As Odin readied Aether to seal the space, the Reaper’s cool voice brushed her ear. Under the black cloak, several hourglasses shattered like frost underfoot.

The Silver Lance froze in midair, as if clutched by an unseen hand. Its gleam blurred. In a heartbeat, the spear unraveled like a mirage and vanished.

Far off, Brynhildr seemed to sense it. She lifted her head and opened her eyes, calm as winter sky.

More hourglasses cracked under the cloak. The Reaper supporting Odin coughed blood. Her body jolted like a struck bell.

“Hey, you okay?!”

Feeling that violent shudder behind her, Odin blurted the question.

“I’m fine… Don’t you move again! If the Valkyrie locks you once more, I might not save you!”

The Reaper gripped Odin and stopped her struggle.

Seeing Brynhildr hold her hand for the moment, Odin didn’t dare thrash. She lowered her voice.

“What do you mean? How did the Valkyrie pull off that attack? In my memory, she wasn’t this absurd.”

The Reaper let out a bitter laugh. She stared at that pure-white figure and spoke low.

“Brynhildr’s blows are after, yet arrive before. No—no matter when you strike, she’s always first. Sometimes several steps first. That’s rule-power. You can’t win.”

Always first. Imagine throwing a punch at any time, in any way. She’s faster by a step, even when you haven’t moved.

This isn’t speed anymore. It’s causality bent out of shape.

That is one of the killing tools in the hands of the Valkyrie named Brynhildr.

“Wait, what about Aphelia? You covered me—then she…”

“Rest easy. Brynhildr can’t kill her. Not this one, not now.”

The black robe around the Reaper worked like a ward, veiling Brynhildr’s sight. She looked toward where Aphelia had been swatted away. For now, only Aphelia could carry their hope—at least until the plan took hold…

Damn… that hurts.

Aphelia clutched her gut and hissed through her teeth. Outside, nothing showed. Inside, heat gnawed like live coals. Organs injured—no, shattered? Brynhildr, indeed. How much strength did she use? Half? Thirty percent?

Aphelia slapped gravel from her shoulders and rose from the crater. Crimson Flame leapt along her forearms, then spread like dawn across the four quarters of her body.

If armor alone can’t hold, then add Crimson Fire.

Facing Brynhildr, she wouldn’t slack. If she could give a hundred, she’d wring out a hundred and fifty. The two girls in ceremonial dress reappeared. They looked ragged, blades in hand, floating at Aphelia’s side. Together they fixed on Brynhildr in the sky.

Noticing the gaze from below, Brynhildr extended a hand. Pale fingers curled in a taunt.

“Hmph. The Valkyrie’s pride, is it?”

The Crimson Flame compressed into Aphelia’s palms. A long spear formed in her grip. The two crimson-clad girls drifted out beside her, spears leveled.

She still didn’t know how that last strike worked, but she wouldn’t dance to the Valkyrie’s rhythm. When titans trade blows, the one dragged into the other’s tempo loses at the bell.

Aphelia didn’t rush her. She rose higher into open air. Crimson Flame spread slow and steady, as if reclaiming clean ground in a domain the Valkyrie had stolen.

A crimson spear cut through the pure-white field. Crimson Flame licked the white, then faltered, almost guttering out. Aphelia shut her eyes and held still.

If Crimson Fire burns my soul, then let it burn hotter.

As if hearing her vow, the dying Crimson Fire surged again. It pressed against the pure-white realm. Aphelia’s figure wavered in the air.

She steadied at once, stepped on streams of Crimson Fire, and walked toward Brynhildr.

“I found a way. But it’s not the right way…”

Watching Aphelia draw near, the Reaper’s blank mask twisted with pain. Teeth clenched. A hidden hand tightened under the black robe.

“What do you mean? Why isn’t it right? What else do you know?!”

Hearing that, Odin tried to wrench free of the Reaper’s hold.

Brynhildr was too strong, far beyond the human coil. Odin had no reason to leave that foe to Aphelia alone. And the Reaper’s words seeded an ugly dread.

“Tearing a domain to break a power isn’t wrong. But Aphelia’s burning her soul. Look at her hair tips. That color means her soul’s aflame. The lifespan that should be hers…”

The Reaper drew out an hourglass. Sand poured from empty air into it, visible grain by grain.

“This is her time. It won’t stop falling until she defeats Brynhildr.”

“Then give that time back to her!”

Sand fell faster. Strands at Aphelia’s temples slowly silvered. Odin roared and reached for the hourglass.

“Impossible. Brynhildr is a god the world itself acknowledges. The only god here. What Aphelia’s doing is an equal exchange with this world. I’m only the administrator. I can’t break that rule. If I did, this world would grant Brynhildr even greater power to balance it.”

The Reaper shook her head, grief-clouded. She could do nothing else—only refuse to be Aphelia’s weak point, and watch the sand mount.

In the sky, Aphelia had closed on Brynhildr. One more step, and she’d enter the Valkyrie’s range.

She breathed out.

Clang!!!

In that breath, a crimson spear and the Silver Lance crossed in midair. Ragged flame filled the space around them. This time, Aphelia wasn’t blasted away. A clean notch marred her fire-forged spear.

“She actually hit?!”

Remembering Brynhildr’s after-yet-before horror, Odin’s eyes went wide.

It looked hard-fought, but Aphelia had landed it. The spears met. Her crimson spear bore a notch, yet Brynhildr didn’t force her back. Aphelia stood her ground.

That unseen counter didn’t flash across her this time.

“As I thought. Tear your domain, and you can’t throw that kind of strike.”

Aphelia sneered and raised her crimson spear again. Pain tolled in her skull like iron, yet her mind stayed razor-clear. Crimson Fire kept burning the pure-white field. She wrested Niflheim’s control from Brynhildr, inch by inch.

Brynhildr finally frowned. Only that. She still didn’t strike first. She held the air around her. If Aphelia didn’t step close enough, she wouldn’t attack.

That gave Aphelia time. When her crimson spear mended, she drove for Brynhildr’s chest. The two crimson-clad maidens followed, their blades darting for the Valkyrie’s throat.

That drew Brynhildr’s gaze. Her white spear traced a crooked line. It didn’t block Aphelia. It swatted the two ceremonial girls away.

Aphelia wouldn’t waste it. Her spear flared, heat blooming, and punched at Brynhildr’s armor. Before she could push deeper, the silver-white plates clamped down like a living jaw. The tip locked fast.

Aphelia didn’t force forward. She pulled back and laughed coldly.

“This is the opening I wanted.”

The spear of Scarlet Inferno unraveled into searing flame. Fire bored straight into the armor’s interior. Brynhildr blinked, then reached to smother it with Aether.

Too late. Aphelia had already closed. The Bracer Gauntlets snapped onto her arms in a rush of crimson.

“Shatter—Fist!”

Her blazing right fist hammered Brynhildr’s abdomen dead center. Power and speed cracked the air like thunder. The heavy blow sent Brynhildr flying—an eye for an eye.