Helga stared up at the mountain of a man before her. Geddes towered above, encased in armor thick enough to shame dragonhide, every inch of him built like a siege engine. He leaned in, metal groaning under the strain as he bore down with his full weight but Helga didn't move. Her amber eyes narrowed, her golden gauntlet locked firm around his massive fist.
She saw it in his face. The flicker of disbelief. The faltering grin. The twitch in his brow. The vein pulsing in his temple. Reality was beginning to dawn, and he didn't like what it had to say.
Helga turned her head, calm and cold. "Nerida," she said, "grab Marcus and Derek. Get out of here."
Nerida froze. That tone. It wasn't the Helga she knew. It made her skin crawl. "I'll handle this," Helga added, eyes fixed forward.
Geddes snorted, nostrils flaring. "Handle me?" he spat. "You'll handle me?" He leaned in harder, muscles straining, the stone beneath Helga's boots splintering with deep, jagged cracks. "You delusional, stuck-up little bird… I'm gonna rip that pretty hair out by the roots and feed it to you strand by strand. Just before I snap your bloody spine like a—"
She moved.
A blur. A pivot of the hips, the twist of her waist, then her left fist came crashing in.
It hit his gut like a thunderclap. The shockwave burst outward in a ring of dust and debris, blasting cracks through the pavement beneath them. Geddes choked mid-sentence, his eyes bulging as he skidded backward, boots grinding against the stone, carving a deep trail before he finally staggered to a halt.
For a moment, he wavered. Then he forced himself upright, his breath ragged.
Helga's gauntlet pulsed. Her bracelet had unfurled, gold and white plates now encasing her left arm up to the elbow. Glowing yellow lines snaked across the metal, thrumming with raw power.
Geddes straightened, trying to shake it off. "Heh... So, ya know how to throw a punch. Big f—"
A crack.
He looked down. His eyes widened. There, on the breastplate. An imprint. A perfect outline of a fist. The metal groaned, then fractured. Chipped pieces crumbled to the ground, the dent deepening before his eyes.
A slow, creeping chill settled in Geddes' gut, one that even his thick armor couldn't keep out. This armor, his pride and shield, had been forged with painstaking precision by master smiths from the Tower, built layer upon layer with triple-plated dwarven steel, each plate tempered in the sacred fires of Erebor.
It was meant to withstand the fury of dragons, the piercing force of enchanted blades, and the raw blast of arcane destruction, forged not for any common soldier but for him alone whose size and strength made him the only man capable of wearing it. And yet, despite all that craftsmanship, despite all that legacy and myth forged into steel, it had cracked beneath her fist like damp plaster.
His gaze slowly lifted to meet hers, no longer filled with arrogance or mockery, but with the dawning awareness that the battle before him was not what he had anticipated. For the first time since the war began, the grin curling at the corners of his mouth was not one of bravado, but of recognition—genuine, grim, and laced with a feverish thrill.
"It's true, then." He gave a snort through flared nostrils, the reality now settling in his bones like cold iron. "You're the little birdie what did in Astrea and that twisted mutt she kept by her heel."
"I didn't wanna believe it, not at first," he went on, his smirk tightening into something darker, more eager. "Thought it was just the dying words of pansies, pissin' themselves before the end. I mean, no bird ever stood against a grim and walked away with all their bits intact."
His boots shifted slightly, weight drawing forward with purpose, shoulders rolling back, his gauntlets creaking as he flexed fingers still slick with blood and the memory of easier fights.
"But now that I see you with me own eyes, now that I've felt your strike and seen what it did to the finest armor gold can buy…" He let out a slow breath, exhaling like a bull preparing to charge, his grin now wide and gleaming with anticipation. "…By the gods above and all the devils below, it's about bloody time—someone worth the kill."
Helga's fingers curled inward, the steel of her gauntlets creaking under the tension as her knuckles popped one by one, each snap a quiet punctuation to the storm building behind her eyes. Without looking back, she spoke once more.
"Go," she said to Nerida.
Nerida couldn't move. Her body stayed rooted, her wide eyes locked on Helga's back as she stepped forward. There was something about the way she moved now as if every footfall was preparing the ground for something greater. Her pace quickened, a jog at first, then faster, each step tearing across the cracked pavement until her boot struck hard against the stone. The impact sent a fracture spreading outward like lightning, and in that instant, Helga exploded into motion.
