A/N: Special Author's Note at the end of this chapter, read it.

Odin slumped in his great throne of gold as he and his most powerful generals and wisest advisors labored over the incoming reports of death and destruction.

Odin knew.

He knew that fate was on the move. That the time for the end of the war was upon them. The greatest war, and the last war to ever be fought. The prophecy was very clear on that. Their entire race was consigned to oblivion; their culture, their people, their knowledge, their way of life.

All would be razed by Loki in his madness.

The proof lay before him. Recovering his most prized knight, he lashed out and took his vengeance. His armies emptied from his strongholds, marching on every realm—even Asgard. Odin had realized, too late, that it was a most ingenious trap. Hel herself led an army tens of thousands strong to the very gates of Asgard, threatening to slaughter every man, woman, and child in the realm.

If they lost Asgard, then the war was lost. Loki would emerge victorious. Odin could not allow such a thing to pass. He called for reinforcements from all the realms, determined to deal the death blow to Loki's forces once and for all.

In reality, it was the exact opposite. With the other realms weakened, the rest of Loki's forces descended upon them like crows to the carrion. They stood no chance. Their allies, laid low. Their lands, stolen. Their homes, gone. Their people, slaughtered like animals.

Odin's lone, good eye stared into the image crystal as he beheld the realms.

Alfheim burned. It was a world of fire, great trees that had grown since the birth of creation were being turned to ash or cut for timber. A mighty encampment of fire giants sat beneath the World Gate, poised to launch an attack at any moment. Their camp was a scene of macabre. Great wires hung from tent to tent, like clotheslines. Instead of garments, they hung ears. Long, pointed ears, carved from the skulls of the dead.

Vanaheim, once a desert of unyielding heat, had been frozen over by the heart of Jötunheim itself. Ice clung to the sand, forming great, beige colored glaciers. Thick clouds obscured the sky and drowned the world in snow and frost. The frost giants moved in like a disease, infecting the world and turning it into a bastard of their home realm. Great towers of ice clawed skyward. Odin could see the tanned faces of the Vanir, warped in pain and horror, as they were frozen in the frost giant's new homes; used like human concrete.

Nidavellir was brought low by a scourge of dark elves. Their foul magic blot out the sun, plunging the realm into eternal darkness and cold. The dwarves, for all their hearty constitution and unwavering strength, were not strong enough to survive the dark and the cold. The dark elves hunted them like animals. They enjoyed the hunt, savored it. It was a game to them. They picked off the dwarves slowly, intimately. They came in the night, took one, and fled. They left the families of the missing alive, to wallow in their terror. Then, they came again, and again, and again. Until there was none left.

What few survived, fled to the horror of war that was Asgard. Scarred and stained by the blood of countless men, Asgard stood tall and proud and strong.

But it stood alone.

One last bastion of light against the growing darkness.

Odin knew that his destiny fast approached. Now that there was but one last realm to claim, Loki would bring the full might of his dark armies to their very doorstep. Foul magic and even fouler beast would break down their doors, rape their women, enslave their children, and slaughter every man who held a sword.

And, in the process, they would destroy each other.

That, Odin could not allow to pass.

There was only one thing left to do. One last, desperate gambit to save them all. Odin would face his destiny, and play his part in the grand tale that Fate had deigned to weave.

Odin raised his head, drawn from his dark musings, as his wife placed a reassuring hand on his own.

It was time.

Ragnarök had come.

"Muster our armies," the All-Father commanded, his generals going stiff in solemn respect and fear. "We march for Midgard."

Astrid woke, cold and alone. The soft bristles of her furs brushed against her skin as she stirred, casting out an arm that searched for lost warmth. Her addled mind remembered falling asleep to soothing words and controlled breathing; relaxing, reassuring, safe.

As her appendage searched and found her bed empty, she blinked away her weariness. Her mind told her that something was amiss, terribly so. They were behind enemy lines, wanted by both the just and the evil. It did not bode well for her love to be left alone to his own devices. He had the most unnatural talent for finding trouble and danger. He needed to be watched and guarded, at all times, lest he wander into some feral dragon's den or craft an unstable explosive.

Yawning, Astrid threw aside her furs and sat up. Her eyes narrowed, combing their small camp and peering into the darkness beyond the campfire. No auburn hair, no green eyes, no pale skin. No Hiccup.

Icy panic clawed at her heart. Astrid reached out, through their soul bond, and felt only a vast, distant cold void. Leaping to her feet, Astrid cast worried glances to and fro. Her friends were sleeping, and the dragons were curled about their camp in a defensive wall.

Astrid slipped on her boots, stumbling in her haste to properly tie their laces. Her golden waraxe lay beside her furs, left within her reach. Memories of the Forge pulsed through her mind, giving her a headache as she was reminded of her recent hardships. Her fingers fumbled with the haft as she swung her weapon over her shoulder and quickly darted over to the nearest of her slumbering companions.

She dealt Sigrid a swift kick in the ribs that startled the dwarf and caused her to flail wildly in her sleep as she was roused. "Get up!" Astrid hissed.

