chapter 38: Ragnarok Brought To You By Nico And Bill

Thor backed away—beaten and bloody, his body covered in gaping wounds. He stumbled, breath ragged, retreating from his attacker. For the first time in his long life, he felt something foreign… fear.

Yet, despite that gnawing dread, he still boldly shouted, voice hoarse but defiant, "I am the mighty Thor! I will not fall to one such as you!"

With a roar, he hurled his hammer at his attacker.

Death stepped out of the shadows, silent as the grave, directly in the hammer's path.

The hammer surged forward like a meteor, lightning crackling around it—but just as it was about to make contact with Death, he casually swatted it aside with the back of his gauntlet-covered hand, as if brushing away a fly.

The hammer veered off-course violently, crashing into Tyr—who had been attempting to flank Death—sending him flying through a nearby wall. The impact shattered his ribs with a sickening crunch.

"Tyr—no!" Thor cried out, panic flashing across his bloodied face.

He turned back to Death, fury and desperation boiling within him. "You fiend! How dare you?! What have we ever done to you?!"

Death's burning eyes gleamed beneath the shadow of his cowl as he approached, each step deliberate, heavy with judgment. He extended his scythe toward Thor, the blade singing with cold finality.

"You dare ask that?" he growled, his voice low and rasping, laced with ancient contempt. "I am Death."

He took another step forward, eyes narrowing with bitter memory.

"I have seen every life you've ever taken. The moment I laid eyes on you, I saw the truth. The innocents you slaughtered—simply because you were bored. The ones sacrificed in your name… though it was not your hand that ended their lives, it was your name, your word by which they were vanquished."

He raised the scythe, its edge gleaming with spectral power.

"For that alone… I will kill you."

Thor, eyes wide with growing terror, stretched out his blood-stained arm and tried to summon his hammer once more. But before Mjolnir could reach his hand, it was intercepted—caught in mid-air by Death.

While holding the weapon, Death tilted his head in quiet disgust.

"Ah yes... it is said that the Hammer of Thor—the mighty Mjolnir—is sentient," he mused, inspecting it coldly. "I don't know about the Thor from my world... but you? You made this one sentient by infusing it with the souls of innocent people."

His lip curled beneath the mask, voice low and venomous.

"Yet another reason... to kill you."

With a flash of otherworldly energy, Death crushed the hammer in his skeletal grip, shattering it into fragments and releasing the trapped souls within. Ghostly figures poured into the air like mist, their cries echoing softly.

"Go now. Be free," he said solemnly, lowering his head. "May you finally, at last… find peace."

Then, he approached Thor, whose bravado had turned to raw desperation. With a ragged scream, the god of thunder threw a wild punch, his fist trembling.

Death caught the punch with ease, his gauntlet clamping around Thor's forearm like a vice. He looked the fallen god straight in the eyes—eyes now filled with helpless rage.

"Farewell," Death whispered.

And with a single stroke of his scythe, he decapitated him. Thor's body dropped to the ground, lifeless.

The silence that followed was oppressive.

A raven descended from above, landing on Death's armored shoulder. It cawed once—a familiar sound to him.

"Welcome back, Dust," Death muttered without looking.

The bird gave a quick chirp in reply.

"Seriously?" Death said dryly, glancing toward the distance. "He's hiding... in a panic room?"

Dust gave another confirming caw.

Death sighed, rolling his shoulders and tightening his grip on the scythe.

"Show me the way."

As Nico—or rather, Death—made his way to Odin's hiding spot, Strife sensed an unwelcome visitor following close behind. Appearing out of the shadows like a living wraith, Strife stepped into the interloper's path, his dual revolvers already in hand. He aimed one with calm precision and said with cold authority, "That's as far as you go, Archangel. You will not disturb my brother, nor will you save Odin."

The stranger stepped into a clearer view. It was Gabriel, the archangel, his hands raised in a non-threatening posture. His golden eyes flicked between Strife's weapons, and he spoke with a mixture of wariness and defiant charm.

