Eirik jolted awake, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His body was drenched in sweat, his breath uneven.
He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts were a storm, swirling between fear, determination, and something deeper resolve.
Today was the beginning of something new.
A journey that would define him. A path that would carve his name into history.
Throwing the blanket aside, Eirik swung his legs off the bed. His muscles screamed from the wounds of battle, but he ignored the pain. He had no time to rest.
He grabbed his worn-out coat, fastening the straps with practiced ease. His sword, resting beside the bed, felt heavier than usual. Not because of its weight but because of what it now meant.
Eirik's breath was heavy as he gazed out through the shattered window.
Midgard was still burning.
The streets below were a battlefield—blades clashed, bullets ripped through the air, and desperate cries echoed through the chaos. Fires raged in every direction, consuming what little remained of the city's once-proud structures.
Yet, the true nightmare was only beginning.
A voice, ancient and unshakable, roared from the heavens.
"People of Midgard… you have disrespected your leaders. You have turned your backs on order. Now, your judgment is upon you."
The sky rumbled like a living beast, and then they appeared.
Not gods, but humans. Humans who had transcended mortality—warriors unlike anything Midgard had ever seen, their bodies infused with the last remnants of fallen deities.
Each one descended with power that warped the air around them.
One stepped forward first a tall man in a blood-red military coat, flames flickering across his arms like living serpents. He smirked, snapping his fingers, and an entire city block was swallowed by a pillar of fire.
Another hovered above, her hair flowing unnaturally, as if caught in an eternal storm. With a wave of her hand, the winds howled, forming blades sharp enough to slice through buildings like paper.
A third his body encased in obsidian armor vanished and reappeared in an instant, warping between the terrified fighters, cutting them down before they could even scream.
There were more. Many more.
They were the World Government's chosen warriors—humans who had absorbed the lingering fragments of fallen gods, twisting divine power into something far worse.
Their purpose? Annihilation.
"Cleanse them all."
The words were spoken coldly, without emotion. And in an instant, the purge began.
Eirik clenched his fists, his knuckles white against his sword's hilt. He had dreamed of strength his whole life. He had trained for war.
But this? This was something else.
As the city burned, as warriors fell like leaves in a storm, one thought pulsed through his mind.
How do you fight against the power of the gods themselves?
Eirik burst into the room, his heart pounding like war drums.
"Wake up!" he barked, shaking the twins by their shoulders.
Lara groaned, still half-asleep. "Eirik, if this is about your training again, I swear"
"Not now!" he cut in, already moving to Freya's bedside. The little girl stirred, blinking up at him.
Aksel, still lying down, rubbed his eyes and yawned. "What's the rush?"
Eirik threw open the curtains. Outside, the sky was burning.
The city of Midgard was collapsing under a full-blown war. Buildings crumbled, fires spread, and the superpowered warriors of the World Government were slaughtering anyone who resisted.
A massive explosion shook the ground beneath them, rattling the wooden walls.
Freya gasped. "They're here..."
Eirik nodded. "We need to move. Now."