"Wassat?" Sigrid slurred in her sleep, fumbling with the haft of her warhammer.

"Where is Hiccup?" Astrid enunciated; slowly, clearly, dangerously.

The dwarf's higher faculties quickly flared to life in the face of a thunderous Astrid. "He, uh, went to get firewood!" Sigrid declared with a cheery smile.

Astrid looked between Sigrid, their campfire—which was magical in nature, and needed no wood; of which, there was very little on Nidavellir—and back to Sigrid again. Her brows narrowed dangerously and Sigrid shrank, suddenly feeling very small.

"Well, you know, he's always had a silver tongue," she said, a very feeble excuse.

"Where is he?" Astrid repeated.

"He... left after you went to sleep?" Sigrid ventured, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender.

Astrid clenched her fists so hard her knuckles cracked. "You were supposed to be watching him!" Astrid screeched. The entire camp was startled awake as her voice echoed through the ravine.

Sigrid swallowed nervously. "He—he said he had to return to Jötunheim. Something about Loki recovering. He needed to go back," she offered lamely.

"Back to the one man still living that is trying to conquer the entire universe and enslave its people!" Astrid yelled. "Did none of you stop to think that, maybe, that was a bad idea?" Astrid demanded, looking pointedly at the now awake members of her party.

"We could not have stopped him, even if we tried. You know this," Agvior said softly. "He was stronger than us, even weakened as he was by... whatever it was you three did."

Astrid fell to her knees and let loose a long, ragged sigh. Stormfly tried nuzzling her, but she ignored her dragon in favor of her dark thoughts. Things had gone so, so wrong. Fate seemed determined to see their lives fraught with misfortune.

No sooner did she collapse, did the air shatter like glass. A great explosion of emerald light flooded the darkness of the cavern, blinding them and their dragons. Like a the headsman's axe cleaving a head from a body, the air was cut asunder. Two clawed, shadowy hands tore the gaping wound wide.

A figure, tall and lanky and black as night stepped through, wreathed in emerald flames. Behind it, Astrid could see a world of mountains and oceans, great in their vastness. The mountains burned and bled great rivers of molten rock, and the oceans bubbled and boiled like the great seas of Hvergelmir.

The creature set on foot upon the stone of the dwarven realm, then two. The rift from which he appeared snapped shut with an audible clap of thunder, plunging the cavern back into darkness. With the absence of the light, the only thing giving the figure away was the soft emerald flames that flickered in an unseen wind.

Astrid swallowed her fear audibly. The figure took a single step towards their camp, the light of fire illuminating their shadowy form. Then, it collapsed into a boneless heap of flailing limbs. The shadows fled, and they divested Hiccup on their very hearth. He was pale, so pale, and his body shook with tremors. Astrid could feel a cold sweat pour off his body. He was sick.

The only sickness she knew he had was one that she could not cure, for it had no cure. Agvior was at her side, his hands softly glowing with a warm yellow light. They roved over his unconscious form. "His mind has been damaged," he whispered under his breath. "This is beyond my skill. He needs a healer. A powerful one."

Sigrid paced nervously. "What do we do? None of us are healers! And we are technically outlaws, in case you've forgotten!"

"Shut up," Astrid barked. This was their fault. Why did they let him go. "I can help him. I can enter his mind through our link and fix whatever damage is there."

Agvior shook his head rapidly. "This is not a good idea. Your bond isn't well understood, and I mean no offense, but you are hardly an expert on the mind arts. He needs a mind healer," he said.

"We don't have a choice," Auriel said, kneeling by Hiccup's prone form. He had begun to sweat profusely and was tossing in his sleep, as if in the throes of a nightmare.

"She is right," Agni said, kneeling beside her.

Agvior sighed heavily, showing his age. "Fine. But, I insist that you attempt to bring one or more of us with you. You can use your bond to show us the way as we enter his mind," the old elf compromised.

Astrid nodded. "Fine. Who's going?" she asked.

Everyone moved closer, nodding their heads. Astrid sighed.

"Alright," Agvior said. "We don't know what we're getting into. Loki could have done irreparable damage to his mind. He could have set traps. Hiccup could have set traps. It is of the utmost importance that we stick together, and that if he shows signs of consciousness death—"

"No," Astrid bit out.

"—if he shows signs of consciousness death, we must leave immediately. The dead are the only ones who know what the road to Valhalla entails. Those who walk that road before their time return to their bodies with addled brains," Agvior said.

Everyone nodded. "Right," the old elf said, looking to Astrid.

"Fine," Astrid snapped. She would toss them out of his mind, but she wouldn't leave. Not until he was fixed.

There was a collective intake of breath as everyone cast their minds forth. Astrid was vaguely aware of their dragons circling around them protectively. Her vision faded, and when she blinked, she was standing in a great storm of gray stormclouds. Emerald lightning crackled overhead, and the clap of thunder was so loud that it shook the very ground she stood on.

She held a hand in her own, and pulled the body close. It was Sigrid. The visibility beyond the dwarf was near zero. She could see Sigrid tugging on a slender arm; Auriel. They were all together, then. Holding on for dear sanity in the storm.