Her body launched forward, low and tight, her arms drawing in, forearms raised, fists coiled like a seasoned fighter in the ring. She moved like a force of nature, silent but sure, wind catching her scarf and hair as she bore down on him with singular intent.
Geddes, eyes gleaming with a mad grin, braced himself, spreading his stance.
"Come on then, little birdie!" he bellowed, slamming his gauntlets together with a deafening clang. "Show me what you're really made of!"
****
The side of the building burst outward in a violent eruption of brick, wood, and shattered glass. Debris rained across the pavement as Helga and Geddes came crashing through the wall, their figures locked in combat, landing hard on their feet amid the wreckage.
Geddes' boots scraped back as he caught himself, a wild grin splitting his face, his eyes alight with rabid anticipation. Helga's stance was calm and precise, her gaze cold as steel, her face set with the kind of quiet fury that cut deeper than any scream.
With a roar, Geddes lunged forward, swinging his massive fist down like a war hammer. The ground exploded beneath the strike, chunks of pavement splintering into the air. Helga darted in, leaping from the ground, twisting midair as her fist shot forward, slamming against the side of his face.
Geddes grunted, his jaw snapping to the side as the blow staggered him, forcing him back a step. He didn't fall. Helga landed clean, her boots skidding slightly across the stone as she surged back in, ducking low under his follow-up swing. She weaved through his brutal blows, fists like cannonballs whistling past her, and returned fire with unrelenting precision—each punch hammering into his breastplate, each strike deepening the cracks, splitting metal, and peeling back the edge of invincibility that once encased him.
"You little—!"
His insult was cut short as Helga's fist rocketed up in a punishing uppercut, slamming into his gut with enough force to lift him an inch off the ground. The breath left Geddes in a single, strangled choke as he stumbled backward, armor now reduced to a ruined, splintered shell of itself. He straightened slowly, his grin returning—bloodied and feral.
"I'm impressed, little bird," he muttered as his arms hung loose at his sides. "Name?"
Helga raised her chin slightly, eyes locked on him. "Helga," she said, steady as stone. "Hufflepuff."
Geddes snorted, then let out a low laugh that grew louder as he nodded. "Barton Geddes," he said. "Sargeant—nah, scratch that." He rolled his shoulders, wiping blood from his chin. "Ain't fightin' you as some Tower mutt. This ain't for Burgess, or the bastards in command. This one's personal."
He jabbed a thumb into his chest, the metal of his armor groaning. "I weren't made by them. I carved my way through this shithole of a world with nothin' but my fists and the will to crush whatever stood in front o' me." His eyes widened again, pupils shrinking into pinpricks, his smile stretching with unhinged glee. "And now you—you're just another bird waitin' to have her wings torn off."
Geddes sneered as he reached for the thick breastplate stretched across his chest. "But first…" he growled, his fingers curling beneath the steel, "let's get this bloody hindrance outta the way."
With a grunt of effort, he began tearing at the armor. His jaw clenched tight, teeth gnashing as bolts creaked and twisted under the strain. Metal groaned in protest. Latches screeched as they snapped loose. And with a roar, he ripped the chest plate clean off, hurling it to the ground. The sheer weight of it cratered the stone beneath, fragments of pavement shattering on impact. Without pause, he reached for his armguards, ripping them away piece by piece until his massive upper body stood fully exposed.
Helga's amber eyes followed every motion, sharp and calculating. His physique, though expectedly large, was something she had never seen before. His muscles weren't just developed, they were monstrous. Defined to an unnatural degree, every inch of his torso looked sculpted from battle itself. The sheer density of him would've put even the strongest orc warlords to shame.
No amount of training alone could've wrought such a form. It had been forged the hard way, through pain, through blood, through war. Dozens of scars crisscrossed his chest, shoulders, and abdomen like the history of a hundred battles carved into flesh.
Only his trousers, gauntlets, greaves and sabatons remained, steel plating from the waist down, yet he moved with the ease of someone far lighter.
Geddes rolled his neck until it cracked, then flexed his shoulders with a satisfied sigh. "Ahh, now that's better," he muttered. "Don't get me wrong, I love a good bit o' armor same as any man, but I ain't about to let dead weight slow me down when it's time to get messy."
