The Armor and the Farewell
The room was quiet, save for the gentle hum of Uud that pulsed through the air like breath. Rain sat cross-legged on the smooth stone floor, his eyes closed, hands resting gently over his knees. A subtle blue aura shimmered around him, not bright, not loud...just enough to stir the dust.
Nine months ago, he couldn't even feel it. Now, he called to it like it was a friend.
Footsteps echoed, familiar ones, Rain opened his eyes as Enoch approached robes faintly glowing from spells layered into the fabric. In his hands, he carried something wrapped in soft violet cloth, edges lined with shimmering threads.
He knelt beside Rain and unwrapped the cloth slowly, revealing armor unlike anything the boy had seen.
It was silver...not cold, hard steel, but living silver, shaped with curves and runes that caught the light and reflected a whisper of sky. The pauldrons were etched with the roots of the world tree, the chest plate layered like feathers, a nod to Rain's first flight. It looked elven... but somehow more.
"I made this with my own Uud and authority," Enoch said, voice softer than usual. "I never took disciples. Not once. But you... you remind me of when I first saw my son march into battle."
Rain looked up. "You had a son?"
"A long time ago.....he died. Foolish, brave, glorious." Enoch's eyes didn't tear, but his voice carried the weight of a thousand lifetimes. "So, listen closely, Rain. Don't try to be brave when you are not. Don't try to be great when you are not. Simply be an eleven-year-old boy named Rain."
The silence that followed was heavier than any armor.
"I will be staying here," Enoch continued. "To defend the Central City, should things turn grim. But I will be with you...in every breath of wind, in every thread of Uud you feel... I will be there."
Rain nodded....the armor shimmered as he touched it. It felt warm, like it knew him.
Soon, the horns would sound. The ships would rise. And he would be part of Midgard's defense. But for a moment, Rain stayed still, just a boy with a teacher and a gift made of love and memory.
The young boy felt overwhelmed by this gift, he had never received anything all his life and this strange old man he calls 'Master' has given him a new life and now he gave him amor that is worth ten human slaves. Enoch had taught Rain a valuable lesson through this gift, "compassion must always exceed value".
First War
The flying ship cut silently through the morning sky, the Mage Tower's banner snapping in the wind like a banner of hope. Below, the battlefield stretched like a festering wound soaked in blood, torn by siege, and littered with corpses both human and monster.
Rain stood near the edge, gripping the rail, his knuckles white. His armor shimmered faintly, catching streaks of morning sun, but the warmth it gave earlier had faded beneath a chill he couldn't shake.
A senior mage stepped beside him. He was bald, thick-bearded, robes fluttering from enchantments embedded deep in every thread. He raised an eyebrow at Rain's pale face.
"First time?"
Rain nodded, swallowing dry air.
The mage threw back his head and let out a booming laugh. "Don't worry, boy! You'll scream, puke, maybe cry a little. Then you get used to it!"
Rain managed a twitch of a smile, but it didn't last. A flash of red...A whistle through the sky. Then...
BOOM!
A fireball tore through the belly of the ship like it was parchment. Screaming mages were flung into the air as the vessel splintered apart in a cascade of heat and light. Rain's body flew with it, helpless, weightless, his heart hammering louder than the chaos around him.
The sky twisted....The wind howled. He flailed, reaching for anything, but there was only air and flame and below the ground approaching fast and unforgiving. His eyes barely had time to widen when a blast of wind caught him from beneath.
A spell! Someone saved him.
Still, the landing wasn't soft. He hit the earth like a stone, pain lancing through his side. Everything rang and he became disoriented. His vision blurred, colors streaking like spilled ink. He coughed! Groaned! Tried to move. Clashing steel snapped him back to the moment.
CLANG!
A sword sparked just inches from his face. Two warriors fought savagely behind him, one pirate, one soldier in rust-red Muspelheim armor.
"Get a grip, kid!" the pirate shouted, parrying a strike before kicking the enemy back.
Rain scrambled to his feet, staggering sideways as his limbs tried to remember how to work. Dust, blood, fire... he was in the thick of it now. The war had started and he wasn't watching from the sidelines anymore.
The First Kill
Rain shook his head hard, forcing clarity back into his senses. Dirt caked his lips, and his ribs ached, but the world snapped into focus just in time to see a Muspelheim soldier lunging at him.
