Year 0 of the Valkyrie Calendar – Valhalla's Grand Hall, the final night of the old world.
The air inside the great hall was so thick it could be sliced with a blade: thick, rank, and drenched in divine depravity.
The stench of long-dried semen clung stubbornly to the cracks in the black stone floor. The still-warm blood of goddesses rose in steaming clouds. Burning frankincense mixed with sweat, lust, and the reek of wombs abused beyond all limits.
Hundreds of golden torches hung from towering pillars, their flames trembling as though in terror. The firelight illuminated the reliefs of warriors who had fallen in the previous Ragnarok; their stone faces still wore proud expressions, but their empty eyes now stared down in horror at the final rite of their own divine race.
At the center of the hall, a three-meter-high altar of ancient runes blazed with blood-red life-runes.
Blood from the goddesses slaughtered earlier still dripped from the cracks in the stone, forming small, glistening pools beneath.
Upon that altar stood Odin in the most primal form of an ancient war god.
Completely naked.
No armor, no crown, no spear Gungnir. Only a colossal body over three and a half meters tall, muscles rippling like ice mountains melted by infernal fire, pale silver skin crisscrossed with scars from battles even gods wished to forget.
Yet no one dared meet the gaze of his single remaining eye.
Every eye (whether of the guardian gods lining both sides, or the warrior souls hanging from the vaulted ceiling) was drawn inexorably downward, to the loins of the All-Father.
Odin's cock stood erect like a cursed totem pole.
Exactly thirty-nine centimeters long, thick as the wrist of the mightiest Berserker, a deep violet-black from three straight days of unrelenting hardness. Great veins bulged and writhed beneath the thin skin like dragons struggling to break free.
The glans swelled to the size of an adult fist, glossy and leaking drops of golden fluid (the creative essence of the god-king himself). Each drop hissed as it struck the altar, steaming white like molten metal hitting ice.
Directly before him, upon a sacrificial table tilted forty-five degrees and carved with forbidden runes, lay Valkyrie Brynhild, eldest of the nine Valkyrie sisters, the one who had once single-handedly cleaved thirty Frost Giants in twain during the final battle of the old Ragnarok.
Now she was nothing more than a living slab of abused flesh, no longer recognizable as a goddess.
Virgin-gold chains (meant solely for binding virgin goddesses during the supreme sacrifice) bit deep into her wrists, ankles, and throat, drawing rivulets of blood.
Her legs were wrenched to their utmost by two ancient stone pillars; her hip joints had cracked, emitting sickening pops each time she shuddered in pain.
Brynhild's cunt was swollen red like a peach roasted in hellfire for three days and nights. The outer lips were turned inside out, exposing torn shreds of pink mucosa. Old semen from Odin still oozed in thick white streams from her cervix down to her heels, mingling with the dried black streaks of her maiden's blood along her thighs.
For three unbroken days and nights, Odin had turned her body into the final "incubator" for the weapon that would stand against the Abyss Demons invading the Nine Realms.
Day one: he used only his tongue and fingers.
He forced Brynhild to her knees, wrists bound behind her back with her own platinum hair. He bent low, his unnaturally long divine tongue lapping up every last drop of the virgin blood that remained from the moment he had first torn her open minutes earlier.
As he licked, he whispered, "Warm your womb again, Brynhild… I need it hot, soft, ready to receive the curse."
He licked until she had no tears left, until her cunt spasmed uncontrollably, until clear nectar poured from her in torrents from overstimulation.
Day two: he began using his real cock.
Each thrust was accompanied by him leaning close and murmuring ancient spells into her ear, forcing her womb to dilate further, to stretch three times beyond a goddess's normal capacity.
He came inside her twenty-seven times that day. Every jet shot straight into the depths of her womb, after which he sealed her entrance with two fingers so not a single drop could escape.
By the end of the second day, Brynhild's belly had swollen as though four months pregnant, taut and veined with blue. She panted, eyes glazed, mouth hanging open like a landed fish.
Day three: he no longer spoke.
He only ravaged.
Using runes, he created two perfect duplicates of himself and raped all three of her holes simultaneously: one in her mouth, one in her cunt, one in her ass.
She lost consciousness and awoke more times than she could count.
Each time she came to, the three Odins were still pistoning steadily, still growling incantations that forced her womb to stretch yet wider in preparation for the final rite.
And now, the third day was drawing to its close.
Odin raised a crystal vessel the size of a man's head.
Inside swirled the still-warm fresh blood of the nine greatest goddesses he had forced to slit their own throats before the altar moments earlier:
• Freyja: blood crimson as the finest wine.
• Frigg: blood cold and silver.
• Iðunn: blood sparkling gold with eternal youth.
• Sif: blood the color of ripe wheat, Thor's own.
• Gefjon: blood rich brown like fertile earth.
• Skaði: blood white as glacial snow.
• Snotra: blood clear as crystalline wisdom.
• Lofn: blood deep violet of forbidden desire.