He slammed a fist into his palm, the sound echoing like thunder. "Now come on. Let's see if yer fists hit harder than yer name."
Helga's expression darkened, her jaw set with grim resolve. Then, in a single breath, the ground beneath her boots exploded outward as she launched herself forward like a cannonball. Her fist drew back, poised to strike. Only to slice through empty air as Geddes sidestepped with a grunt and a grin.
A sharp crack rang out as his gauntlet slammed up into her abdomen. The blow landed with brutal precision. Helga's face twisted, the air punched from her lungs as spit burst from her mouth. Her eyes shot wide, frozen in that split second where the world seemed to slow, then reality came crashing back.
She was flung backward, her body tearing through the ground-floor window of a nearby flat, exploding straight through two interior walls before erupting from the back of the building in a storm of plaster and brick. Mid-flight, she twisted her body, boots slamming down hard as she skidded across the ground in a crouch, dust rising around her.
Before she could fully recover, the front of the building detonated in a blast of stone and flame as Geddes hurled himself through the wreckage, his massive frame soaring like a missile. His fist drew back, gleaming and cracked with blood.
Helga spat to the side, wiping the crimson from her mouth. As his fist closed in, she shifted her body, weaving just enough for the blow to whistle past her cheek, grazing a strand of hair. Her counter came fast—too fast.
Her right fist slammed into Geddes' face with the force of a collapsing wall. The shockwave blasted out in a tight ring, rattling windowpanes, kicking up dust from the shattered street. Geddes stumbled, catching himself with a wide stance as he let out a guttural snarl.
Helga answered with a roar of her own.
They clashed. No spells, no tricks. Just raw, unrelenting power.
Fists flew in a flurry of steel and flesh. Helga's golden gauntlets hammered into his ribs and gut with relentless rhythm, while Geddes' fists, brutal, battering slabs of meat and steel—slammed into her cheek, her jaw, her side. Each strike was answered in kind. Blood painted the asphalt, flecking the broken stone beneath their boots.
They were evenly matched. Every blow met with another, every shift countered, every roar returned. But while Helga fought with sharpened focus, every movement precise and honed, Geddes grew more frenzied by the second. His eyes gleamed with unhinged glee, his laughter rising between gritted teeth.
Helga clenched her jaw. The pain in her limbs sang with every strike, but she didn't falter. Her battle cries grew louder, sharper—each one forged in fire, each one a refusal to fall.
Their hands collided, fingers curling around each other in a brutal lock. Muscles strained, arms trembling from the sheer force pressing between them. Their boots ground into the shattered earth, neither yielding as the world seemed to tremble around their clash.
Geddes' grin spread wide across his blood-flecked face—feral, deranged. "All me life, I thought I was the only one," he growled, breath steaming. "Born with this body, cursed with this strength. Thought the Gods were havin' a laugh. Makin' me their bloody punchline." His words cracked into wild laughter. "Turns out they hated you too!"
Helga bared her teeth, roaring as she surged forward, only for Geddes to slam his forehead into hers with a sickening crack. She staggered, her balance faltering for the first time.
Geddes didn't waste the opening. He tore his hand free and lunged, seizing her by the face with one massive palm. With a roar, he hurled her skyward before slamming her down, back-first into the asphalt. The ground gave way beneath the impact, spiderweb cracks erupting outward. Before she could move, he hauled her up again and drove her into the opposite side, the earth shaking with every strike.
Mounting her torso, he raised his fist and brought it down, but Helga turned her head at the last second. His gauntlet crashed into the pavement instead. The moment his momentum dipped, her arms snapped upward—one hand catching his wrist while her legs coiled around his arm. In a flash, she locked him into an armbar, wrenching back with everything she had.
She screamed through her teeth, every muscle in her body tensed with exertion, but Geddes thrashed beneath her like a beast unchained. His teeth ground together, eyes wild with fury. With a roar, he planted one boot, rolled forward, and surged into a sprint—Helga still wrapped around his arm like a vice.
