A God?

The threat of death and the overwhelming pressure emanating from the Multi-Arm Leviathan Lord seemed to heighten Freya's battle awareness and skill to their utmost limits. Her body moved faster and faster, guided purely by instinct. She dodged the monster's massive, clawed hands by the barest margins, each swing of its limbs creating a gust of wind sharper than any blade. Her mace struck with overwhelming power whenever an opening presented itself. Yet it was painfully clear that she was nearing her end.

More and more wounds appeared on the Viking princess' body—long, ugly gashes across her arms and legs, deep bruises forming where blows had nearly broken bone. Her breathing grew ragged, and her armor—already battered—now hung in shards around her frame. Freya's situation was nothing short of catastrophic.