(Merry Christmas Everyone!!!!!!🎄🎄)
The stars over Asgard went out.
Not dimmed by passing clouds.
Not hidden by storm or shadow.
They went out, snuffed one by one like candles beneath a smothering hand, leaving only a vast, empty black where constellations had shone moments before. Across the realm, warriors paused mid-step in the streets below, their conversations dying on their lips. Einherjar on the walls looked skyward, shields lowering slightly as confusion turned to unease. Even the city itself seemed to hold its breath, the golden spires standing silent as the light above them died, constellation by constellation, until the night sky was
nothing but a void.
Then the cold came.
Not the crisp bite of winter, Asgard had known winter, had reveled in it. This was something deeper, older, a void-cold that seeped into the bones and gnawed at the soul rather than the skin. It carried no wind, no snow, just an emptiness that made hearts beat slower, breaths shallower, as if the realm itself was forgetting how to feel warmth.
On the outer edge of the realm, far beyond the golden bridge and the shimmering Bifröst, space split.
No thunder cracked.
No fire roared.
No spectacle announced it.
Just a silent wound tearing open reality itself, a jagged rift that bled darkness into the cosmos, edges fraying like torn fabric. From it stepped a lone figure, emerging as casually as a man walking through a doorway.
He walked on nothing, bare feet touching the void as though it were solid ground beneath him. His body was gaunt, scarred from battles across forgotten worlds, wrapped in tattered black cloth that moved as if alive, tendrils shifting and coiling like extensions of his will. In his hand, the Necrosword breathed, stretching and curling lazily, whispering in a thousand dead tongues, echoes of gods it had slain, their final pleas twisted into hunger.
Gorr the God Butcher had arrived.
Behind him, the rift widened slowly, vomiting shadows that clawed at the edges of existence, tendrils reaching out like fingers grasping for purchase. Dead gods hung there in the tear, impaled memories suspended in the dark, frozen screams on divine faces, echoes of divinity slaughtered across millennia, their essence still leaking into the sword. The Necrosword drank their remnants eagerly, pulsing with a sickly light, growing stronger with every drop it absorbed.
Gorr's eyes, sunken, burning with an unquenchable fire, fixed on Asgard in the distance.
On its gleaming towers.
Its defiant light.
Its gods.
"So," he rasped, his voice dry as grave-dust, carrying across the void without effort, "this is where you hide now."
He took another step forward, and Asgard's wards screamed.
Ancient runes that Odin himself had carved into the fabric of the realm flared to life in desperate protest, golden sigils bursting across the sky like a net trying to hold back the tide. They held for a heartbeat, then shattered like glass under the Necrosword's mere presence, bursting into ash that drifted away into nothing. The sword passed through them without resistance, devouring the magic as easily as it devoured flesh, leaving only silence in its wake.
High within the city, alarm crystals detonated one after another, their sharp cracks echoing through the halls like breaking bones, lights flaring red in warning.
Odin stiffened where he stood in the war chamber, his single eye narrowing as the cold reached even him.
Thor felt it like a hammer blow to the chest, his grip tightening on Mjolnir, lightning flickering unbidden along its surface.
Susan staggered slightly, her invisible shields flaring instinctively around her and the others, flickering as the cold pressed against them.
Sable's hand went to her weapon, knuckles white, her stance shifting into something lethal and ready, eyes scanning the darkness beyond the walls.
And Peter...
Peter went very still.
The Web howled inside him, every strand vibrating with the same merciless truth, screaming through his skull with a clarity that made his blood run cold.
He's here.
Peter stepped forward onto the balcony, the stone cool under his boots, golden light bleeding slowly into his eyes once more. The staff formed in his grip with a low, resonant hum, but this time there was no flair, no dramatic storm, just quiet, unyielding purpose.
Far across the void, Gorr lifted his head, as if sensing the gaze upon him.
Their eyes met across the impossible distance, god and god-slayer regarding one another across the empty stars.
For a single, endless heartbeat, the realm held still.
Gorr smiled.
Not wide.
Not cruel.
Just tired, worn by eons of loss and hatred.
"You look... older," Gorr said, his voice carrying impossibly far, dry and cracked but clear as a bell in the silence. "Still wearing a god's face. Still pretending you're different from the rest."
Peter's voice carried back, calm and iron-hard, cutting through the void without raising in volume.
"You came to my friend's home."
Gorr's smile faded, his scarred face hardening, the Necrosword twitching in his hand like an eager beast.
"I came," he said softly, almost conversationally, "to finish what I started."
The Necrosword unfurled fully, stretching into a blade longer than a man is tall, its edge blotting out what little starlight remained, drinking it in.
"Tell your gods to kneel," Gorr continued, his voice steady, without triumph or gloating, just fact. "Or tell them to run. It will not change the ending."
Peter's eyes hardened, the gold burning into something far colder, resolve forged in the fires of too many losses.
"No," he said, his voice unwavering. "It won't."
Behind him, thunder rolled faintly as storm clouds gathered in response to Thor's rising anger. Shields locked across the walls as Einherjar took positions. Magic gathered in the air, runes flaring along the spires.
Asgard braced itself, every warrior, every stone, every breath drawn in preparation.
And Gorr the God Butcher took his first step onto the realm of gods,
not as an invader bursting through gates,
but as an executioner, calm and inevitable, walking toward the appointed hour.