He slammed her, spine-first, into the side of a nearby car. Metal crumpled like parchment. She gasped, her grip faltering. Geddes grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanked her up, and drove her again—this time into the roof. It collapsed with a thunderous crack, glass exploding in every direction. Not done, he spun and hurled her across the street into another vehicle.
Helga struck it like a battering ram, the entire side caving in on impact. The windows burst. The frame twisted inward with a wrenching groan. Her body slumped amidst the wreckage, blood trailing from her forehead as she coughed, spattering crimson on the mangled metal and stone.
Geddes stood over her, chest heaving, eyes locked on her crumpled form.
"You see, little bird," Geddes growled, wiping the smear of blood from his lip with the back of his hand, "I ain't here for Burgess or his bloody crusade. Couldn't give a toss what that old goat wants. Man's got a smaller prick than a niffler in winter."
He chuckled, rolling his shoulders as he stepped forward, his boots crunching over broken glass. "Nah… I'm here because I love this. The crack of bone. The stink of fire. The squeals of little piglets pissin' themselves as they scatter from the wolf starvin' for a bite o' their flesh."
His eyes gleamed with depraved glee as he licked the blood from his teeth. "There ain't nothin' in this world sweeter than my fists soaked warm in blood—and I don't give a damn whose blood it is, so long as it flows."
He leaned in, reaching for Helga's head, fingers splayed wide like claws. "But y'know what really gets me prick wet?" His tone dropped. "Watchin' birds like you scream. Rip you limb from limb. Hearin' that last gasp before I send your sorry arse screamin' down to hell where you belong."
"There ain't nothin' on this earth I loathe more than women," Geddes spat. "Hate 'em with every bloody fiber in me body. Lying, schemin', two-faced filth. Each and every one of 'em. They ain't got no heart, no soul, no conscience. Just a sweet little voice to lure you in and a knife hid right behind their back."
"And spillin' their blood?" he sneered, eyes alight with twisted satisfaction. "That's the only thing in this miserable existence that makes me feel clean. Like I'm washin' the rot outta the world—makin' it right again, bit by bit. To do to them what they did to me…" He trailed off, dark and trembling with barely restrained rage. "That's not vengeance. That's justice."
But before his hand could reach her, Helga's arm shot up—lightning-fast. She caught him by the wrist. Geddes froze, his eyes widening at the sheer force in her grip. Then she raised her head.
"Justice…" Helga breathed. "That's what she called it. What she whispered when she stood over the bodies of two people I loved. People who did nothing but try to see the good in others. Who reached out in kindness, knowing full well the world would punish them for it."
Her grip tightened around Geddes' wrist, the metal of his gauntlet screamed, hard enough to make the brute flinch.
"Justice…" she repeated, voice rising, shaking now, not from fear, but from fury burning hot in her chest. Her amber eyes blazed, not a trace of doubt left within them. "Justice… justice…"
And then, she snarled.
"Screw your justice!"
She yanked him down hard.
He stumbled forward, off-balance, and in that instant, Helga launched her head upward with a brutal crack. Her forehead smashed into his nose with a sickening crunch. Geddes reeled back, blood pouring down his face, but she wasn't done.
Still holding his wrist, she drew back her fist. Power pulsed from her gauntlet, yellow veins of energy sparking along her arm.
"Svartalfheim…"
The earth beneath her feet cracked.
"Smash!"
Her fist collided with his jaw like a war hammer. A shockwave exploded outward, flattening rubble and sending dust billowing in every direction. Geddes' face twisted grotesquely as his body was hurled backwards, crashing through the wall of a nearby building in a storm of debris.
Helga screamed, lunging after him without hesitation. Mid-air, she raised both boots and slammed them square into his gut as he stumbled through the far wall. The impact detonated beneath them, tearing a path through the asphalt as Geddes's massive frame was driven across the street like a battering ram.
But he wasn't down yet.
With a snarl, Geddes snatched her leg mid-slide, twisted, and forced himself upright. With brute strength, he swung her like a weapon and hurled her full-force into the side of a truck. The metal groaned as it caved in, her body leaving a deep imprint.
Before she could drop, he crashed into her with a roar, both of them erupting through the vehicle's side in a fiery explosion of flame, metal, and force. Helga skidded to a halt, boots digging deep into the asphalt, which cracked and splintered beneath her. With a roar, she seized Geddes by the arm and hurled him over her shoulder, sending the brute sailing through the air like a sack of stone. He smashed into the side of a nearby building, the wall exploding on impact.
