Even if Aphelia told herself to focus, the visions slipped her grasp like smoke.

When blows landed, they flared across her eyes like torn banners in a storm.

She wanted to strike back, but Brynhildr’s attacks were ghosts she couldn’t catch.

A shrill whoosh knifed past her ear, cutting the chaos clean.

Azure Aether Thunder flashed like a blue squall, sweeping Brynhildr off Aphelia’s flank.

It scrubbed the visions away, and Aphelia’s mind snapped back into place.

The strike wasn’t enough to drive Brynhildr off.

Before her next rush, black Runes spun toward her like ravens.

Brynhildr flinched, dread in her stance.

The Reaper blinked behind her, black scythe arcing down in a killing crescent.

“Did it work?!”

Odin clenched her fists, eyes pinned to the clash.

Everyone present shared the same breathless thought.

Black fissures crawled over Brynhildr’s milk-white armor like frost cracking glass.

Silence broke—her scream knifed the air.

Her Silver Lance flashed back and hurled the Reaper away like a comet.

Odin raised her Thunder again, resolve hard as iron.

But before the strike, Brynhildr’s Silver Lance vanished.

Her clear form blurred, two shapes overlapping—one doubled in pain, screaming; the other arched, straining to break free.

“If I’m right, Sigdrifa’s fusion just unraveled?”

Odin shot to Aphelia’s side, reaching to heal.

“No—not fully. I’ll add fuel.”

Aphelia wiped blood from her cheek; Crimson Fire blossomed, red as a dawn wound.

Before Odin could stop her, she launched herself like an arrow.

She drove both hands into the blur.

Pain bit her palms; she grunted, breath hitching.

But she caught them—two phantom bodies.

Crimson Fire roared; she screamed, forcing the shadows apart with raw will.

“Aaaaaaaah!”

Screeches and fury melted into the Crimson Fire like wax in flame.

Aphelia felt herself draining out, yet the two shades weighed like mountains.

The Reaper set her jaw, as if choosing ruin.

Her black scythe shattered to dust; shards bit into her flesh like stinging stars.

A primal urge, old as the wild, surged.

Black power sheeted over her, soot-dark and absolute.

Behind her, a golden clock-phantom rose, rim bright as noon.

Odin trembled at her own helplessness, bones cold.

She ground her teeth, trying to lift her Thunder under that dread sky.

But the Aether around her refused her call, like water turning to stone.

All the Aether in the space collided around the three like storming seas.

“Aphelia, heads up!”

The Reaper flashed to her front, body drowned in black.

The golden clock spun faster and faster, hands chasing light.

Facing Brynhildr’s thrashing shadow, her right hand fell, laced with countless Runes.

A clean, glass-bright crack rang through everyone’s chest.

Brynhildr’s outline seemed to catch that force.

Aphelia yanked her free of the knot like pulling a spear from a wound.

Only Sigdrifa’s shadow remained, trapped in Aphelia’s clenched fist.

When the two forms split, the world’s weight vanished.

That gaze of the world faded to nothing.

Silence fell like snow.

Then, before anyone could breathe, the air tore open.

A black rift ripped where the split had been, night cleaving noon.

Its pull tugged Aphelia hard enough to shake her bones.

She stoked Crimson Fire, bracing herself in the gale’s teeth.

Power poured from the rift, familiar yet strange.

It was the same force that pulled her across time and dream.

No reason needed—her gut knotted with fear.

That gut had saved her on a hundred battlefields.

The Reaper sighed, a sound of surrender.

Her eyes went dim, stars blown out.

She looked to Odin and shouted, voice ringing like iron.

“Odin, get out. The realm of the dead is collapsing, and nothing can stop it.

Take whoever can still move, and leave.

Go to the human lands.

They can isolate the World Tree.

That path leads to the divine realm.

It’s your last chance to save the world.”

“Wait—what do you mean? Didn’t you beat the Valkyrie?!”

