Odin awoke to the wail of a babe.

  The rain had not stopped. The world had not stilled.

  Stone pressed against his back, heavy with the ruin of what had once stood above him. The scent of blood and dust filled the air, thick as smoke in his lungs. Somewhere beyond the wreckage, the sky rumbled, the heavens split with lightning.

  Pain had settled deep in his bones, not merely flesh-bound but soul-deep, an ache that spoke of a blow beyond the physical. It gnawed at him, familiar in a way he had not known for centuries.

  Five breaths passed, as fleeting as frost on the fen, ere Odin’s mind, muddled and misted, found its mooring.

  And yet, through the haze of his pain, through the weight of the ruin pressing him down, he heard it again.

  The babe’s wail, wild and woeful, wove through the AllFather’s wits, stirring soul’s sorrow and sinew’s strain.

  My son

  Stone shrieked against steel as he stirred, the ruin’s weight a petty burden to one who had borne the cosmos.

  Pinned though he was, the burden was no true hindrance—only an irritation, like gnats to a warhorse. His fingers groped through dust and splintered wood, feeling for something more solid, something truer.

  They found it.

  Gungnir.

  The spear pulsed beneath his grip, its haft a lifeline, its song a fire to sear away the chill of despair. Golden light erupted, fierce as a sun birthed in wrath, and the Odinforce roared through him—pure, cold, a river carving through the chaos of his being.

  With a surge, he cast the wreckage asunder. Stone and beam flew like leaves in a gale, and Odin rose.

  The ache in his bones dulled to a whisper, swept away by the crity the Odinforce offered.

  Thrice a hundred winters had waned, since st the AllFather felt such soul-rending blow. He cursed his counsel for lowering his guard, for allowing such a thing to pass.

  There was only one person who could have done this.

  Odin had thought him dead.

  It seemed he was mistaken.

  He would correct that mistake.

  His lone eye swept the devastation, and there—against a fractured wall, nestled in the only patch of ground untouched by the colpse—y his son.

  Golden hair clung to a damp brow. Tiny fists filed, his cries raw, desperate. The wreckage had fallen just so, leaving him untouched. The stone beneath him bore no dust, no debris—only scorched cracks, as if some unseen force had shielded him.

  Odin knelt, his war-hardened fingers brushing the babe’s cheek, gentle as a breath against fme. “Hush, little storm,” he murmured, lips grazing damp hair. “Be still.”

  The babe squirmed, fists striking feebly against Odin’s chest, but his cries softened at the sound of his father’s voice.

  The Norns had not yet relinquished their hold.

  He would do right by this one.

  From his cloak, he tore a strip, weaving it into a sling to bind the babe close. The fabric, sodden yet steadfast, cradled his son against his heart.

  A final press of lips against golden hair. A vow.

  “You are safe,” Odin whispered, a vow spoken not to the child alone, but to the very world that had sought to steal him away.

  Then, rising to his full height, the Allfather turned his gaze outward.

  His son was safe.

  Now, he would see to the rest of his kindgdom.

  The crunch of boots on stone. A figure, half-shrouded in the rain, limped through the wreckage.

  Armor dented, helm cracked, his gold-trimmed cloak dark with blood. Captain Hazel of the Einherjar knelt before Odin, not in reverence, but exhaustion.

  “My king.” His voice was hoarse, heavy with pain, yet he pressed his fist to his chest in salute.

  “Allfather,” he said, his voice audible even through the din of rain and ruin. “I feared the worst.”

  “My son,” Odin replied. “Was it you who shielded him?”

  Hazel’s breath hitched. “I could not reach the prince in time.” A pause. A tightening of his jaw. “Forgive me.”

  A lesser man would have choked on the words, tried to veil his failure behind pretty lies, but Hazel spoke truth. Odin valued truth above all.

  “You live,” the Allfather murmured. “How many more do?”

  The captain’s hand tightened into a fist, eyes fixed on the earth. Silence stretched, taut as a bowstring.

  “Speak,” Odin commanded, soft as a bde’s edge.

  “My brothers fell, Allfather. The assault came with neither warning nor mercy. We were scattered ere the horns could sound.”

  Odin’s eye darkened. “How many?”