"Look, I don't know who you guys are… or frankly what you are," Gabriel said, tone light but edged with steel, "but I can't let you kill Odin. And I take it the fact that you haven't shot me means that I'm not on the list. So maybe… we can negotiate?"

Strife stared at Gabriel in silence for a beat, one brow arching beneath his mask. Then he growled, voice laced with suspicion, "Why do you wish to save Odin, then?"

Gabriel sighed, shrugging with both hands still raised. "I sorta promised Loki—that is, the real Loki—that I'd make sure nothing happened to Odin. Part of this deal we got going on."

At that, Strife tilted his head slightly, interest flashing behind his mask. His tone sharpened.

"So… you know where to find Loki. Show me where he is, then."

Gabriel's smirk faltered for a moment. "Can't do that, man," he replied, trying to maintain a casual demeanor. "If you don't mind, I'll just take Odin and draw all the—"

BANG!

Before he could finish speaking, Strife fired a round that struck the ground inches from Gabriel's feet, the heat of the blast forcing him to stumble back.

"That wasn't a request," Strife said flatly, a dangerous calm in his voice. "Now, I've been ordered to let you live, Gabriel. But that's only if you don't interfere. Take me to Loki… or I'll put a bullet in your head."

Gabriel held his hands higher, eyes narrowing. "Yeah… I'll take you to Loki just as soon as—"

Strife didn't wait. One of his revolvers snapped up behind him with lightning speed, and he pulled the trigger. The illusion of Gabriel standing before him faded. Revealing the real Gabriel hiding behind strife dropping his Angel blade , now clutching his bleeding side.

Strife's eyes—hidden though they were—radiated cold disdain. He walked forward slowly, revolvers still raised.

"Your tricks will not work on me," he said with deadly finality. "Last chance. Take me to Loki… or else."

Grimacing in pain, Gabriel clutched his side tighter, blood staining his jacket. His tone was weaker now, the sarcasm drained.

"Yeah… okay," he muttered breathlessly, then turned to lead Strife to Loki.

Once they arrived, Strife paused at the threshold of the hideout. He looked back at Gabriel.

"Wait here. Don't move," he ordered, then walked inside.

From Gabriel's position, he could see flickers of movement and brief flashes of gunfire. He heard cries of pain echoing through the building. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the noise stopped.

Strife emerged moments later, walking casually and completely unharmed. His armor was unmarred, his revolvers still gleaming.

Gabriel, pale and exhausted, couldn't stop himself from asking, "How… do you know you got him?"

Before Strife could reply, the entire building behind him erupted into a towering pillar of flame, engulfing everything inside in a hellish inferno. The heat radiated outward, forcing Gabriel to shield his face.

Strife turned his head slightly toward the blaze, then back to Gabriel and said with a casual shrug, "Pretty sure I got him."

He stepped closer, eyes locked on Gabriel.

"Now, you held up your end, so I'm going to let you go. But interfere again… and you're dead. This is your final warning. You understand?"

Gabriel's face twisted into a mixture of fatigue and exasperation. "Oh, I want nothing to do with you ever again. Believe me," he muttered before vanishing in a swirl of celestial light.

Dust landed on Strife's shoulder, the small crow tilting its head and letting out a series of quick, cawing sounds.

Strife looked at him and said, "Hey there, Dust. How'd little bro do?"

Dust responded with another burst of caws, fluttering his wings once.

Strife nodded slightly. "So he already took care of Odin. Good."

He lifted his revolvers and holstered them smoothly.

"Go back and tell him I'll be along soon."

With that, Dust took off into the air, wings slicing through the smoky sky as he vanished into the distance.

Elsewhere in Indiana, in an abandoned motel ironically named the Elysian Fields, dead bodies were strewn across the premises—some pierced with silver arrows, others bearing lethal stab and slash wounds across vital points. These people had once claimed to be the proud and mighty Olympians of this world, though they had never been true gods. Anyone who had known them might still have been shocked to see them this way.

The motel was dark, eerily silent.

All of the fake Olympians had fallen—all except one.

