easy!" Sindri brightened, a certain spring in his step, "You just concentrate on who you want to bring with you and say the Norse Charm we cast in there. So you would say 'Kalla vitaðr hreysti, stefnad gegn fold.'"

"Oh! That easy?" Atreus asked excitedly.

Patience running thin, Kratos grumbled a "Boy" as he stomped away from the brothers, already exhausted with the conversation. He didn't even take a word out for the pleasant farewells Atreus cast to the brothers (or the sour one from Mimir).

He just wanted this adventure over with.

I had sooooo much trouble with this chapter. Two different battle scenes in one chapter sort of drained me...And yes, I just did a little bit of art to show what the bracelet looked like. I hope it shows up, but if it doesn't, I'll just put it on my Deviantart: animal0ver12/art/Earth-Rider-846059909?ga_submit_new=10%3A1592611435