  Hazel did not hesitate. “Half.”

  A flicker of something passed through Odin’s gaze, though his face did not change. Half. The Einherjar were not mere warriors, not fodder to be counted and discarded. They were the chosen, the best of Asgard’s might, those who had bled and risen and bled again.

  To lose half of them was more than just numbers. It was a wound to Asgard itself.

  Odin’s fingers tightened around Gungnir’s shaft, his knuckles white beneath his gauntlet. The spear thrummed in response to his agitation, as if it, too, could sense the rage brewing within him.

  “They will pay,” he said, the words a vow and a promise. His son stirred against him, a quiet, restless sound. The captain’s gaze flicked downward, the barest shift of his head betraying his gaze.

  “Who will pay my King? The attack bore no single banner, no heralds to name its cim. Below the streets, I see a gathering of Asgard’s enemies; Jotnar, fire demons, dwarves and even Vanir. Yet they fly no banner.”

  Odin’s lone eye flicked past the captain, into the distance, where shadows still moved through the ruined city.

  “I see.”

  The captain’s jaw tightened. “Too many, too sudden. They knew when and where to strike.”

  A truth Odin had already tasted. This was no mere raid. This was calcuted. Precise. An enemy that knew Asgard’s heartbeat well enough to pierce it in the moment of its joy.

  His son stirred against him, a quiet, restless sound.

  “The prince?” Hazel ventured.

  “He is unharmed.” Odin replied. “My kingdom has been breached, Hazel. I suspect they aim to kill all that I hold dear. You are to ensure that they fail Hazel.”

  Instead, he turned to Hazel. “You will go to her.”

  The captain stiffened. “Allfather, I—”

  “You will go to her.” Odin’s voice was iron. Final. “Thor remains with me. But Frigga must be protected.”

  Hazel hesitated, the warrior in him reluctant to leave his king’s side, yet Odin saw the moment duty overcame instinct.

  “Aye, my king,” Hazel murmured, bowing his head.

  The Allfather lifted his hand, and the sky darkened further as shadowed wings stirred against the storm. A pair of ravens descended, their bck eyes glinting like polished obsidian.

  Odin extended a hand, and the birds nded upon his outstretched arm.

  “Huginn. Muninn.” His voice was low, the names weighted with power. “Go with him.“

  The ravens croaked in answer, their sleek bodies shifting as they turned their gazes upon Hazel.

  The captain’s eyes flickered to them, understanding passing wordlessly between him and the bearers of the Allfather’s sight. His will, carried in feather and wing.

  Hazel met Odin’s gaze. “I will not fail.”

  “You will not.” It was not a threat, nor a warning. It was simply truth.

  With a nod, Hazel rose, steadying himself against his spear before turning. The ravens lifted into the air as he strode into the storm, their dark forms vanishing into the rain.

  And so Odin Allfather, the Peace-weaver stood at the precipice of his own making. His past sins, cloaked in the guise of righteousness, had returned to haunt him. The blood he had spilled in the name of unity now flowed freely through the streets of his kingdom. His spear, Gungnir, trembled in his hand—not from fear.

  But in rage.

  For They had dared to attack Him.

  They had dared to attack his wifeeee!!!

  They had dared to attack his son.

  His kingdom!!

  And for that, they would burn.

  The ruined edge of the pace loomed before him, the streets of Asgard stretching below, broken and bloodied, choked with the shapes of his enemies. Jotnar in their frost-bitten armor, Vanir with gleaming bdes, fire demons that burned where they walked, and creatures that had no names beyond nightmare.

  They had come to kill a god.

  So let them face one.

  Then, without another word, he leapt and fell like judgment made flesh. The air howled past him, wind and storm bending to his will.

  Then—impact.

  He struck the earth like a hammer’s blow, stone and bodies alike shattering beneath his weight.

  The ground trembled. The air crackled.

  And Odin, the Allfather, rose from the crater.

  His enemies turned, their battle cries faltering as his eye swept across them.

  The first to move was a fire demon, its molten form shifting, mouth yawning wide to loose a bst of searing fme.

  Odin crushed it with a thought.

