chapter Ten: A Declaration of War
The streets of Midgard were in ruins. Fires burned, buildings crumbled, and the people ran for their lives as the superpowered warriors of the World Government ravaged the land.
Eirik and his crew sprinted through the chaos, dodging collapsing debris and stray bullets. Their only hope lay ahead the Underground Market, where they could find weapons and a chance to fight back.
Then
A blinding light tore through the sky.
🔥 A massive warship hovered above the city, casting a monstrous shadow over the battlefield.
The ship was unlike anything Eirik had ever seen a floating fortress of steel and fire, covered in battle scars from countless wars. Giant cannons lined its sides, their barrels glowing with untamed power. Its engines roared like a beast, shaking the very air around it.
And then
A man stepped forward from the ship's open deck.
An old, monstrous warrior.
⚔️ His muscles were thick like iron, his arms decorated with scars that told a thousand stories.
⚔️ A massive sword rested on his shoulder, its edge still dripping with the blood of past battles.
⚔️ His chest was bare, revealing ancient war tattoos that marked him as a living legend.
His eyes burned with rage. His presence alone was suffocating.
He took one deep breath, filling his lungs as if about to unleash a storm upon the world.
Then, his voice shook the heavens.
"IS THE WORLD GOVERNMENT ALREADY TREMBLING AT THE COMING OF A NEW ERA?!"
The warriors of the World Government paused for the first time, turning their eyes to the ship. Fear crept into their expressions.
"WE ARE HERE TO DEFEND THIS PRECIOUS LAND!"
His grip on the massive sword tightened. The air around him twisted, as if it couldn't handle his sheer presence.
"WHOEVER WISHES TO JOIN MY FAMILY OF REBELS"
He lifted his sword high into the sky.
"COME ABOARD AND FIGHT FOR YOUR FREEDOM!"
With that, he leaped from the ship.
Behind him, his crew descended like demons from the sky.
The battlefield went silent for a moment.
Then,
The old man landed.
And the world broke beneath him.
The cobblestone streets split open, sending a violent quake across the battlefield. The shockwave ripped men from their feet, throwing them like dolls into shattered buildings.
A second of silence.
Then chaos.
"HE'S HERE! OPEN FIRE!"
A deafening roar of cannon fire split the air. The World Government's elite troops, their military coats stained with the blood of Midgard's fallen, unleashed a hellstorm of destruction.
Rows of muskets erupted, sending lead bullets screaming toward the old man. From the city's broken walls, cannons thundered, launching iron balls the size of human skulls. The sky darkened as a barrage of death descended upon him.
And yet
The old man did not flinch.
His scarred fingers tightened around his massive black sword. The blade, chipped and ancient, hummed with a silent promise of carnage.
Then he moved.
A single swing.
SHHHHHRAK!
The wind itself split apart.
The cannonballs never landed.
They were bisected mid-air, each one falling in harmless halves to the ruined ground. The bullets? They never reached him. The sheer force of his swing sent them spiraling backward, tearing through the soldiers who had fired them.
"W-What the hell!?"
The elite warriors hesitated.
That was all the time he needed.
The old man vanished.
The frontlines didn't even see where he went until the first body exploded.
A soldier screamed, but his voice was cut off as his torso detached from his legs, blood fountaining into the sky.
Then another.
And another.
The frontline disintegrated.
Where the old man passed, only corpses remained.
"DON'T BREAK FORMATION!" the general screamed, eyes wide with terror. "HOLD THE "
Too late.
The old man appeared behind him.
His sword whispered through the air.
The general's head left his shoulders, his mouth still open mid-command. His body stood frozen for a moment then collapsed.
"MONSTER HE'S A MONSTER!"
The elite troops roared, their bodies crackling with divine energy. These were no ordinary men. These were warriors who had consumed fragments of fallen gods.
They charged.
The Slaughter Begins
The first elite, a giant of a man, his skin as hard as steel, swung his greatsword downward with enough force to cleave a castle in half.
BOOOOOOM!
The ground split open, chunks of stone flying into the air. Dust swallowed the battlefield.
But when the dust settled
The old man stood there. Unharmed.
The elite gasped. His sword was broken.
Not just broken shattered.
The old man had cut through it like it was paper.
The giant staggered back, horror in his eyes. "W-Wait—"
The old man didn't let him finish.
With one step, he was already there.
His sword flashed once.
A red mist exploded into the air.
The elite fell apart, his torso sliding off his lower half, his organs spilling onto the cracked ground.
Another elite screamed, a woman wielding twin pistols blessed by a god of war.
She pulled the triggers
BANGBANGBANGBANG!
Her bullets screamed forward, each one carved with divine runes, powerful enough to pierce through mountains.
The old man caught them with his bare hand.
The heat of the bullets burned into his palm, but he did not even flinch.
"My turn."
He threw them back.
The bullets pierced through her skull before she could blink.
Her brains splattered against the wall behind her.
The remaining elites stumbled back.
This was not a human.
This was a god of war in the flesh.
"W-WE NEED REINFORCEMENTS!" one of them shrieked.
"RETREAT! FALL BACK!"
"WE CAN'T WIN THIS"
But before they could escape
"You're forgetting something."
The old man's crew had arrived.
A seven-foot-tall brute, his muscles rippling, swinging twin axes that burned with black flames. A masked warrior, moving like a shadow, his daggers dripping with venom potent enough to kill a god. A silver-haired woman, her eyes glowing white, commanding the winds like a storm goddess.
"What are you fools waiting for?" the brute snarled. "We have a war to finish!"
And then the real massacre began.
Blood painted the streets.
Bodies fell like wheat before the scythe.
Gunfire cracked through the air, but it was useless.
The rebels carved through the World Government's forces like wolves in a field of lambs.
Men screamed as they were torn apart.
Steel clashed against steel, but every clash ended in more corpses.
The battlefield burned.
Blood ran through the cracks in the streets, mixing with the ash and debris of Midgard's broken city. The echoes of war clashing swords, dying screams, cannon blasts shook the air. The old man and his crew were tearing through the World Government's forces like reapers in a field of corpses.
And yet
Eirik hesitated.
His sword was sheathed. His fists were tightened. His mind was at war with itself.
Who is this man?
Should I follow him?
Or… should I carve my own path?
Beside him, the male twin stood firm. His knuckles were white, his body trembling not from fear, but from determination.
"Eirik, this is it." His voice was raw, desperate. "This man… he's what we've been looking for! He's strong. Unstoppable. He could teach us how to survive in this hellish world!"
Eirik clenched his jaw. His heart pounded.
"We don't even know him."
"So what!?" The twin grabbed Eirik's shoulders, shaking him. "You saw what he did! He's a monster, Eirik! The kind of monster we need to become if we ever want to change this world!"
Eirik looked at the battlefield ahead.
The old man swung his massive sword, three men died instantly. Another elite soldier tried to run, only for one of the crew members to cut him down from behind. The World Government's forces were crumbling.
It was true. The old man was strong.
But…
"I don't want to follow someone else's path." Eirik's voice was firm, steady. "I'll find my own strength."
The twin stared at him, disbelief in his eyes. "Are you serious? We've come this far together, and now you want to go off alone?"
Eirik exhaled sharply, then held out his fist.
"No matter what happens, we're brothers. Even if we walk different paths… that won't change."
The twin looked at him. His lips trembled then he grinned.
He bumped his fist against Eirik's.
"Forever, huh?"
"Forever."
The decision was made.
Eirik turned away from the battlefield, his eyes set on the underground market.
The male twin turned toward the war, sprinting forward to join the old man.
And just like that
Two brothers chose two different fates.