“Ha—already trying to drag me under like a net in deep water?”

Aphelia eyed the ribbon of “power” floating before her, smiled with a prickly edge, and turned away.

Odin gave an embarrassed smile and started to draw that power back, like a tide receding; Aphelia’s stance seemed clear.

As one who might walk to her death, she knew her words ran hot; as the former Lord of Gods, such hunger felt earned.

Yet Aphelia’s refusal left her chilled, like frost settling on a blade.

A kindred mind was a rarity; this was the first since she became the Lord of Gods.

“Hey, I never said I was refusing.”

Aphelia caught the hand that hadn’t withdrawn, gripping it tight like a lifeline.

She wore a rogue’s grin that froze Odin in place, then rose, clasping Odin’s outstretched hand without a flicker of doubt.

“This kind of chance? I’ve got no reason to turn it down.”

She took that radiant light under Odin’s startled gaze, and, guided by a nameless will, slowly pressed it into her chest.

Since they came for me, I hold grudges; this admission ticket to mad revenge, I’ll keep it.

Facing Odin, Aphelia couldn’t name it—fondness or old hate.

When that hand reached for her, the self born for battle found a mark, and wanted to stand at her side.

The light she’d eased into her chest burst open then, like dawn splitting a storm.

The Primordial Soil that shaped Aphelia’s body shattered entirely; her battered frame turned to ash.

A verdant core fused with the radiant light, spelling “miracle” before Odin’s eyes.

Crimson Fire spread from the Primordial Soil, and slowly took on a human shape like Aphelia.

The Primordial Soil sat inside her core, mingling with the light; under the Crimson Fire’s guidance, it flowed outward, filling this new body.

And such earth-shaking power drew swarms of “flies” like rot in summer.

At some point, countless giants stepped from the forest edges with blades in hand, circling the two like a tightening ring.

They barely spared Odin a glance; their eyes drooled over Aphelia’s reforging body like wolves scenting meat.

“Ha—ignoring me?”

A blinding bolt of Thunder fell without warning and turned the charging giant to ash.

Odin caught a heavy warhammer and a keen blade, her cerulean eyes bright with mockery and challenge as she faced the horde.

“Who’s not afraid to die? Step forward!”

The forest flashed with harsh electric light; countless giants charged them, swinging weapons without fear, swearing to cut them down here.

Odin laughed instead of anger; her cerulean gaze deepened.

Endless Thunder rained from the sky, scouring the mad giants and locking the reforging Aphelia behind her like a shield.

Meanwhile, on the plain where they’d stood before, a giant in heavy armor watched his vast legion with a smug smile.

He barked charges now and then, certain he held victory over Odin in the forest.

When blinding Thunder flared in the forest, the giant lost his calm; he vaulted onto his warhorse and led his giants in a charge.

Before their charge crossed the plain, searing lightning fell and blasted the leader from his saddle; his riders froze, silent as winter cicadas.

The leader wasn’t dead yet; he clawed up against his horse, moving slow under the Thunder’s wounds, but stood and loosed a victory-like roar.

Countless charging giants, emboldened, bellowed with him like drums across a field.

Before he could fully rise, another stroke of Thunder cleaved down; this time he burned to charcoal, dead beyond doubt.

The “culprit” drifted from the forest wrapped in a boundless sea of Thunder.

“Who’s next?”

Odin tipped a blood-red smile and sneered.

In the forest, Aphelia’s mind was overturning like mountains in a storm as her body reforged.

“What... is happening?!”

Watching her sea of consciousness crumble, Aphelia reflexively tried to rouse power.

In the mind-sea, will should rule; if it breaks, you repair it.

Yet…

“Why isn’t it repairing?!”

She even summoned the Crimson Fire within her sea of consciousness, but the space kept crumbling, as if nothing could halt its collapse.

She didn’t give up.

The collapse of the mind-sea must tie to her body; whether this change was boon or bane, even Aphelia couldn’t tell.

Helpless, she wrapped her awareness in Crimson Flame and watched her inner world crumble as boundless darkness gnawed inward.

Only that Crimson Flame burned stubbornly on.

“So that’s it—this is a transformation.”

Aphelia murmured, thoughtful, reading the scene like storm-signs.

The boundless darkness didn’t last; blinding sparks lit it up.

Her crumbling mind-sea absurdly stitched itself together, like time rewound.

The reforged inner world looked crude, unlike the ordered realm before; it was like a child’s scrawl, nothing but chaotic colors.

Wrapped in Crimson Flame, Aphelia herself felt jarringly out of place, a lone ember in messy paint.

Before she could explore, the world collapsed again; pain tore through her like a body ripping, and she almost screamed.

The crude color-world shattered into fragments; the Crimson Flame shielded her from the shards, but the Crimson Flame guarding her began to flicker.

But the fragments weren’t simple; burned to ash by the Crimson Flame, a warm current rose inside Aphelia.

It didn’t erase the pain, but it brought back a familiar sensation—

The feeling called power...

The crude smear-world broke; in its place came a world of lines—only lines—ordered yet nothing but tangled strokes.

As expected, this one didn’t last either; under Aphelia’s gaze it turned to shards again and fell toward her.

The pain tore through her again, fiercer this time; and the gained power surged with it, the twin impact almost wrecking her mind.

Before Aphelia could catch a breath, boundless dark was filled again by a strange inner world; another cycle was poised to begin.

“Won’t you even give me a breath!”

Yet Aphelia was exhilarated; her black eyes turned feral, and in some sense she’d already stepped beyond human.

The world reforged, then broke again; boundless darkness swallowed the Crimson Fire like a lone skiff in a rainstorm.

Hearing. Sight. Smell.

In a world shattered to scraps, what use are those?

If they’re useless, discard them.

Under rip-saw pain, Aphelia shed excess senses and kept only the barest feeling.

Better to drown in power and pain than let noise cloud the heart.

Trade pure pain for pure power—no bargain beats that.

“Heh, she understood quickly.”

In a corner of the boundless dark, a certain awareness watched Aphelia and chuckled.

“Of course, Uroboros. If she can’t grasp something this simple, better she dies here; loose her, and she’ll plague the world.”

Another awareness answered from the dark, bragging in its tone.

“Sure, sure—keep watching without interference. One day she’ll walk into self-destruction.”

The awareness called Uroboros sounded indifferent, faintly mocking, as if needling the braggart; the other basked and missed the jab.

“Then let’s see how it plays out.”

With that, Uroboros slipped away into the dark like a snake’s shadow, leaving the other awareness to keep silent watch on Aphelia.

On the plain, Odin kept casting the vast sea of Thunder around her, gifting death to giants—cruel, austere, and beautiful.

Even the strongest giants looked like feeble children before the Thunder, beaten without a chance to strike back, forced to flee her hunt.

No—call it a wide, indiscriminate slaughter.

Aether, newborn as a force, was like muskets against cold steel to giants who’d never touched it; the backward side suffered a one-sided massacre.

Especially when the wielder is Odin, Lord of the Divine Realm, Master of All Gods, once the ruler of this era.