  Gungnir’s tip fred, and the air split with a crack of force. The demon colpsed, its fire extinguished, its body reduced to nothing more than charred sg.

  The next was a Vanir warrior, bold and reckless, lunging for the opening. A fine bde, well-made, aimed for Odin’s ribs.

  It never reached him.

  With a flick of his wrist, Gungnir shed out, and the Vanir warrior crumpled, his chest caved inward, ribs shattering like dry twigs.

  The others hesitated. Odin could smell their fear.

  Good.

  He stepped forward, boots grinding against broken stone, his voice rolling like thunder.

  “You trespass my realm, by paths I know not.” His gaze swept across the gathered host, the firelight of the burning city casting his shadow long and terrible. “Come then, let me give you a proper welcome.”

  Then he was among them.

  Gungnir sang, a blur of golden death. A Jotun fell, his head parting from his shoulders in a mist of blue blood. A Vanir mage raised his hands, summoning woven spells of wind and ruin—but Odin’s grip tightened, and the magic colpsed upon itself, devouring its master in a shriek of raw energy.

  They swarmed him.

  They died.

  Bdes shattered against his skin, spells flickered and failed in the wake of his wrath. He moved like the storm, unstoppable, impcable. His spear cut through flesh and steel alike, leaving ruin in its wake.

  The sughter was absolute.

  Bodies littered the street, their blood steaming against the cold air. The fires of war raged around him, but none dared approach now, frozen in how fast the sughter had been. Almost like a dance.

  Then it emerged—a Jotnar, its frost-crusted form rising thrice Odin’s height, different from the others, skin gleaming like shattered gciers, eyes abze with cold malice. In its massive grip, it hefted an axe of solid ice, its edge jagged and cruel, veins of frost pulsing within the bde.

  The air cracked with the chill of its arrival, the cobblestones splitting under the fsh-freeze.

  The creature’s lips curled, baring teeth like icicles. This foe craved his blood above all. It stomped forward, axe rising high, and brought it down in a brutal chop aimed at the Allfather’s skull.

  He sidestepped, the bde grazing his shoulder, frost biting into his armor. Thor wailed at the jolt, the sling swaying, but Odin’s grip steadied him.

  With a flick of his wrist, Gungnir shed out, striking the axe’s haft. The ice cracked, but the Jotnar twisted, swinging the weapon sideways in a backhand blow.

  The Allfather ducked, the axe whistling overhead, and thrust Gungnir upward. The spear pierced the blue skinned giant’s forearm, blue blood spraying—liquid he took care to avoid.

  It roared in pain or perhaps anger, a sound like mountains crumbling, and swung its axe wildly in a wide arc. Ice trailed the bde, a crescent of frost sshing toward Odin.

  He vaulted over it, Gungnir smming into the ground as he nded, the Odinforce erupting in a golden pulse. The shockwave staggered the Jotnar, its axe skidding across the street, splitting stone and sending shards flying—common folk, those unlucky enough to be trapped in the fight between these two titans screamed, diving for cover as debris rained carelessly.

  The frost giant roared, a sound like gciers splitting, and thrust its hands forward. Ice erupted in jagged spears, not at Odin, but at the fleeing folk—a cruel gambit to force his hand. Odin’s jaw tightened. With a flick of Gungnir, he struck the ground, and a wave of golden Odinforce surged outward. The spears shattered mid-flight, fragments raining harmlessly as the energy swept the commoners back, tumbling them into alleys and doorways beyond the fight’s reach.

  “Flee!” Odin thundered, voice cutting through the headless running around. “To the halls—now!”

  The icu colossus grinned, teeth like icicles glinting in the firelight of burning stalls. It smmed a fist into the street, and a tide of frost surged upward, coiling into a serpentine whip. The icy tendril shed out, not at Odin, but at a cluster of stragglers—a baker and his boy, frozen mid-step as they stumbled toward safety. The whip snapped tight, encasing them in crystalline statues, their faces locked in terror.

  Odin’s rage fred, a furnace beneath his calm. “You dare,” he growled, and leapt.