Before the rubble had even settled, Helga was already on him. She surged forward, her punch connecting with his gut just as he staggered to rise. The force drove him through the building's interior, shattering walls until he burst out the far side and slammed down into the street beyond. He landed hard, boots thudding against the ground, yet he somehow stayed upright.
"That's it, little bird!" Geddes bellowed, eyes wide with bloodlust and glee. "Let me see it! Show me your strength—show me your bloody rage!"
Helga let out a cry, a guttural scream of wrath as she rocketed forward, her fist colliding with his face. The blow cracked the air with a deafening shockwave, blasting out windows and rattling the bones of the city around them. She didn't let up. Her fists rained down like a storm, one after another slamming into his chest, his ribs, his jaw. He dropped to his knees beneath the onslaught as Helga kept going, punching, screaming, pouring every ounce of fury into each strike.
Blood splattered the pavement. Her gauntlet slammed into his face again and again, the cracks in the street widening beneath them as she gripped him by the throat and drove her fist into his skull, over and over, her expression twisted in rage, her breath ragged, her body trembling from exertion.
But then—it slowed.
Her arm drew back for another strike, but Geddes caught her fist in a single, trembling hand.
His face was a mask of blood, teeth red, yet he grinned. "Oh, Helga," he rasped, laughter bubbling up through the blood. "I've gotta thank you. Been a long time since I've had this much fun. Truth is…" He chuckled darkly, squeezing her wrist tight, gauntlet groaning under the pressure. "I've been toyin' with you. Like a lad figuring out how his new plaything works."
His grip tightened as Helga grimaced in pain.
"Now," Geddes growled, bracing his feet beneath him. "Let's turn it up a notch."
His fist came up in a brutal arc, driving into her stomach with such violent force that it sent a concussive blast through the street. Nearby vehicles were hurled back, their alarms screaming as glass exploded in all directions. Steel buckled. The road itself tore apart.
Helga's eyes shot wide, blood flying from her lips as the blow sent her rocketing into the sky. She crashed through the top floor of a nearby building, out through the roof, and then through another structure beyond—stone and glass shattering in her wake as her body tore through it all like a cannonball.
****
Even as the sun began its slow descent from the apex, the war raged on with unrelenting fury, the city echoing with the screams of Norsefire and those who dared oppose them. The clock struck three, its chime ringing from the towers of Excalibur—a hollow echo of normalcy in a world devoured by fire and blood. Time had lost all meaning in the chaos, but in the narrow corridors between skirmishes, small sanctuaries had formed. Pockets of stillness.
Makeshift tents and supply tables dotted the safer zones, hastily assembled by AEGIS and manned by the Clans. There, the wounded were tended to, the weary given precious minutes of rest and the illusion of peace.
Údar stood at the edge of it all, a steaming tin cup of coffee in her hand. Its bitterness matched the taste in her mouth. Her uniform was torn, soaked through with blood, sweat, and ash. Battle had worn it thin, but it held together just like her. Barely. With her one good eye, she surveyed the row of white sheets stretched across the stone, too many of them marked by fresh blood that had already begun to dry.
She'd known battle before she ever set foot in Excalibur. As the scion of House Culann, combat had been etched into her bones since birth. No one gave you their respect. You carved it out with grit and steel. Still, that legacy did little to lighten the weight pressing on her chest. Some of her Hounds had fallen. Loyal. Brave. They'd gone down like warriors. But it didn't stop the guilt from gnawing at her ribs.
"I know that look, Údar," came a voice, low and easy.
She turned her head. Cú sat on an overturned crate, crimson spear upright beside him, resting against his shoulder. He was relaxed in posture, but his eyes were sharp. Watching her carefully.
"We've seen this all before, haven't we?" he said. "People live. People die. It's the cost we pay for battle... and for glory."
Údar scoffed, turning her back to him. "You don't need to remind me, Cú." Her gaze dropped to the cracked stone beneath her boots. "We came to this cursed city. Joined Excalibur, the Congregation thinkin' it'd be a bit of craic. Turns out shite never gives you what it promises."