---
Every Einherjar on the walls raised their weapons in unison, spears and swords glinting in the dim light, shields forming a wall of gold and steel.
Susan's shields flared instinctively brighter, expanding to cover the balcony and the warriors nearby, her hands steady despite the chill seeping through.
Sable's stance shifted, feet planting firmly, lethal and ready, her pistols drawn and humming with enchanted power.
Thor stepped forward beside Peter, lightning crackling across his shoulders and arms, Mjolnir raised, his voice a growl. "You will go no further, Butcher."
Gorr didn't even spare him a glance, his eyes fixed on Peter as he continued his slow, inexorable approach.
"I have slain gods who made you look like a child, boy," he said calmly, almost dismissively, his voice carrying that same dry rasp. "Stand aside."
Thor bristled, his face flushing with anger, lightning snapping louder, but Odin lifted a hand from his position on the steps, his gesture calm but commanding, holding his son back.
"Gorr," the All-Father said, his voice steady and resonant, echoing across the distance like the toll of a great bell.
"You stand before Asgard. Before judgment."
Gorr finally turned his gaze to Odin fully, his scarred face impassive, the Necrosword curling lazily at his side.
"I stood before judgment once," he replied, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of unbearable memory. "In the desert. With my children dead at my feet. And the gods were silent."
His eyes slid back to Peter, locking on with an intensity that made the air between them hum.
"But you weren't."
Peter stepped forward to the edge of the balcony, staff grounding against the stone with a soft, resonant hum that vibrated through the floor. The golden runes beneath his skin burned brighter, not in rage or fear, but in unyielding resolve.
"I sealed you away because I believed grief could fade," Peter said, his voice even, eyes hard as forged steel, carrying across the void. "I thought time might give you peace. Let you heal instead of hate."
Gorr laughed.
It was a dry, broken sound, hollow and echoing, like wind through a tomb.
"Time only taught me one truth," he said, his voice softening to something almost conversational, though the hatred beneath it was palpable.
"That gods do not change."
Peter's eyes glowed brighter, the gold steady and unflinching.
"I did," he said simply, the words quiet but ringing with truth.
The air between them thickened, reality bowing inward as two ancient forces pressed against the same point in existence. The Web trembled in Peter's mind, threads straining. The Necrosword screamed faintly, a high, hungry whine. The sky held its breath, the cold deepening as the rift behind Gorr widened further, shadows spilling out like ink in water.
Gorr spread his arms slowly, the tattered black cloth shifting around him, the Necrosword pulsing in anticipation.
"Good," he said softly, his voice carrying a weary finality. "Then this will be meaningful."
Far beyond the walls of Asgard, shadows began to move again, shapes not yet fully formed, not yet named, stirring in the rift like things waking from a long sleep.
Odin tightened his grip on Gungnir, the spear's tip glowing faintly as he prepared.
Thor raised Mjolnir higher, lightning coiling around him like a living thing.
Susan and Sable moved to Peter's sides without hesitation, Susan's shields expanding further, Sable's weapons ready, their presence a quiet vow.
And Peter, Anansi, did not look away.
Not this time.
---
The battle began without warning.
Gorr moved first, a single step that closed half the distance across the void, the Necrosword lashing out like a whip of pure darkness. It sliced through the air, devouring light and magic alike, aimed straight at the heart of Asgard's defenses.
Peter reacted instantly, his staff swinging in a wide arc. Golden threads erupted from its tip, weaving a massive web-barrier that caught the sword's strike. The impact shook the realm, a boom that rattled towers and cracked stone, sparks of gold and black exploding where divine power clashed with the Necrosword's hunger.
Thor roared, hurling Mjolnir forward.
The hammer spun like a comet, lightning trailing in its wake, slamming into Gorr's side with enough force to shatter mountains. Gorr staggered, the blow carving a gash across his scarred torso, but the wound sealed almost immediately, black tendrils knitting flesh as the Necrosword fed him strength.
Odin thrust Gungnir, a beam of pure solar energy lancing out, piercing the shadows around Gorr and vaporizing the tendrils reaching from the rift. The All-Father's voice thundered across the battlefield: "For Asgard!"
Susan's force fields expanded into massive domes, shielding the Einherjar as they charged, arrows and spears flying in volleys that lit the dark. Sable's pistols barked, enchanted rounds punching holes through the shadows spilling from the rift, each shot exploding in bursts of light that slowed the advance.
Gorr pressed forward, the Necrosword morphing into a massive scythe, sweeping in wide arcs that cleaved through shields and stone alike. Einherjar fell, their immortal forms crumbling to ash as the sword drank their essence, but more surged in, spears blazing.
Peter leaped from the balcony, staff blazing as he descended like a falling star, landing between Gorr and the front lines. He spun the staff, golden webs lashing out to bind the Butcher's arms, pulling tight.
Gorr snarled, the Necrosword burning through the threads, freeing himself in a burst of black fire that forced Peter back.
"You cannot bind what has already broken free," Gorr rasped, advancing.
Peter stood his ground, staff ready, eyes burning gold.
"Then let's see what breaks first."
The Necrosword came down in a killing arc, aimed for Peter's heart.
Peter raised his staff to block,
And the blade stopped inches away, the clash sending a shockwave that cracked the ground beneath them.
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