Midgard had long been celebrated as a realm of unity. Since the gods Modi and Magni founded the Kingdom of Iceland, they had invited dwarves and Forest Elves to build a future together. Yet, even this diversity paled in comparison to the lawless congregation found at Dabalinn's Keep, deep in the eastern territories of Svartalfheim.
The region had no official title, but to the outcasts who dwelled there, it was known as "Flæða"—The Hiding Place. Located on the jagged threshold of Midgard, it served as a crucible for the unwanted. Here, one could find not just humans, dwarves, and elves, but creatures far more dangerous: dragons and witches.
The Traveler God, Magni, arrived at Flæða with urgency. He rode atop a colossal red-and-black dragon, its scales rough and cracked like magma cooling from the underworld's core. As the beast descended, the gale-force winds from its wings threatened to uproot the surrounding timber.
Magni, son of Thor, leapt from the dragon's back before it touched the earth, landing with the unyielding weight of a titan. He waved a dismissive hand, signaling the beast to depart.
"My thanks, Gorfang," Magni commanded, his voice like grinding stone. The dragon banked sharply, soaring upward until it vanished into the cloud layer.
Magni followed the murmur of a stream into the heart of the settlement. His arrival sent a ripple of panic through the locals, a hushed buzz that ceased only when a man in battered armor, sporting a magnificent beard, parted the crowd.
"At last, you have arrived, Lord Magni," greeted Prince Torvin of Ellasia. This was the prince who had lost his throne to his younger brother, Valen, following the sudden death of King Fred.
"I have come in answer to your plea, Torvin," Magni replied curtly.
The two men moved deep into the shadows of the surrounding forest to speak privately.
"You heard my prayer..." Torvin's voice trembled with desperation. "Why, then, do you not slaughter that bastard Valen and restore my birthright?"
Magni's expression remained impassive. "And what has Valen done?"
"He stole the throne from me!" Torvin shrieked.
"He took the throne," Magni corrected, his voice devoid of sympathy, "because you poisoned King Fred."
Torvin's face twisted into a manic grimace. "My father was an ally to Asgard! But only I remain on your side! You must help me kill Valen and reclaim the kingdom for your loyal servant!"
Magni looked down at the prince with cold disappointment. "King Fred was no ally of ours, though he was no enemy, either. You are mistaken, Torvin. I cannot aid you in a crime of your own making."
"The Prince insists he is your ally... yet you abandon him. Who, then, would ever want to join your side?"
A playful, mocking voice cut through the air. A woman stepped from the brush—a Forest Elf with flowing brown hair, dressed in white robes trimmed with blood-red. Behind her lumbered a golden-haired dwarf, hefting a massive axe.
Magni ignored the woman, fixing his gaze on the dwarf. "You should warn your slave to watch her tongue."
The Elf girl laughed, a sound so delighted it bordered on madness. Magni stepped forward to silence her, but stopped abruptly. A sickly sweet scent drifted past him.
"The scent of the Elafindi flower from Alfheim..." Magni murmured, realizing the threat. "You are one of the four elite Elven assassins who call themselves 'The Flowers,' aren't you?"
The Elf laughed harder, clutching the dwarf's shoulder to keep from collapsing.
Magni shifted his focus to the warrior. "And who are you?"
"I have been your enemy since the days of my grandfather," the dwarf growled, tightening his grip on his weapon. "I am Mikilllfr Drakavaldr."
"Just two of you, intending to kill a god? Ha!" Magni scoffed.
"Not just two. There is also me."
The voice was cold, imperious, and radiated power. From the opposite side of the clearing, a figure emerged in a dress as black as the void, wearing a tall, pointed hat inscribed with ancient runes. A High Witch.
Magni's laughter died in his throat. He knew those eyes. They belonged to his spurned fiancée, the Valkyrie Sigyn, the inventor of the ancient world's deadliest explosive magics. She had nursed her hatred for him for centuries.
"Hey! You know this is the God Magni, right? What is a witch doing here?" the Elf girl asked, feigning ignorance.
"Watch your tongue. I am Sydra, strongest of the Nine Unicorn Witches." Whether Sigyn or Sydra, her name carried the weight of legend.
"She speaks the truth, Vanessa. She is a guest I invited at great cost." A final voice chimed in as another Elven woman, clad in radiant golden armor, stepped into the light.
She walked past Magni and gestured for Torvin to leave. The prince didn't hesitate, fleeing into the darkness, terrified of the clash of titans about to unfold.