She was still alive, her breathing steady despite everything. She had dodged her attacker and maneuvered through countermeasures—tactics she herself had once used on countless hunts. This was the Supernatural world's version of Artemis, and she crept through the shadowed hallways with calculated precision. Her eyes scanned for even the slightest flicker of movement, every sense sharpened by instinct and survival.

She slowed her breathing and stepped lightly, careful not to make a sound and give away her position.

A dagger gripped firmly in hand, she entered the next room. As she crept toward the center, a chill danced down her spine. She spun around, sensing something—someone—behind her.

What she saw froze her in place.

Sitting at a desk with her feet propped up was what looked like a twelve-year-old girl with auburn hair tied back in a braid, silver eyes gleaming in the dim light, and a white parka draped casually over her small frame. The girl was twirling a silver arrow between her fingers, watching her with a piercing gaze.

The girl smirked and said coolly, "I'm surprised you were able to sense me. I guess you're not completely worthless."

The fake Artemis narrowed her eyes. "Who… What are you?"

The girl's expression sharpened into a deadly grin. "I'm the real Artemis. And I've come to kill you. But…" She tilted her head, her voice taking on a predator's amusement. "In the spirit of the hunt, I'll give you a chance to escape."

She raised a hand.

"You have until the count of five before I resume hunting you. One."

The fake Artemis didn't know what to believe. She just knew this girl had slaughtered all of her brethren—and meant every word she said.

She bolted toward the exit of the motel, heart pounding.

As she ran, she heard behind her:

"Two."

"Three."

By the time the real Artemis counted to four, the imposter had already burst from the motel and was sprinting toward the wood line.

"If I can just make it to the forest... I can escape," she told herself, lungs burning, legs pumping.

"If I can just make it to the forest…"

She plunged deeper and deeper into the trees, never stopping.

Eventually, thinking she might be safe, she slowed to catch her breath. Her hands were trembling.

Then—a sharp snap of a twig behind her.

She spun, eyes wide—only to see a raccoon scampering across the forest floor.

She let out a trembling sigh of relief.

But in the next instant—thwip.

An arrow pierced cleanly between her eyes.

Her body collapsed without a sound.

The true Artemis appeared standing on a tree limb , her silver eyes unreadable as she stared down at the corpse of her imposter.

Her voice was cold, disappointed.

"And here I thought you'd at least provide a challenge. When I was told to come kill some fake gods, I expected a glorious hunt. But this… this was a farce."

She looked up at the dark canopy above them, voice laced with disdain.

"Only a couple of them even knew how to fight—and even they didn't last more than a few moments."

Then a small smirk tugged at the edge of her lips.

"At least this world's monsters are proving to be interesting. That vampire nest I ran into on the way here… now they were fun. Still, not as much fun as the wendigos I found after that."

Her expression turned thoughtful.

"I should bring my Huntresses here next time. Let them experience the thrill of new prey."

A sudden flash of golden light flared beside her.

Apollo appeared, hands in his pockets, golden hair glowing faintly in the moonlight. He glanced down at the corpse and grimaced.

"Damn," he said with a wry chuckle. "She didn't even really put up a fight, did she?"

Artemis leapt down lightly from her perch, shaking her head with a sigh. "No. She didn't. She didn't even make for an entertaining chase. Lasted all of three minutes—which, to be fair, was better than the rest of them… but not by much."

Apollo shrugged. "Figures."

Artemis arched a brow, crossing her arms. "What do you want, brother?"

Apollo's tone shifted slightly. "Tet's calling a meeting. Supposed to be in a couple hours. It's about that new world he just got."

Artemis frowned. "Already? But I've barely even gotten to explore this one."

"Relax," Apollo said casually, raising his hands in peace. "It'll only take five minutes, tops. He just needs you to connect to the new world like you did with this one."

Artemis sighed, rolling her eyes. "Fine. Let's go. The sooner we finish, the sooner I can come back."

With that, the twins disappeared in twin flashes of gold and silver light—leaving behind only a lifeless forest and a slain pretender.