Clang!
Rain raised his sword just in time, barely deflecting the jagged steel crashing toward him. He staggered backward, his arms numb from the blow.
"Channel it.....Uud!" he told himself.
He reached inward, desperate for the power Enoch had described, the subtle current of being, the pulse of reality itself.
Nothing.
The soldier came again, a blur of fury and fire. Rain blocked, barely, again and again. Each strike pushed him lower and lower, crushing him under sheer force. His knees dipped, his back burned. The edge of his fear began to taste like surrender.
Enough.
He gritted his teeth, abandoned the idea of magic, and tried to fight...just fight. He roared and rushed forward, striking with everything he had.
But the Muspelheim warrior grinned cruelly, his own blade glowing red with charged Uud.
Ssshhhiiinnnggg!
Rain's sword split cleanly in two.
He froze, death was seconds away. But then....
Clang!
The blade struck his chest....It didn't cut. His armor shimmered, warding the blow.
The Muspel soldier blinked, confused.
Rain's body moved on its own.
A pulse.
A rush.
His blood turned to lightning.
Uud erupted....not from thought, but from instinct. It surged through his muscles, his bones, his nerves. His eyes flickered with blue light as raw power flooded his frame.
He tackled the soldier with animal fury, punching, elbowing, clawing. He grabbed a broken spear from the mud and drove it through the man's chest with a cry that tore from the depths of his soul.
The body twitched for a while before finally, it stilled. Rain panted, chest heaving, eyes wide as he stared at the body....his first kill. The battlefield still roared around him, but something had shifted.
He was no longer just a boy caught in a war.
He was part of it.
A Storm Unleashed
The blood hadn't dried on his hands before Rain surged forward again, eyes wide and glowing with that same dangerous pulse. Every heartbeat pounded like a war drum in his chest.
One enemy.....Then another....Then another.
He moved like a phantom through smoke and flame, bladeless, weaponless but deadly all the same. His fists became hammers, his feet silent blades. He didn't hesitate. He didn't think. He just killed.
Muspelheim soldiers cried out in terror as he tore through their ranks. For a moment, he seemed more spirit than boy a creature born of fury and Uud.
Then.....
WACK!
A mighty slap sent him flying like a rag doll across the battlefield. He hit the ground hard, his momentum dragging him through the mud until he stopped, dazed. Rain groaned and looked up, vision spinning. A massive boot stepped beside him.
Then the sharp, gravelly voice "Brutality doesn't look good on the elegance of an elf."
Rain blinked! Sarsgaard stood tall, his coat blood-spattered but pristine in motion. In one fluid motion, the pirate captain crushed a charging soldier under his boot like he was swatting a fly.
Rain coughed, breath returning in shaky gulps. "Captain?"
Sarsgaard looked down at him with narrowed eyes. "Lose yourself again, and you'll die before the real fight starts."
A pirate's voice called from behind, "He thinks these lizard men are the real fight....we have yet to face the fire giants of Valcanrir!"
Cling!
A sword hit the ground beside Rain, skidding to a stop. It was elegant elven-forged, silver-edged, with runes that shimmered faintly.
Commander Starwick strode past, smirking as he drew his own weapon.
"Here, boy! This one came from the loot you helped us get, thought it poetic." His grin widened. "Let it remind you of how we taught you to fight."
Rain gripped the sword's hilt and stood up. He felt the weight, the balance. It wasn't wild like Uud, it was measured.
He joined Starwick, Sarsgaard, and the pirate vanguard as they took formation. The tide of chaos was no longer overwhelming. Now, it was theirs to command.
They charged, slicing through the enemy like a blade through silk, Rain right there with them, fighting not like a boy caught in adrenaline, but like a warrior with purpose.
The Vile One Rises
Inside the shadowed Muspelheim war tent, flames flickered against heavy red fabrics. Tension gnawed at the air. A soldier, scorched and panting, dropped to one knee before the war general, his armor cracked from recent skirmish.
"General! Forgive my intrusion. There's… an elf!"
The general didn't look up from the war map. "Alfheim has sent scouts already?"
"No, sir. He's a child. But he fights like.....like a veteran of centuries."
Another commander leaned forward. "A prodigy?"
The messenger swallowed, "We've lost over forty men! He's... cutting through them like wheat."