"We're in the storm that surrounds Hiccup's mind! This is the first level of defense!" Astrid shouted, over the clap of thunder. Nearby, a lightning bolt struck the earth like an angry whip. Astrid's hair stood on end. She cast out her senses with her soul bond, and felt a tug. "This way!"

Astrid yanked them further into the raging storm. Then they marched, further and further and further. The stormclouds seemed to part like a mist, and Astrid felt the crunch of gravel underneath her boots. They entered into the great plateau, where Astrid expected to find the cathedral that was Hiccup's inner sanctum.

She found Berk.

And it was burning.

Great wooden huts burned with emerald fire. People, large men whose faces were obscured by shadow, darted back and forth from the homes like frightened sheep. The cathedral lay in the center of Berk, crumbled and in ruins. A large bell sat on its side, a single crack jutting through it. It would never ring again. The only thing left standing were the pair of large stone doors that guarded the entrance. The etchings on the stone had faded as the doors themselves began to melt. Her own visage stared out from underneath a steady pool of molten rock, warped to look like she was in pain.

"My god," Agvior uttered next to her.

"Put out the fires!" Astrid yelled, taking command.

They would douse the fires, repair the huts, and put the cathedral back together brick by brick. It didn't matter if it took an eternity to do so.

It would be done.

Fárbauti stood atop the peak of the great mountain chain to the west. It separated his kingdom from the pitiful plot of land that he had given Loki. The sorcerer had bent the land to its will, subverting it from the might of Jötunheim.

But the King of the Frost Giants knew that as twisted and warped as the Betrayer was, he would never sink this far into his madness.

The great permafrost of Jötunheim had been melted, leaving an ocean of bubbling, boiling water in its wake. The mountains of stone as cold as the ice itself had been set ablaze. Great rivers of molten rock ran from their peaks like the volcanoes of Nidavellir.

Loki's island fortress, once a bastion of strength and power, now floated in the boiling oceans. Slowly, it began to sink beneath the waves. There was nothing left of his palace, nor any sign of the Betrayer himself. Dragons flew in the skies above, circling the downed island. Fárbauti could sense their fear. Something great and terrible had happened here.

His home had been scarred.

Odin stepped forth from the World Gate. His magic held him aloft as the ground beneath his feet gave way to a raging blizzard. The cold north of Midgard. It was nothing compared to the frost of Jötunheim. He held his spear aloft, and a great nova of golden energy expanded from it. The blizzard calmed.

He floated backwards some feet and stared at the portal he had long ago locked for fear of the prophecy. But now, he had no choice. Ragnarök had come, against all his machinations. Fate was absolute.

The All-Father thrust his spear forward, and the World Gate's portal turned golden. Slowly, ever so slowly, it began to fall. In time, it rested upon the icy ground far below. Odin tapped the butt of his spear against the ice, solidifying it and the turning the ocean beneath to solid ice. The great wooden ring of the World Gate was held fast in the ice, preventing it from falling further. Odin turned, and the golden glow faded.

Then, from the gate, the armies of Asgard marched forth.

A/N:

This chapter is shorter because, well, I didn't feel like writing the battle between Loki and Hiccup. I've left it to your imagination. Had I known beforehand, I probably would have tagged this onto the tail end of the previous chapter. But, here it is.

So, I guess I have some explaining to do. Recently, I decided to do some self improvements. I re-read this story and... it was bad. Well, not bad, but it was just average. A fun read, but nothing impressive. Well written, but a bastardization of the original material. I sort of fell into a bad case of writer's block regarding the story, and every time I sat down to write I just ended up staring at my keyboard wishing I was doing something else. So, after much thought and consideration, I've come to some decisions: One, there won't be a sequel. The sequel is, actually, entirely planned, and I could write it, but I won't. Two, the planned ending for this story is being changed to incorporate the ending of the sequel, thus, I haven't been writing much as I try to sort out how to guide the story to its new destination.

I know some people will be (justifiably) upset about these decisions, but that is just the way the cookie crumbles. Please note, that I will finish this story at some point. If updates are slow in coming, that means that I'm just having troubles putting pen to paper, as it were. I don't abandon stories, ever. Also, no amount of snide comments or impatient messages will get me to update any faster. New chapters are ready when they are well and truly ready, and nothing you say will change that. If anything, pestering me makes me not want to post. This is a hobby, not a job. For the love of fuck, do not pester me to update.

To those that have read, enjoyed, and supported this story so far, I say thank you. Without your support and encouragement, I probably wouldn't have continued writing past the first few chapters.

So, down to the nitty-gritty. Next three or so chapters is the battle of Ragnarök. There will be a one chapter epilogue, and then we're done. This chapter, in particular, was hard to write, but the battles won't be nearly as difficult. Therefore, they should be released in a more timely manner.

Most likely I will write all the chapters to come and release them in a single, large update. That means if there aren't any chapters for awhile, don't fucking freak out. You'll get the end of this story when it's ready.