Liam Reed stood at the edge of the Reykjanes Peninsula, the Spear of Lug now fused to his arm like a living appendage. The black scales creeping up his neck had spread to his jawline, and his eyes glowed with a fractured light—half gold, half silver. He stared at the World Tree's roots, visible through a rift in the earth, their bark now riddled with black flowers that pulsed like infected wounds.
"These aren't natural," Aisling said, her Druidic senses humming. "They're feeding on the Well's corruption… and drawing something through."
Aisling's words hung heavy. Three months had passed since the Cliffs of Moher, yet the world felt fractured. Cities reported strange disappearances, and astronomers detected gravitational anomalies near the North Pole—a rift into the Void, a dimension beyond even the gods' reach.
Finn Thorsen approached, his Norse features sharpened by urgency. "I've tracked the dragon heart's signal to a fjord north of here," he said, clutching a vial of black water labeled Níðhöggr's Essence. "But the ritual to split Níðhöggr from my soul… it requires a sacrifice." His gaze flickered to Liam.
Old Sean Reed emerged from the shadows, a weathered file in hand. "Project Yggdrasil wasn't just about weapons," he growled. "Your grandmother's 笔记 say the Cold War scientists tried to weaponize the World Tree's roots. They created artificial rifts… like this one." He gestured to the black flowers.
Aisling stiffened. "If the Void creatures breach the rift—"
A scream cut her off. A cultist emerged from the mist, his body twisted into a grotesque hybrid of antler and tentacle. "The Bound God must fall!" he shrieked, lunging at Liam.
Liam reacted instinctively. The Spear of Lug erupted with lightning, incinerating the cultist. But the flowers at his feet quivered, their petals peeling back to reveal pupiled eyes.
"Run!" Aisling shouted. The ground trembled as the flowers released a cloud of black spores. Anyone touched by the mist collapsed, their flesh dissolving into shadow.
Finn grabbed Liam, dragging him toward the cliffs. "The fjord's this way!"
As they fled, Old Sean fired at the pursuing cultists, his shotgun loaded with iron slugs blessed by Aisling. "Elara's ships are here," he said, nodding at a fleet of black submarines surfacing in the bay. "They're using the rift to weaponize the Void."
Liam's vision blurred. He saw fragments of the future: cities submerged in shadow, Finn fully transformed into Níðhöggr, Aisling's body drained of life. The serpent god's voice echoed in his mind: *"Merge with me, and I'll burn the Void to ash."*
"No!" he snarled, slamming the Spear into the ground. Lightning surged outward, creating a barrier of gold and silver light. The cultists hesitated, their antlers smoking where the energy touched them.
"Liam, look!" Aisling pointed. At the center of the rift, a colossal figure emerged—a void dragon, its scales shimmering like broken mirrors. It opened its maw, and reality itself warped, pulling nearby boulders into its throat.
"That's not Níðhöggr…" Finn whispered. "It's a creature of the Void."
The dragon's gaze locked onto Liam. "The bridge…" Its voice was a thousand screams in unison. "We'll tear you apart and feast on your world."
Old Sean tossed a grenade into the rift. The explosion destabilized the ground, but the dragon regenerated, its wounds knitting with shadow. "It's immune to conventional weapons!" he shouted.
Aisling raised her staff, vines erupting from the earth to bind the dragon. But the creature lashed out, dissolving the plants into nothingness. "Their essence is anti-matter!" she cried. "We can't fight them with magic."
Finn's eyes widened. "The dragon heart!" He uncorked the vial, pouring Níðhöggr's essence into the rift. The liquid ignited, creating a vortex of ice and fire. "It's a key to the World Tree's core!"
Liam understood. He charged, Spear crackling, and drove it into the rift. The ground shattered, revealing a network of roots beneath—corrupted, but still alive. "Aisling, the flowers!"
Aisling chanted, her Druidic magic flaring. The black blooms wilted, their eyes dimming. The void dragon roared, its form flickering. "You can't stop us!"
But Liam wasn't listening. He channeled the serpent's power into the roots, healing the corruption with golden light. The rift began to close, the dragon's screams fading into the Void.
Finn seized the moment. He pressed a rune-etched dagger into his palm, slicing open a ritual circle. "By the blood of the dragon…" he began, but his voice faltered. Níðhöggr's influence surged, scales erupting across his face.
"Do it!" Liam shouted. "I'll hold him back."
Finn nodded, driving the dagger into the ground. The circle flared, and a spectral form emerged—Níðhöggr's soul, a shadowy serpent coiled around Finn's heart. "You think you can banish me?" it hissed.
Liam struck, Spear of Lug crackling. The serpent recoiled, but Finn's body convulsed. "Now!" Aisling shouted, throwing a vial of holy water into the circle.
The mixture exploded, severing the bond. Finn collapsed, gasping, as Níðhöggr's essence dissipated into the wind. "It's done…" he panted. "For now."
Old Sean grabbed Liam's arm, pulling him toward the cliffs. "Elara's here."
Liam turned. His mother stood on the deck of a submarine, surrounded by cultists. "You've made a mistake, Liam." She raised a device resembling a scepter, its tip glowing with stolen Druidic magic. "The Void is the future… and I'll drag you into it."
She fired. The blast hit Liam square in the chest, dissolving the scales from his body. The Spear of Lug clattered to the ground, inert. "No!" Aisling cried, rushing to his side.
Elara laughed. "Without the serpent's power, you're just a man… a man who's going to die."
But Liam smiled. He pressed his hand to the ground, channeling the stag god's essence. The World Tree's roots surged upward, wrapping around Elara's submarine. "You forgot…" he said, his voice now a dual roar. "I'm the bridge."
The roots crushed the submarine, but Elara escaped in a jetpack, her laughter echoing. "This isn't over!"
Liam collapsed, his body trembling. Aisling knelt beside him, tears in her eyes. "What did you do?"
He coughed, blood trickling from his lips. "I… merged with the stag." His eyes flickered gold. "The balance… requires both."
Finn helped him up, nodding at the horizon. "Look."
The rift had closed, but the black flowers remained, dormant. And in the distance, a fleet of ships bearing Celtic spirals and Norse runes approached—Elara's allies, come to claim the Bound God.
"They'll be back." Old Sean reloaded his shotgun.
Liam gripped the Spear of Lug, now inert but still his. "Then we'll be ready."