A Minimum of Forty Times

Adam bolted over a frozen mountain peak. Like the rest of Jotunheim, the frosty wind tried to infiltrate his muscles, gnaw at his life force, and feed on his heat. Yet, his crevices pulsed with raw plasma, repelling it as he plunged to the other side.

He landed in a white forest, the snow crunching beneath his bare feet as Mimir's voice echoed from his belt.

"I know you must recover your powers, brother. But being strapped at your belt while you engage in dangerous fights wasn't exactly what I had in mind when we departed."

Adam gripped his god slayer's hilt, shrugging. "You know better than me how deceptive Loki is. We can't meet one of his underlings while weak."