The tent fell into stunned silence...
The general's lips twisted, "If this is true, then Alfheim has made its move without our knowing. This could...."
"Tch."
A scoffing sound echoed from the back of the tent.....They turned. He had been silent this whole time, lounging like a king in a court of ash. Now he stood! The flames in the braziers dimmed as if afraid of him.
Virmethorn the Vile...
His towering eight-foot frame cracked as he rolled his shoulders. Jet-black scales shimmered beneath his cloak. His eyes were slits burning with deep, unquenchable fire. He smiled, revealing teeth that were not human.
The general's breath hitched. He bowed instinctively. "Lord Virmethorn… forgive me, I didn't realize..."
"Silence yourself! worm...." the Man-Dragon rumbled.
Virmethorn pulled the cloak from his shoulders, revealing wings folded like armor, jewelry etched in ancient fire-language, and arms that ended in clawed hands more beast than man.
"If an elf dares stain our army's reputation" he said, voice like grinding stone, "then I suppose it's time I make an appearance."
The tent trembled as his skin began to shift, crack, and ripple. In moments, the humanoid form was gone...replaced by something terrible and dark. Wings of obsidian stretched into the air with a shriek that tore clouds apart. His serpentine neck coiled like thunder in the sky.
He took flight!
The fire giants, inspired by the rising dragon, began to march, massive, molten bodies shaking the earth as they followed their dragon-lord into battle. The air itself grew hot. The tide of war was about to shift.
When the Sky Turned Black
The clash of steel halted....a dreadful shadow lingered in the distance but quickly approaching. Even the Muspel soldiers frenzied and blood-lusting, stopped as an unnatural darkness swept across the battlefield.
Rain paused mid-sprint, his breath frozen in his lungs.
The sun itself dimmed, its light swallowed by a vast shadow stretching across the heavens. A thousand voices fell silent, all heads tilting skyward. There, blotting out the sky, he came....
Seven hundred meters tall in full form, his wings tore the clouds like silk, spreading a thousand meters wide. His scales shimmered like obsidian oceans, reflecting the battlefield in shards of black glass. Each beat of his wings summoned hurricanes.
He roared, and the sound was like the Earth screaming.....
Fire poured from his mouth, not in a stream but a flood, washing over armies indiscriminately, Muspel or Midgard made no difference. Whole units turned to ash, war machines melted where they stood, and the ground cracked like brittle parchment. Starwick used his authority to erect a force field, keeping the crew who were with him safe.
The sky caught fire....
Even Sarsgaard, standing firm at the front line, lowered his blade slowly. His coat billowed as the heat swept past him. The pirate's eyes, always mischievous and wild, now held a sliver of reverence or was it fear?
Rain stumbled back, shielding his eyes, heart hammering. Above them, Virmethorn rose again.....higher than clouds, his silhouette now ringed by spirals of lightning. His body ignited like a comet, and then...
Heaven held its breath as the dragon fell. A streak of black fire plunged from the sky.
Boom!
The land screamed, the Earth split, and the air imploded. A crater the size of a city swallowed everything in its path. The shockwave crushed men like ants, shattered shields, and shattered hope.
Rain would have died in that moment, he should have died.
But a golden barrier glimmered around him and a handful of others. A dome formed from blazing runes and wild, screaming wind. Starwick stood at its center, hands raised in a ritual pose, his Authority humming with raw desperation. The dust settled slowly.
Starwick fell to one knee, sweat pouring down his face, voice trembling "What kind of madness is this, captain?"
Sarsgaard didn't answer at first. He looked at the center of the crater, the fire still burning in its heart, and then at the sky, now split by black streaks of smoke.
"…That is the Sky Leviathan" he finally said, voice heavy.
"Virmethorn the Vile!"
He turned to his men, Rain stared at him, searching for a plan, a hope, a sliver of command.
"I'm afraid," Sarsgaard said slowly, "we can't win this war…"
He let that sink in. Then.....
"…not unless a god descends to Midgard."
Behold the grand magus Enoch
The fire had not yet faded....
Virmethorn, now in his towering man-like form, strode across the smoldering crater with molten footprints. The flames curved away from him, parting like terrified servants. Around him, Fire Giants stood in reverence, their hulking bodies forming a corridor of living heat. Rain stood still, breath shallow, as the beast approached.