• Vár: blood black as the night of unbreakable oaths.
The nine bloods swirled together in the vessel into a radiant rainbow vortex, steaming and emitting a scent both sweet and nauseating.
Odin pressed the mouth of the vessel directly against Brynhild's spasming, gaping cervix and poured.
Glug… glug… glug… glug…
A grotesque sound echoed as the divine fluid flooded in, filling a womb already bloated with old semen.
Brynhild's belly swelled instantly, skin stretched so tight every vein stood out like a red spiderweb.
She moaned in broken gasps, eyes rolling white, drool spilling from both corners of her mouth, her entire body convulsing.
Odin set the vessel aside.
His violet-black cock gave one final throb.
He drove in one last time (deep enough for the head to kiss the blood-drenched bottom of her womb) and roared like a beast.
The final surge of divine semen erupted like a geyser from hell itself.
Thick, searing, blinding golden, carrying millions of tiny glittering runes of power.
With each pulse her belly swelled further until the skin split in long cracks, blood spraying in fine jets.
Brynhild let out one last scream (the desperate scream of a goddess turned into a vessel by her own father) before passing out completely.
Within that horrific mixture, a new life was conceived.
A female fetus grew at an unimaginable speed.
In just five minutes, from a tiny embryo it became the size of a full-term infant, then larger still, until Brynhild's womb was stretched to the absolute limit of divinity.
Her belly tore open from navel downward, blood gushing in fountains.
A small, snow-white hand emerged from the impossibly dilated cervix, its fingernails already sharp as Asgardian steel blades.
Then a platinum-haired head, soaked in fluid.
Crimson eyes snapped open.
The very first thing the child saw upon entering the world was Odin standing there, his cock still half-erect, a final thread of golden semen dangling from the tip to the cold stone floor.
Brynhild lay unconscious beneath, her womb prolapsed like a crimson meat-flower, still twitching in its final spasms.
The child opened its mouth.
Its first cry was not the cry of a baby.
It was a sentence, spoken in the oldest tongue of the gods, cold and clear:
「Everything that possesses a cock… is my enemy.」
Odin named her at once, his voice trembling with both terror and mad pride:
"You shall be Zetsumyo Freya!
Freya of Absolute Severance!
My ultimate weapon against the demons!
You bear the blood of the nine greatest goddesses and my own seed!
You will be the final perfect Valkyrie, the one who will bring all Nine Realms to their knees!"
But he did not finish the sentence.
The child (Zetsumyo Freya) bit through the umbilical cord still dripping with blood and golden semen.
She crawled from Brynhild's torn womb like a newborn demon, body slick with glistening fluids.
She stood, barely reaching Odin's waist, yet her crimson eyes were already as cold as the ice of Niflheim.
Odin had no time to react.
The tiny hand closed around the root of his still-erect cock.
Crack!
A dry snap echoed throughout Valhalla.
The All-Father's thirty-nine-centimeter cock was bent backward one hundred and eighty degrees by a child's single hand.
Veins ruptured, the violet-black head tore off and fell to the stone, still twitching and spurting final drops of golden semen like tears.
Odin screamed, collapsing to his knees, clutching his ruined groin, eyes bulging, white foam bubbling from his mouth.
Zetsumyo Freya wiped a smear of the golden semen from her body, tasted it, then spat it full into Odin's face.
"I will kill every last one of you."
The seventy-two elite guardian gods of Valhalla charged at once, radiant spears raised, armor clattering in fear.
But the child only glanced at them.
The life-runes covering her body (the very runes Odin had pumped into her with his seed) blazed like a blood-sun.
An overwhelming pressure exploded outward.
All seventy-two gods ejaculated inside their armor simultaneously, knees buckling, their cocks shriveling in agony as though crushed by invisible hands.
Odin, writhing in his own pool of blood and semen, shrieked in a high-pitched voice of pain and panic:
"Bind her!
The Eternal Light Cage!
One hundred years!
Until she learns submission!"
The seventy-two gods, though on their knees, though trembling from forced climax, summoned the last of their strength and called forth the colossal Cage of Eternal Light (the same prison once used on the most ancient Titans).
The cage descended, enveloping Zetsumyo Freya.
The child did not resist.
She simply stood, crimson eyes fixed on Odin as he writhed in his own blood and seed.
And she whispered, her small voice resounding until the very vault of Valhalla shook:
«I will make all of you kneel at my feet…
and beg for death.»
The cage was suspended in the center of the great hall by chains of unbreakable light.
Brynhild remained unconscious on the altar, her womb hanging outside her body, blood pooling ever wider.
Odin was carried away, his crotch reduced to a pulpy ruin.
And high above, inside the Eternal Light Cage,
Zetsumyo Freya (the absolute weapon the All-Father had created to destroy demons)
opened her eyes and gazed upon all of Asgard with the eyes of a newborn demoness,
having already declared war upon every male in the Nine Realms.