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The last thing Jörmungandr remembered was pain. A searing, unimaginable agony that tore through his body and soul, followed by the cold embrace of death. In his past life, he had been just a small snake—a talking serpent—nothing special by the standards of the divine. But to some gods, his existence was a threat, and in their eyes, it was a sin that could not be tolerated. He had been killed by the God of Thunder, though it was not the god himself who ended his life. No, it was the zealots of the thunder god's followers, those blinded by divine obedience, who believed they were doing the will of their god when they sacrificed him. His death had been an offering, a death meant to rid the world of a being they deemed unworthy. Yet, the god himself—Thunderos—never directly commanded it. He simply allowed it to happen.
For that, Jörmungandr would never forget. His death had been a lesson in the cruelty of the divine.
But that was the past.
Now, there was only the dark, endless water.
Jörmungandr opened his eyes—if he could even call them eyes. What he saw wasn't the land he once called home. No, this was something far different. His senses, though confused, were sharper now. The air he breathed was thick with salt. The ground beneath him was not earth, but something softer, swaying with each movement of the water around him.
He tried to move, but his body felt strange. It was smaller, weaker than he remembered. The familiar feeling of his long, sinuous form was gone, replaced by something foreign. He was now no longer the serpent he once was, the one who spoke and demanded answers from the world. No, now he was but a small, insignificant creature, lost in the vast, endless ocean.
The sea was alive.
Not in the way the land had been, not in the way the gods had spoken of life. The sea held a different kind of pulse, a beat that resonated through the very bones of the world. It was ancient, older than the gods themselves, older than anything he had known.
And Jörmungandr—reborn—was part of it.
The water around him churned and pulsed, filling his senses with a rhythm he could barely comprehend. A strange power surged through him, though he could not yet understand it. His new form, though small, was rapidly adapting to the water. His body—a simple, unremarkable sea snake—wove through the currents, propelled by instincts he never knew he had.
He would survive.
For now, that was all that mattered.
But survival would not be enough. Not for him. He was more than this. He had been more than this. There was a weight in his chest that spoke of something lost, something bigger. His mind was still foggy, but there was a gnawing emptiness. He could sense that he was not the same. There was power here, deep in the ocean, just waiting to be claimed. He could feel it, threading through the water like veins in a giant's body, waiting for someone to understand it.
Jörmungandr was that someone.
He just needed time.
And a purpose.
As he drifted through the cold abyss, his memories began to stir. Faint fragments, hazy glimpses of a past life—an ordinary snake, misunderstood by the world. A snake who had once been a threat to the gods simply for daring to speak. He had been accused of being a demon. He had been betrayed and sacrificed in the name of Thunderos, the high god of thunder. Jörmungandr had tried to warn humanity, tried to speak against the injustices of the gods. But his voice was drowned out by the chorus of those who worshipped blindly. And for that, they had killed him.
But now, in the darkness of the sea, that sense of injustice burned hot within him. The anger, the confusion, the helplessness of his past life had not been erased by death. No, it had been reborn along with him.
As he grew stronger, the memories became clearer. He was Jörmungandr. Not just any serpent, but a being of unimaginable potential, a force that the gods themselves could not ignore. And though the gods may have thought they rid the world of him, they had only pushed him into a new form, one that could not be easily destroyed.
It was time for him to rise again.
But for now, the ocean would be his home. It was vast and terrifying, but it was also a place of unimaginable power. It held secrets that even the gods dared not explore. The gods—those who ruled from their thrones in Heaven—feared the sea. They knew not what lay in its depths. They commanded great armies and controlled vast lands, but they could never touch the ocean. It was beyond them, untouchable. It was the one place where their influence did not reach.
Jörmungandr could feel it. The deep places of the world were his domain now.
No god would ever notice his return. No angel would sense his power.
Not yet.
For now, he would remain hidden. The ocean was vast, its depths endless, and he would use that to his advantage. He was no longer the small, innocent snake who had once been so easily dismissed. He was something far more dangerous now—something that would not be underestimated.