Cú shrugged, tilting his head skyward. "The old Norse say there's no finer death than one on the battlefield. That if you die with a weapon in hand, you're swept off to Valhalla. Mead flows like rivers. Feasting 'til the world ends."
Údar slapped her thigh with a hollow chuckle. "Sounds like horseshite to me," she said with a weak grin. "But… I s'pose it's a prettier lie than most."
"Aye, well, if I'm goanna die with my guts spilling on the floor, I'd like something in return. Gold, a song, a statue—take your pick." He turned, his crimson eyes flicking to the other Hounds, some wounded, others resting. "But truth be told, I don't know a single one of them who'd turn their backs on you. And they aren't even bound to you by blood."
Her words dropped low, barely audible over the quiet moans and the rustle of tent canvas. "Do you think we'll make it out of this, Cú?"
He gasped, dramatic and loud, hand clutched to his chest like she'd struck him. Údar's eye narrowed.
"What?" she snapped. "What in the name of the Dagda are you goin' on about, ya gobshite?"
"The great Údar," he said with mock awe, "doubting herself? By Scáthach's bloody spear, I must be dreaming. Next thing you'll tell me is the Morrígan's taken up knitting."
She shot him a look so flat it could've shattered glass. "Keep talkin' like that, and I swear on me da's blade, I'll turn you into a bleedin' newt."
Cú grinned, raising his hands in surrender. "Now that's more like it."
The momentary peace shattered with the deafening crash of stone giving way. A nearby wall exploded inward, flinging dust, shattered brick, and debris in all directions. Instinctively, Údar and Cú raised their arms, shielding their faces as the shockwave swept over them. Screams rang out as students and soldiers scrambled for cover.
As the dust began to settle, both stepped forward, their boots crunching over rubble. Lying in the center of the wreckage was a crumpled figure. The crowd edged closer, expressions painted with confusion and rising fear.
Cú's brow furrowed. "Wait… ain't that the girl who's always hangin' around Slytherin?"
Helga groaned, pushing herself up with trembling arms. She coughed violently, spitting blood onto the cracked mound of shattered bricks beneath her as her eyes darted across the stunned crowd. When she recognized where she was and who was nearby, her expression twisted with alarm.
"No… run…" she rasped.
Údar's ears caught it a moment later. A whistling sound. Fast, sharp, and heavy, cutting through the air.
Then Helga screamed, "Run! Now!"
"Údar!" Cú shouted, diving toward her.
The ground quaked as something massive crashed through the gaping hole in the wall, obliterating what little structure remained. Cú tackled Údar to the ground just as the force of the blast detonated outward, sending bodies flying. A shimmering shield burst to life from Údar's wand just in time to absorb the worst of it. Rubble erupted around them like a wave, and the cries of the wounded echoed through the encampment.
When the dust finally began to clear, Cú coughed and pushed himself upright, blood trickling down his cheek. He turned toward the spot Helga had landed, now reduced to a mound of shattered bricks and twisted metal.
"What the hell was that?" he muttered.
Údar rolled onto her side with a grimace, breathing hard, her wand still gripped in her hand. "I haven't the faintest feckin' clue," she muttered, eyes sweeping across the battlefield now strewn with dazed students and injured soldiers. Her expression hardened. "But whatever it is, it ain't done yet."
She pushed herself to her feet, brushing off the dirt and blood. "Come on. We've got survivors to pull out."
****
Geddes tore through the side of a crumbling building, masonry splitting and support beams groaning as the structure gave way behind him. Dust and brick rained from above as he emerged into the open, dragging Helga by the arm like a rag doll. His massive fist clenched around her wrist with brutal force as they plummeted from several stories up.
With a roar, he swung her downward, slamming her back-first into the asphalt below. The street exploded beneath her from the impact, cracking outward like shattered glass. Blood burst from her mouth as her body jerked up from the force, only for Geddes to plant a boot between her shoulder blades and kick her with enough power to send her crashing forward.
Her body smashed through the side of a rusted city bus. The vehicle folded in the middle with a shriek of twisted metal before bursting into flames, fire belching into the street.
"Too easy," Geddes muttered, dragging the back of his hand across his split lip as he caught his breath. His grin, though bloodied, stretched wide across his face. "They all think they've got it. Power. Will. Strength. But they break just the same." He spat to the side, trudging forward, boots heavy against the fractured ground. "They always fall, no matter how loud they scream or how hard they hit."
