This is the Land of the Dead, a world born at dawn and buried by dusk.

Even as the Aesir’s chief, I must abide by RhineFairy’s river‑law.

If we miss the Rhine before nightfall, I’ll be woven into death’s rule.

Clearly, finding RhineFairy comes first.

But Uroboros stiffened, as if sensing a thorn, and barred them.

“Odin, didn’t you say this Land of the Dead lives by dawn and dies by dusk?”

As they lunged forward, black power rose around Uroboros like soot.

She watched the path with hunter’s patience, eyes cold as moonlight.

“Yes. That’s the rule here: dawn flips life and death.”

Day is the return of the living, the ledger turned light.

Night is the dead’s long shroud; each side exists only in its hour.

Uroboros’ smile was a thin blade. “Then it looks like the rule’s cracked.”

She formed her power into razor arrows and aimed at a hidden silhouette.

Silence slapped back; nothing stirred where she sighted.

Her arrows hissed away.

A steel giant coffin surged up before them, iron like a cliff.

Uroboros sprang aside; a heartbeat slower and it would’ve broken her jaw.

“Heh. Odin, take a look. Is this your dawn‑birth, dusk‑death kingdom?”

Odin stared at a skeletal frame far off, silver coffins gleaming like cold fish scales.

“A RhineFairy puppet…? No. It can’t be a dead one.”

Thunder, pale‑azure, sheeted over her spear; she was ready to test truth by force.

The skeleton wasn’t witless. Seeing them move, ice‑blue fire flared in its hollows.

It howled, a winter storm in a throatless skull.

The sound became a shockwave, frosting all it touched.

The three braced, breath steaming, every ounce of strength raised.

“What is that thing?!”

Aphelia’s Crimson Fire rose, a crimson tide against white frost.

Her unbeaten flame could only hold the wave; frost wrestled it and wouldn’t fade.

“Leave it to me!”

Thunder burst in the air, blinding; Odin vanished like a struck spark.

In the next heartbeat her spear flew, full force, a comet of steel.

Odin herself rode Thunder, appearing above the skull, hand full of Azure Aether.

She hammered down, a storm from a pale sky.

Uroboros didn’t stand idle.

Black power surged like hidden tentacles, broke the ice, and bound the skeleton.

They clung like maggots to bone, locking it in place.

Under such a barrage, even Aphelia wouldn’t claim no wound.

But the skeleton did the unthinkable.

It calmly clasped its hands behind its back and took Odin’s strike head‑on.

With the flash, Odin drove her spear true into its eye socket.

Thunder crawled over its bones like luminous moss, yet it raised a hand.

It gripped the spear, white fingers squealing against metal.

“How?!”

She pushed to drive deeper, but bone held with beastlike strength.

It stopped her cold; the screech grated from its palm.

Aphelia didn’t hesitate.

She surged in; Bracer Gauntlets bloomed crimson along her arms.

Crimson Flame jetted, ran along the black tentacles, and drilled a fist into its chest.

The sound was a temple bell, heavy and brazen, not bone at all.

It was like a steel wall stood before her.

Still, the blow hurled the skeleton away; Crimson Flame caught and burned on it.

Threads of fire tethered back to her gauntlets, stitching flame to bone.

Even Aphelia felt the tremor shiver up the bracers.

She wouldn’t waste it.

She grasped the thread‑flames, roared, and yanked the flung skeleton back.

“Now, Odin!”

Crimson Flame didn’t aim to ash it; it cinched tight like ropes.

Even its skull brimmed with fire, gagging that needle‑scream.

They stopped holding back.

Vast Aether broke Niflheim’s chains and leapt space to gather around Odin.

Raging thunderclouds brewed; she and Azure Aether fused, and she slammed down.

Around Uroboros, tentacles multiplied, a thicket of shadow.

Under Odin’s Aether, they turned to black giant pythons and coiled to crush.

Even Uroboros herself dissolved into that endless serpent flood.

Facing the triple storm, the skeleton didn’t scream this time.

Silver giant coffins erupted from the ground like dead trees.

From each stepped a skeleton, some human, some giant, all under cold command.

They drew weapons as if pulled by strings, shrieked, and charged the trio.

Such clamor couldn’t go unnoticed.

The moment the bone army rose, all three felt it, a drumbeat through the world.

Yet their assault didn’t slow; it only grew harsher.

They would drown the first skeleton before the tide dragged them under.

Perhaps none of them noticed their shapes had slipped into symbols.

Blinding Thunder twisted into endless thorns.

Black pythons crossed like a cruciform rack of punishment.

Crimson Flame became god’s wrath, burning the guilty.

Aphelia became the flame itself, a total fusion, sealing the skeleton in fire.

The effect was clear: that near‑invincible frame began to melt.

As Aphelia poured on, Crimson Flame climbed toward the sky, a curtain of red.

The airborne skeletons stalled, mid‑flight, honest fear chilling their marrow.

“Stop!”

A clear shout rang from the deep wood, but the trio didn’t ease.

They pushed harder.

The voice’s owner snorted; the world itself stumbled for a breath.

Something unspeakable shifted, like a gear skipping its tooth.

When they came back to themselves, the bound skeleton had vanished utterly.

“Cease!”

Odin recovered first; she forced the blinding Thunder back into her body.

Even Aphelia swallowed backlash and dissolved her Crimson Fire.

But Uroboros had already taken part of their strikes; she couldn’t stop in time.

The serpent mass was about to grind Aphelia to bone‑dust.

Odin moved to intervene, but Azure Aether detonated beside her.

A white figure stepped in and barred her like a drawn blade.

“You!” Odin began. “Move—”

“Do you think I’ll step aside?”

The figure gave a cold smile, lifted a staff, and lunged for Odin.

Aphelia seemed caught in a life‑and‑death choke.

Uroboros couldn’t reel her power back; she peeled from the serpent flood, trying to steer it.

It was no use; the tide had its own hunger.

Aphelia wanted to break free, but full power had braided them all together.

To avoid friendly fire, they’d tightened control; now the weave held her fast.

She exhaled.

She closed her eyes and recalled the forest, the taste of smoke and blood.

Then, wounded, she had fused with Crimson Flame to fell a giant.

If she could become flame again now, she could slip the noose.

Quick, remember. What feeling carried you into the Crimson Fire?

Anger. Despair. A heart like a storming sea.

“Huh… what just happened?!”

Feeling heat behind him, the white figure halted mid‑strike and turned.

Within Uroboros’s serpents, Aphelia’s body had vanished.

In its place spread a sky of Crimson, like heaven filled with blood.

A gauzy figure floated within it, silent, and looked at him.