Crimson Fire swept across the sky again. Her left Bracer Gauntlets turned heavy as a tower shield, slamming into Sigdrifa’s straight punch. Metal against flesh—the outcome seemed set.
But in the next heartbeat, Aphelia was the one driven back.
Even with crimson Bracer Gauntlets, Aphelia felt an acid-numbing shock under Sigdrifa’s simple-looking punch. Her right side was wide open.
“You lost, Aphelia!!”
Pure-white crystal burst from Sigdrifa’s fist. In a blink, it shaped into a great war-lance and thrust for Aphelia’s chest.
“Don’t—”
“—In your dreams!”
Two girls in crimson finery flashed in, palms birthing a wall of fire. It roared at that pure-white crystal lance.
Crimson Flame met the crystal lance midair. Both sides poured in everything. Power detonated above, a mad storm clawing at Niflheim, its pull like teeth ready to tear bodies apart.
For a split second, Aphelia’s sense of space slipped, the world tilting wrong.
“What are… these things?!!!”
Shards of shattered Niflheim surged toward her. Countless memories flooded her mind—before Niflheim, before the three goddesses of fate, when a true god ruled this place.
It wasn’t called Niflheim then, yet it was still the Land of the Dead.
“Right—the Reaper… that wasn’t an illusion!!!”
She saw the hooded black figure. Aphelia clenched her teeth against skull-splitting pain, a blade of ice behind her eyes.
That figure felt like death made flesh; remembering it hurt like a wound. No living thing can look straight at the idea of death. If any can, it’s a dead soul from the Land of the Dead, one tempered by dwelling with death’s pain.
Now Aphelia stared into that concept. Her mind swelled, ready to burst, yet the hooded figure grew sharp inside her, gathering weight, almost real.
“Mm… interesting!! So interesting!! Aphelia, Aphelia—who knew you had this kind of power!!”
Sigdrifa covered her face, watching the black shadow peel from Aphelia’s body. Across Niflheim, a force stirred. Endless legions of the dead halted.
They didn’t choose to stop. They were compelled.
The black mist forming in the air awakened their buried fear of death. The pressure drove them to their knees.
Even Belldandy, mending Niflheim’s barrier, was severed from it. She was hurled back in pain, as if hammered by a giant.
“Belldandy!! Tch—get off me!”
As Belldandy flew, Odin moved to help. A bronze-yellow blade kissed his cheek, leaving a blood-red arc in the air. The giant veined in dark red attacked like a rabid beast, heedless of harm.
Even with its chest pierced, it lunged again like a mad hound.
It looked like a darker will drove the body—some crazed puppeteer using flesh as a weapon. Break, repair, fight, until the shell collapsed.
That style forced Odin to fight cautious, his spear a whirling shield.
In the past, Odin might’ve traded wounds and lived. Now that twisted giant had a ghosting Siegfried at its side…
The thought set Odin’s temper ablaze.
Belldandy’s flight halted midair. Threads of fate from Niflheim rose on both sides, wrapping her, weaving a shield around her like a cocoon.
He didn’t know why, but with Belldandy safe he could focus on the fight. Before she moved again, a black shockwave blasted from Aphelia and Sigdrifa’s clash, spreading in all directions.
“What the hell!!”
Odin raised his spear to guard. The black wave carried a mountain-crushing force; caught off guard, even Odin was flung.
The kneeling dead fared worse. The wave shredded their ruined bodies into a storm of fragments, swarming toward the black mist overhead. Beside Aphelia, the dark figure was almost whole.
All Niflheim trembled. The once living realm turned grave-laden: trees rotted, flowers withered, pale bones rose along the banks of the Rhine.
“Again… you want to take my body?!!!”
Aphelia fought the pain and opened her eyes, blood-webbed pupils burning.
The two robed girls wailed, ghoul-like. Endless blood spread around them, then caught fire, becoming Crimson Fire that seemed ready to burn everything to ash.
Aphelia’s grin went feral. Her Bracer Gauntlets became pure flame. She slammed a fist into her own heart; as it stilled, Crimson Flame rushed inward, flooding her sea of consciousness.
“Despicable coward—get… out of me!!!!”
Her arm, burning with Crimson Fire, reached into her own body. Under Sigdrifa’s stunned gaze, Aphelia screamed herself raw and tore the twisted shadow free, flinging it into the crimson sea of fire.
With her roar, the black figure was engulfed by the crimson inferno, about to be devoured and turned to ash.
“Aphelia… do you truly wish me dead?”
A helpless sigh rose from the crimson sea.
A great scythe cleaved the crimson tide. The gust from its swing blew Aphelia’s inferno apart. The scythe-bearing figure stepped into view, floating quiet in midair like the legendary Reaper.
“Reaper, you’re no saint. You dragged me into your space just to take my body now, didn’t you?”
Aphelia snorted, contempt sharp as frost.
The crimson inferno had stained her mind. In Sigdrifa’s presence, pain and hatred were perfect fuel for Crimson Fire.
So now Crimson Fire was faintly pushing back, meddling with her thoughts.
Seeing that, the Reaper sighed. Her form vanished, then reappeared behind Aphelia, scythe in hand.
And the Crimson Flame burning on Aphelia went out, snuffed like a candle.
Her raging mind and endless killing intent dropped away. Aphelia slipped free of that awful state. The robed girls vanished, turning back into Bracer Gauntlets on her arms.
“Well? Can we talk calmly now?”
A cool touch spread from behind, washing away the gloom and clearing her head like wind over a lake.
“Hah… I guess. But Reaper, you haven’t cleared your suspicions.”
With the savagery gone, Aphelia wasn’t instantly hostile. The doubt toward the Reaper remained like a thorn.
“You two look cozy. Keeper of the Coffin—shouldn’t you count me in?”
Before the Reaper could answer, Sigdrifa smiled as pure-white crystal spread around her like frost. Hearing her voice, the Reaper lifted her hood and showed her face.
“Explanations can wait. The urgent problem is Sigdrifa, isn’t it?”
Reluctant or not, a strong ally now was rain in a drought. Aphelia had no reason to refuse.
Aphelia nodded, reset her stance, raised both fists to strike Sigdrifa—but the Reaper stopped her, a hand urging patience.
“Sigdrifa, long time. Looks like you haven’t improved.”
The dark-skinned Reaper’s voice was ice, hardly human. Beside her, Aphelia felt it keenly—like a puppet’s tone, pulled by strings to perform a task.
“Oh? Then tell me—where haven’t I improved?”
Sigdrifa kept smiling, hands quietly settling on the crystal at her sides.
Seeing that posture, the Reaper continued. “Sorry, I misspoke.”
“You do have some eye for things…”
“Not only haven’t you improved. Your awful temper’s gotten worse. You’ll never surpass Brynhildr.”
Before Sigdrifa finished preening, the dark-skinned Reaper cut her down without mercy. With that blank, deadpan face, the sting multiplied. Even Aphelia glanced over, surprised the aloof Reaper would play such a sly card.