The Sky Leviathan's eyes, ancient and cruel, locked on the boy 'the rumored Elven warrior'. His presence alone was enough to twist the very Uud in the air, bending the world's will toward dread.
"Do you see it, boy?" the creature remarked, "True fear! True domination! Pure untamed violence.....now tell me why are you here alone?"
With those words, the protective barrier collapsed, not shattered but cancelled as if reality itself obeyed the dragon. Rain stumbled back, his instincts screaming. Around them, the fallen Muspel soldiers twitched. Laughter, cruel, guttural, rose from corpses, now writhing into life.
Virmethorn's Authority of Undying Flames surged through the battlefield.
Then....
CRACK!!
A blinding bolt of lightning tore through the sky, slamming into Virmethorn, forcing him back several meters. Dust and ash spiraled. The dragon laughed, staggered but amused.
"Old man… our rematch shall commence."
He growled the words as Sarsgaard and the group emerged confused from the smoke, chest rising, coat torn, sword still shaking from the comet fall. The pirate captain stood his ground with legendary defiance, his presence enough to inspire the scattered Midgardian forces behind him.
But then, the real power surged erasing all the confusion and clarifying who the old man is. The wind stopped.....The air tensed, Enoch had arrived.
Far in the distance beyond the ruined sky he held up his staff still glowing from the lightning bolt then a great portal opened, a rift in the world itself. Through it, eyes emerged, massive, ancient, unfathomable. They belonged to a creature older than the mountains and deeper than the seas.
The Sea Leviathan, Jormungandr! Even Virmethorn faltered. Rain could feel it in the marrow of his bones—a power so vast, it didn't threaten destruction. It simply was unavoidable....inevitable. The dragon's smile dropped. He turned back to his true form, wings curling the clouds as he rose into the sky.
"I know when my time is up, we must uphold the treaty of peace between us" he informed the sea Leviathan as he flew away. And with that, the Sky Leviathan fled. His vast shadow faded into the horizon, retreating beyond the Midgardian domain now guarded by Jormungandr, the Leviathan of the Sea.
As the silence returned, only one truth remained....This was not the end. This was the beginning of something far, far greater.
The Weight of Victory
The skies calmed and the clouds parted. The blood-red tint of war faded into hues of pale gold, kissed by a returning sun. And just like that, the Gorgons vanished. The beasts of Muspelheim, those twisted serpents of chaos, slithered back into the shadows, recognizing that if even Virmethorn fled, there was no more dominion left to claim.
The battle was won, the survivors stood.....barely. From ash and ruin, voices rose. Tired cheers and cries of disbelief. Songs of mourning and glory, sung in one breath. Enoch, eyes tired but warm, walked through smoke and silence until he found Rain. Without words, he embraced the boy....no longer just a student, but something more.
"You did not try to be brave. You were yourself," Enoch whispered, pulling him close."And that is why you lived."
Tears filled Rain's eyes, not of sadness, not of joy.....just everything. The thunder of war, the weight of mortality, the echo of gods. From the east, the glint of silver and steel emerged. Milito, the mercenary captain, arrived with the last wave of reinforcements from the eastern beach. Not a scratch marked his armor. His blade? Spotless.
But the field told his tale.
Over five hundred slain by his hand.
"He is a sword god reborn…" whispered the soldiers, "No mortal moves like that. No man walks through fire untouched."
Milito casually rested his blade on his shoulder and grinned like a disappointed gambler.
"Damn! I missed a chance to test myself. Sarsgaard, why do you always get the fun ones?" he jeered, voice rich with mock pain."Save me a monster next time, aye?"
Sarsgaard chuckled, battered and bruised but unbowed.
"I don't choose the dance partners, Milito… they come to me."
Laughter broke out among the warriors. Real laughter, raw and earned. The kind that only the living could still afford. But soon, silence returned, heavier than before. The final tally came in. Only one thousand two hundred and fifty lived. Out of over a Twelve thousand who had stood at dawn.
The battlefield lay in ruin and remembrance, a scar etched into Midgard's earth. Fires still burned. Bodies still smoked. The port city stood.....but at a price.
The leaders gathered once more, not to strategize, but to mourn. To plan for what would come next, knowing this was not the last storm.