But his smugness faltered at the sound of something shifting. Metal grinding, twisted steel groaning. From the heart of the burning wreckage, Helga stepped into view.
Her scarf fluttered in the wind, frayed at the ends and smudged with soot. Blood streaked her brow and cheek. Her limbs shook from exertion, but she stood tall. Back straight, fists clenched, amber eyes locked on him with a cold fury that burned through the pain.
Geddes' grin faded, his own body swaying. Blood leaked from his nose, his jaw hung slightly askew, and his chest heaved with labored breath, but his eyes widened with something close to awe.
For a moment, the battlefield went still.
Then, without a word, they charged.
Twin cries erupted as they hurtled toward each other. Their fists cocked back, gauntlet and knuckle burning with unspent rage, and when they collided, the impact was apocalyptic. The shockwave ripped through the street, shattering every window in sight. Walls bowed, bricks cracked, and the very earth beneath them caved in under the raw force of their collision.
Then came another blow—and another. Again and again their fists clashed, then found flesh. Torso, jaw, cheekbone, ribs. The rhythm turned frenzied, a storm of blows trading between two titans. Blood flew in arcs across the air. Each strike thundered louder than the last. The street trembled beneath them as their battle cries. Hers fierce and defiant, his wild and primal, tore through the ruins of the city.
Neither backed down. Neither gave in.
And still, they fought.
Geddes lunged forward with a guttural cry, his massive fist tearing through the air in a devastating straight punch. Helga moved in fast, the edge of his gauntlet scraping her already bloodied cheek, drawing another streak as she twisted her body to the side, eyes narrowing with precision. Her right arm cocked back, gauntlet humming with barely restrained power.
"Vanaheim," she growled—and her fist drove into his cheek. "Smash!"
The impact sent a brutal shockwave through his jaw. Geddes choked, blood spraying from his mouth as his head jerked sideways, his whole body buckling. But he didn't fall. Instead, he turned to her, eyes alight with fury, teeth stained crimson as he bared them in a grin more unhinged than defiant.
With a roar, he seized her by the front of her jacket and slammed her to the ground, the impact cracking the asphalt beneath her spine. She gasped, but before she could recover, his hand clamped around her throat, pinning her. Her own hand flew up, clutching at his neck, her fingers tightening. They lay there, locked in a death grip—blood trickling from both their lips, teeth bared in matching snarls.
Then Geddes began to laugh.
Not a wild cackle, but a low, hollow chuckle. A laugh with weight. He leaned in close, their bloodied faces inches apart, breath mingling in short, pained bursts.
"I'm so bloody lonely," he whispered. "You know what that's like, right?"
Helga's brow twitched. Her grip didn't loosen, but something in her expression, some flicker of recognition or doubt, shifted.
"They're all scared o' me," he murmured. "Always have been. Since I were a wee lad. None of 'em wanted me. Not even me mum." He laughed again, bitterly. "Couldn't even look me in the eye. Called me a mistake. A curse. A freak. They'd whisper monster under their breath, like I couldn't hear 'em."
His grin faltered. Something raw surfaced behind his eyes, the fury giving way, just for a moment, to something more human.
"I didn't ask for this," he muttered. "Not the size. Not the strength. All I ever wanted was for someone… anyone, to love me for who I really am. To look past this meat and steel and see there's still a man buried underneath it all."
Helga's fist trembled slightly, her eyes locked on his. The tension between them didn't fade, but its nature shifted.
"I don't understand love," Geddes went on. "Thought I did. Confused it with lust. With control. Took 'em to bed, again and again, thinkin' it'd fill the hole, make it better. But it don't. It never does. I lie there, after… feelin' nothin'. Emptier than before." His voice cracked. "Some nights I think maybe I'll cry, just to let some of it out, but I don't. What's the point? Ain't nobody out there who'd give a toss."
He swallowed, his smirk slowly twisting back into something darker. "But you… you get it, don't you? I see it in your eyes. That burnin'. That hollow in your chest. You feel it too, little bird… don't you?"
His smile widened, teeth bared again.
"You and me—we're not so different after all."