Enya smiled. The trap was set. She had promised Torvin his throne in exchange for luring the strongest being in the universe to this killing floor.
Magni stood alone, surrounded, yet he raised his chin in defiance. "You fools should remember... I am the one who destroyed the Grand Dragon, Vulkanfang! Even the land itself feared him, yet he fell to me!"
It was true. The death of Vulkanfang was a legend of the new age. But today was different. Today, Magni did not hold his legendary axe, 'SnowWhite.'
As Magni's boast faded, the air exploded into violence.
Vanessa moved first, faster than the wind. Wielding a Glaive coated in a fragrant, reddish-pink mist, she became a blur of white and red, spinning around Magni to find an opening.
Enya matched her speed, her Gladius glowing with a spectral blue light. Her coordination with Vanessa was flawless. As she closed in, she cast a Ring of Light, sending a diamond-edged discus spinning toward Magni from afar.
Yet, their perfection was meaningless before the Divine Aura.
Magni did not dodge. He simply swung his arms, creating a shockwave like a raging monsoon. The sheer pressure of his aura deflected every strike, forcing the assassins to backflip away to avoid being crushed.
Seeing the opening, Sydra unleashed her magic. "Untora!"
Explosions of dark purple energy slammed into Magni from all directions. The bombardment was precise and devastating, shattering the Divine Aura and forcing the God to stagger backward.
Mikilllfr saw his moment. Though slow, his timing was impeccable. He gripped his family's heirloom axe—an extension of his own arm—and unleashed his ultimate technique: "The Dragon Slash!"
Using the torque of his powerful waist, he swung the axe in a vicious uppercut arc, aiming directly for Magni's exposed chest.
But the Divine Aura flickered back to life.
The axe struck the invisible barrier and rebounded with catastrophic force. The dwarf was launched backward, colliding with Sydra and sending the High Witch tumbling into the dirt.
Enya and Vanessa did not pause. They lunged again, their attacks relentless. Magni, regaining his footing, began to parry their blades with his bare hands, controlling the distance with godlike precision.
But the true danger lay in wait.
From the shadows, a blade glowing with pale blue light thrust toward Magni's unprotected back. Fenris, the Fox Mask Warrior and master of assassination, had waited for this exact second. He also wielded a Gladius.
The blade pierced the outer layer of the aura.
In a fraction of a second, Magni spun. His armored armband deflected the killing blow, and his massive fist hammered into Fenris's chest, launching the assassin ten meters through the air.
Magni roared, preparing to counterattack, when his body suddenly seized.
His muscles locked. His expanding aura was crushed, suffocated by an invisible weight. High in the canopy, Muninn had cast a binding seal, imprisoning the god's power.
Vanessa and Enya struck. Magni caught their weapons, his strength immense even without his aura, but he was immobilized.
"Come forth, Asanee!" Enya screamed to the sky.
Thunder tore the heavens apart. A bolt of lightning slammed down, aiming for Magni's heart. The Traveler God wrenched his body sideways, but he was too slow. The lightning solidified into a golden spear, impaling his right arm.
Magni stared at the weapon in horror. It was Gungnir—the spear of the All-Father Odin.
Realizing death was imminent, Magni shouted to the sky. "Gorfang! Get me out of here!"
The red-and-black dragon dove from the clouds, its wings generating a hurricane that scattered the assassins like leaves. Magni, bleeding and bound, reached out with his good left hand, grasping for the reins on the dragon's neck.
And then, the impossible happened.
Gorfang bit down on Magni's arm.
"Gorfang... you..." Magni gasped, betrayal in his eyes.
"At last... I avenge my father," the dragon's voice echoed in Magni's mind.
This was no ordinary beast. Gorfang was the spawn of Vulkanfang, the evil dragon Magni had slain. It had served in fear, waiting for the day the god would be broken.
The wind from the dragon knocked Muninn from the trees, breaking the seal. Magni tried to summon his aura, to explode with power—but he choked. The faint scent of flowers... Vanessa's poison had seeped into his blood, suppressing his divinity from within.
The golden spear in his arm began to shift and warp. Gungnir dissolved, reforming into a tall, slender man clad in gold.
Magni looked up in terror.
"My name is Asanee," the man said softly.
He raised a hand, his palm glowing sharper than any blade, and slashed down.
The head of the God Magni fell to the earth.