  The air screamed as he closed the distance, Gungnir a golden blur aimed for the Jotnar’s chest. The giant twisted, raising an arm, and a shield of ice bloomed from its flesh—thick, translucent, veined with cracks. Gungnir struck true, piercing halfway before the ice held, the spear’s tip quivering inches from the Jotnar’s heart. Thor wailed at the jolt, the sling swaying, but Odin’s grip on both spear and son was iron.

  The frost giant ughed, a guttural rumble, and cpped its hands. The shield exploded outward in a storm of shards, razor-sharp and spiraling toward Odin. He spun Gungnir in a tight arc, the Odinforce fring to vaporize the ice into mist, but the Jotnar seized the moment.

  It exhaled, a bst of frigid breath weaving the mist into a cage of frost around a fleeing woman, trapping her in a glistening prison.

  Odin’s eye narrowed. He couldn’t shatter it—not without risking her. The Jotnar knew this, its grin widening as it stomped forward, cws raking the air. Ice coated its fingers, lengthening them into curved talons that sshed downward. Odin ducked, the blow grazing his shoulder, frost biting into his armor. Thor’s cries sharpened, and Odin pressed a hand to the sling, steadying his son.

  Gungnir shed out, striking the Jotnar’s knee. The giant staggered as ice splintered, but it countered with a roar, smming both fists into the ground. The street buckled, a wave of frost racing toward Odin—and the trapped woman. He thrust Gungnir down, the Odinforce erupting in a golden dome. The ice crashed against it, cracking but holding, the woman safe within its glow.

  The creature snarled, shifting tactics. It scooped up a frozen statue—the baker—and hurled it at Odin like a missile. The Allfather twisted mid-air, catching the statue with one arm, the Odinforce fring to thaw the ice. The baker gasped, colpsing as he was set down, shoving him toward an alley. “Run!”

  The distraction cost him. The giant’s cws raked across his back, ice cwing into flesh. Pain seared, but Odin whirled, Gungnir sshing upward. The spear carved through the foe’s arm, blue blood spraying, and the Jotnar howled, clutching the stump.

  The Allfather pressed the onsught. He spun Gungnir in a tight circle, the Odinforce coiling around the spear like a storm made flesh then with a roar, he drove Gungnir downward, the spear bzing like a fallen star.

  The tip pierced the Jotnar’s chest, shattering the st of its icy armor, and plunged deep into its heart. The Odinforce exploded within, golden light bursting from the wound, searing through flesh and frost alike.

  The colossus froze, its eyes widening in a final flicker of life. Then it colpsed, its massive form crashing to the street with a thunderous thud, Gungnir buried to the haft in its heart. Blue blood pooled beneath it, steaming against the cold air, the frost fading from its lifeless flesh.

  Odin wrenched Gungnir free, the spear dripping with the Jotnar’s blood, his lone eye sweeping the devastation. The street y in ruins—stalls burned, stone split, but the common folk peered from alleys and doorways, alive, spared by his fury.

  That’s when when a ragged cough tore from his throat, and he staggered, falling to one knee. Bck blood spttered the cobblestones, thick and vile, oozing from his lips. Thor squirmed, tiny hands grasping at the sling, but Odin’s vision swam, his strength ebbing. The ache in his bones deepened, a shadow cwing at his core.

  A voice slithered through the rain, low and mocking. “I was wondering when that would take effect.”

  Odin’s lone eye snapped upward, Gungnir trembling in his grip.

  Odin’s grip on Gungnir faltered, the spear slipping from his fingers to ctter against the shattered stone. His knees buckled, and he fell—slowly, deliberately, twisting to nd on his back, shielding Thor in the sling against his chest. The bck blood pooling in his throat bubbled up again, a wet rasp escaping his lips as he stared up at the storm-choked sky. The ache wasn’t just in his bones now—it was in his soul, a petrifying weight that anchored him to the earth, draining the Odinforce that had roared through him moments before.

  Njord stepped closer, his boots grinding against the frost-slick cobblestones. “You took my sister to ensure your precious peace,” he sneered, drawing back his leg and driving a vicious kick into Odin’s ribs. The Allfather grunted, the sound muffled by the blood in his mouth, his body shuddering but unable to rise. “And somehow, you’ve convinced her to see you as more than the filthy, disgusting barbarian you are.”