Odin hauled Belldandy and Skuld to their feet.

She stared at the form caught in Aphelia’s grip, heart pounding.

The Reaper didn’t answer.

The golden clock’s hands slowed, light thinning.

Black power tore seams through space.

Through the rift, another layer of the world shimmered, pale and real.

It was the human realm, without doubt.

“Go. You can’t fix this.

Leave it to me and Aphelia.

Time flows differently there.

You’ll have enough to find a way.”

Even a stubborn Odin understood.

She looked at Aphelia, grappling a Valkyrie, body braced against the pull.

A sour ache rose in her chest, bitter as copper.

She stepped into the portal, then stopped short.

Azure Aether pinned Belldandy and Skuld like soft chains.

Odin bit her finger, drawing a bead of blue.

She carved a flame-shaped Rune beneath her right breast.

Aether flooded it, river into seal.

She reached inside herself and drew out a chain-bound blade.

She threw it to Aphelia, steel singing through the air.

“Hey—what are you—!”

Before Aphelia could react, the blade became a flame Rune.

It burned under her right breast like a brand.

The Rune on Odin faded away, leaving her bare.

“Aphelia! I admit you’re a mighty warrior.

Your name will live forever in Asgard.

From now on, Asgard has no Valkyries.

Only Aphelia!”

Odin’s Azure eyes were steady, no doubt inside them.

Aphelia, clutching Sigdrifa, blinked, then smiled, helpless and wry.

Odin gathered the two and stepped into the rift without looking back.

“Don’t you dare regret it...” Aphelia murmured as Odin’s shape sank into the dark seam.

The pull grew stronger, a tide with teeth.

Crimson Fire started failing against it, embers guttering.

Soon, she’d be swallowed.

Inside, danger stacked like blades.

So what?

Her sworn enemy was in her hand.

She’d drag her in and finish it.

“Aphelia, you know what to do.

I can’t help you anymore...”

As the three hands on the golden clock met, the Reaper’s body fractured into drifting shards, streaming toward the phantom.

“Mm. I understand.”

Aphelia’s voice was firm, low as earth.

The Reaper let go, closing her eyes.

Her body powdered to ash, soft as snow.

The golden clock faded.

Both vanished before Aphelia, silence in their wake.

She watched the Reaper depart, watched Odin go.

She looked at the rift, and a smile blossomed like a red flower.

If this is the final way to kill Sigdrifa...

For one heartbeat, her heart felt released, light as wind.

Crimson Fire went out.

Her bright Bracer Gauntlets slipped from her arms like falling light.

She stopped moving power.

The rift’s pull took her cleanly, swallowing her and Sigdrifa.

They vanished into that black seam, night sealing night.

In the instant she didn’t see, the pure-white form they had split off slid onto her back like a shadow.

As Aphelia and Sigdrifa fell away, the black rift closed with a hush.

Niflheim settled into silence.

What had been broken restored itself, a picture repainted.

As if nothing had happened at all.

Under the roots of the World Tree, a pure-white figure stepped out, pale as moonlight.

It walked from a crossing of countless threads like silk woven by fate.

“What... what’s happening? I should have already—”

Urd looked at her whole body, stunned.

She lifted her head and took in Niflheim, whole and unscarred.

Bitterness rose in her heart, cold and deep.

“You still chose that road...”

In the endless void, Aphelia was swallowed, falling without falling.

Her five senses went dark, lamps blown out by wind.

She couldn’t tell how long the night lasted.

Pain flared in her skull, sharp as an axe.

Life returned, raw and present.

...

A voice brushed her ear, soft as wind through leaves.

“Aphe—”

Was it calling me?

“Aphelia...”

The call snapped her awake.

Warm afternoon sunlight poured across her face like honey.

She sat at a desk, wood smooth under her fingers.

Around her, girls in matching uniforms lined up like petals.

In front, a mature woman calling her name, brows knit, eyes steady on her.