In a single breath, the crimson lance and the Silver Lance crossed midair; stray flames swarmed around them. But this time, Aphelia didn’t get blown away. A clean notch bit into her crimson fire-lance.

“She actually landed a hit?!”

Fear pricked first; action second. Remembering Brynhildr’s terrifying counter that hits before it’s thrown, Odin’s eyes widened.

It looked forced, but Aphelia truly struck Brynhildr. Lances crossed; a bright notch marred the crimson-forged lance. Yet Brynhildr failed to push her back; Aphelia planted herself right before her.

That phantom bite of the counter didn’t appear on Aphelia this time.

“As I thought. Tear your domain, and that trick can’t fire.”

Pain spiraled through her skull; clarity burned brighter. Aphelia lifted her crimson lance with a cold smile. Crimson Fire kept eating at the pure-white domain, wresting Niflheim’s control from Brynhildr.

Brynhildr’s brow creased, a ripple across still water. She didn’t strike; she held the domain at her side. As if, unless Aphelia stepped too close, she wouldn’t move first.

That gave Aphelia time. Once her crimson lance mended, she thrust for Brynhildr’s chest. This time, the two crimson-clad maidens at her sides followed, blades flashing for Brynhildr’s throat.

The move drew Brynhildr’s attention; yet the Silver Lance traced an uncanny arc before her. It didn’t block Aphelia’s thrust— it flicked out and blasted the two robed maidens back.

Aphelia wouldn’t waste the opening. Flame roared along her lance; she drove it into Brynhildr’s armor. But the silver armor seemed alive, clamping on her spearhead, locking it fast.

Instead of pushing, Aphelia pulled back, a cold smile cutting her face. “I’ve been waiting for this!”

The lance formed of the Scarlet Inferno unraveled to raw fire, burrowing straight into the armor’s guts. Brynhildr blinked, reaching for Aether to snuff it. Aphelia was already in her face; crimson Bracer Gauntlets snapped onto her arms.

“Crushing—Fist!!!”

Her blaze-wreathed right fist landed dead-center on Brynhildr’s abdomen. So much force, so much speed, the air detonated. A heavy payback— Brynhildr went flying.

Brynhildr was hurled just like Aphelia had been at the start. But Aphelia wasn’t Brynhildr— she doesn’t waste openings. Crimson Flame ripped the pure-white domain and burst through.

“Ora ora ora ora ora!!!”

Her blazing fists poured down like cannonfire onto Brynhildr’s body. The air kept bursting with shock. And it wasn’t over. The two maidens in regal dress swept their twin blades, sealing every escape, forcing Brynhildr to face Aphelia head-on.

“No way?!” Odin’s eyes went wide. Minutes ago Aphelia was getting steamrolled; now she descended like a war-god, forcing Brynhildr out of her own domain and hammering blows onto her body.

Under Aphelia’s relentless chain, even Brynhildr seemed to be bleeding.

The Reaper watched the storm-of-blows with a knot of worry. She murmured, “This is one possibility. What I fear more is…”

Before she finished, Brynhildr, on the brink, suddenly clamped Aphelia’s swinging right fist.

“Impossible…!— mmh!” Before Aphelia could throw another punch, Brynhildr’s right fist slammed square into her face. In a blink, the storm flipped onto Aphelia. The pure-white domain flared from Brynhildr’s body, blasting the two maidens away.

But Aphelia, who had torn that domain, wouldn’t go quiet. She’s weathered frenzies like this. Slip past Brynhildr’s punch— then counter!

Brynhildr’s one-sided dominance didn’t last minutes. Aphelia answered with both fists, trading wound for wound. Silver armor and crimson fire shattered in instants, rebuilt in instants. It felt like the outcome hinged on will and sheer life.

Then Aphelia’s movements slowed. In their clash-zone, a strange power began to spread, gnawing at Niflheim’s barrier. It wasn’t Crimson Fire. It wasn’t the pure-white domain. Through the corroded patch, bizarre scenes seemed visible.

“No— we can’t let this continue. Odin, how recovered are you? Can you intervene?!” Seeing the visions leaking through the eroded zone, the Reaper gasped and looked to Odin in her arms, urgent.

“I can. I’ll try. What the hell happened?! Reaper, at least tell me what’s between them!” Even Odin felt the terror seeping from the widening erosion. The Reaper needed only a glance to know it— this wasn’t the first time that power had surfaced.

“I can’t lay it out now. If you don’t stop them, that thing will keep eating Niflheim— and it’s irreversible. If it spreads, the realm of the dead will vanish. We have to stop them now.”

The Reaper bit down hard, then began to chant. Her voice was deep and far, inhuman. Black Aether seeped from her great scythe; the runes etched on its blade seemed to wake, peeling themselves free.

At that point, Odin had no more questions. It’s no joke: the three worlds hang from the World Tree. If the realm of the dead collapses first, a branch of the Tree dies. Forget reclaiming the god-realm; everyone can sit and wait for doom.

Odin forced Aether to ring his body. The heavy wounds hadn’t healed, but he could still attack through Aether. An ashen-blue spear formed in his hands. He aimed at the battling pair and hurled it.

Aphelia’s slowdown wasn’t by choice. Brynhildr’s blows lit a flood of images across her sight— familiar yet strange. They overlapped with the present, then vanished without a trace.

What are they… Brynhildr’s memories again? No. I can’t sink into them now. She told herself so, but the visions ignored her will. Each hit made them flare. She couldn’t track Brynhildr’s strikes, much less counter.

A shrill howl tore the mess apart. Ashen-blue Thunder streaked past her eyes, driving Brynhildr away from Aphelia’s side. The visions wiped clean; Aphelia snapped back.

That alone wouldn’t make Brynhildr retreat. But before her next charge, black runes were already flying at her. For some reason, Brynhildr flinched from them, shifting back. The Reaper flashed behind her, ink-black scythe swinging down.

“Did it work?!” Odin clenched his fists, eyes locked on them. For a heartbeat, not just Odin— everyone present thought the same thing.

Black cracks crawled across Brynhildr’s pure-white armor. As if in great pain, she— who never made a sound— screamed sharp. The Silver Lance flickered back and blasted the Reaper away.

Odin raised his thunder-spear again. Before he could throw, Brynhildr’s Silver Lance vanished. Her crisp outline blurred. You could make out one figure doubling over to scream in pain, another arching back, struggling to break free.

“If I’m right, Sigdrifa’s fusion just unraveled?” Odin darted to Aphelia’s side to heal her.

“No. Not yet. It’s not fully undone. I’ll add fuel!” Aphelia wiped the blood from her cheek. Crimson Fire rose again. Before Odin could stop her, she hurled herself at Brynhildr, thrusting both hands into the blur. The pain that bit her palms made her grunt.

She still seized them— both hazy figures. Crimson Fire roared at full drive. Aphelia shouted and wrenched the two silhouettes apart.

“Aaaaaaaah!!!!”