  Another kick nded, this time against Odin’s shoulder, the force jolting through him. Thor whimpered, tiny fists clutching at the sodden sling, but Odin could do nothing—his arms y heavy as stone, his lone eye fixed on Njord’s towering form. The Vanir lord paced, each word punctuated by another blow, his voice rising over the rain. “You thought you could bind our realms with her, chain us to your will. But I’ll unmake it all—starting with you.”

  The common folk huddled in the shadows of alleys and doorways, their faces pale with terror, yet one among them stirred. A wiry man, his baker’s apron torn and streaked with soot, stepped forward, hands trembling as he scooped up a jagged chunk of rubble. “Leave him be!” he shouted, voice cracking but defiant, and hurled the stone with all his might. It sailed through the rain, striking Njord’s shoulder—a gncing blow, harmless against the god’s armor.

  Njord paused, his head snapping toward the baker. “Fool,” he spat, raising a hand. A faint shimmer of power—raw and unformed—crackled at his fingertips, and an invisible force seized the man, lifting him off his feet. With a flick of Njord’s wrist, the baker crashed into a splintered stall, his body crumpling, motionless.

  The distraction was brief—but it was enough.

  Njord turned back, his sneer returning as he loomed over Odin once more.

  But then something was different—a flicker, faint at first, sparked in the sling. Baby Thor’s eyes, once dim with infant tears, fred to life, glowing a fierce, electric blue. Lightning crackled within them, wild and uncontained, illuminating the rain-streaked shadows of Odin’s chest. The babe’s tiny hand reached out, trembling, and pressed against his father’s breast.

  A jolt surged through Odin—raw, searing, like a storm bottled in his veins. The energy leapt from Thor’s touch, spidering across Odin’s form in arcs of white-hot power. His fingers twitched, then clenched, finding Gungnir’s haft where it y beside him. With a guttural roar, he seized the spear and thrust it upward, its tip aimed at Njord just as the Vanir lord whirled back to face him.

  The heavens answered.

  A bolt of lightning tore from the sky, blinding and deafening, striking Gungnir’s point with cataclysmic force. The spear became a conduit, channeling the storm’s fury straight into Njord. The bst erupted, a thundercp that shook the earth, and Njord’s body flew backward, smming into the jagged remains of a wall with a sickening crunch. Stone crumbled around him, his form slumping amidst the debris, smoke curling from his scorched cloak.

  Odin’s chest heaved, the lightning’s afterglow fading from his vision. The heaviness cwed at him still, bck blood dripping from his lips, but the spark from Thor lingered—a lifeline, faint but fierce. His lone eye fluttered, the world tilting as voices pierced the haze.

  “Odin!” Frigga’s cry cut through the storm, sharp with desperation, her silhouette racing toward him through the rain.

  “My king!” Hazel’s shout followed, hoarse and urgent, the captain’s armored form limping behind her, Huginn and Muninn circling overhead.

  Odin’s grip on Gungnir sckened, the spear cttering once more to the stone. Thor’s tiny hand rested against his chest, warm and alive, as darkness swallowed his sight. The st sound he knew was the mingled chorus of his wife and captain Hazel , calling him back from the abyss.

  _________________________

  Hello everyone, Khanadiety here again with another update. I didn’t get a chance to post st night—Friday night was spent grinding through a shift in posting. But I’m here now on Saturday night, bringing you Chapter 2 of I Am Odinson.

  So read, like, subscribe and comment. Your messages are always read and ever appreciated.

  The update for Have You Come to Meet Your Match will resume as scheduled—Sunday night.

  Sunday’s also my birthday. Yep, in a few hours, I’ll be a year older. I might ramble on with a long-ass speech, but here’s the short version: I’m thankful for every one of you. The good, the bad, the hate, the love—it’s all shaped me, made me feel part of this wild, word-loving crew. Degenerate or not, we’re bound by the magic of nguage, stories so damn vivid you can taste them.

  I’m grateful to every single one of you. Couldn’t forget you if I tried.

  Anyway, as always, advanced chapters—over 5 of them—are up on my Patreon. Hit up Patreon/Khanadiety or the bio link.

  Thanks, always.

  Ciao.