"She. Is. Family!" Frigga screamed, her voice shaking with rage.
"Even if it costs Thor his life!"
"What the fuck, Mother?" Loki snapped, anger flaring in his eyes. "If it wasn't for me, that thing wouldn't even exist!"
"Ahahahahah!" Crimson's laughter cut through Loki's words like a blade. "And I truly thank you for that."
"See? Even a tool knows how to be grateful," Loki sneered.
"Loki! Stop calling her a tool!" Frigga's voice thundered. "She is a part of this family!"
"A tool, you say?" Crimson's voice dropped—cold, sharp, unyielding. "How funny of you to think I'm grateful."
Her eyes darkened, turning pitch black as rage surged within her.
"I'm not grateful to you… or to that disgusting bastard of a father."
Her divinity bled into the air, a dark, suffocating pressure creeping through the chamber like venomous fog. The walls shuddered, the floor cracked beneath her as her power leaked without restraint.
"You speak of gratitude?" Crimson hissed, her voice layered with something ancient and cruel. "You speak of family—yet you only ever saw me as a tool."
The Soulbound Markings burned across her skin, pulsing in rhythm with her fury, her black eyes glowing with unspoken wrath.
"Let me remind you, Loki…" She stepped forward, her presence pressing down on him like a thousand chains.
"I may be the result of a game you and my father played… but I am not a tool for you—or for my grandfather."
Loki's smirk faltered, the sheer weight of her divinity crushing the air from his lungs.
"Crimson, enough!" Frigga shouted, stepping between them. Her own magic flared in desperation, a brilliant shield against Crimson's storm. "This is not who we are!"
Crimson's gaze flicked to Frigga, the edges of her fury trembling. For a heartbeat, the darkness in her eyes softened—but only for a heartbeat.
"Then tell him to stop calling me a tool," she snarled. "Because next time… I won't speak—I'll kill him, and erase his soul."
"Crimson," Frigga said, her voice soft but unyielding, "even if they think of you as a tool, the truth remains—you have Thor's divine essence running through your veins."
She lowered her hands slowly, letting her magic fade, trying to calm the raging storm. "You are more than what they call you. You are family—not because of how you were born, but because of who you are."
Crimson's chest heaved, her dark eyes flickering with conflict. The venomous air thinned, shadows retreating little by little. For a moment, it seemed Frigga's words had broken through the cracks of her fury.
But Crimson's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Family? Funny how that word always comes with conditions in this kingdom."
Her Soulbound Markings pulsed violently, her power refusing to fully settle. "Tell me, Frigga—do you see me? Or do you only see the part of me that belongs to Thor?"
Frigga's expression tightened, sadness flickering in her eyes. "I see you, Crimson."
Crimson's smile faded, her power retracting at last, though her voice still trembled with restrained fury. "Then remind him to do the same. Because next time… I'll remind him myself."
"Enough," Odin's voice cut through the tension like a blade, heavy and absolute. His presence filled the chamber, silencing even the air itself.
His single eye burned with ancient authority.
"This quarrel ends now," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "If you wish to destroy each other, do so outside the halls of this family."
His gaze lingered on Crimson, sharp but not without a flicker of intrigue. "You are more than a tool… but be careful, Crimson. Even the strongest weapons shatter if wielded carelessly."
Loki smirked faintly, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, it would be a shame if our little weapon broke herself before we even had the chance to use her properly."
"Ahahah! So you're not going to pretend anymore?" Crimson's smile widened—sharp, cruel, unnatural. "Yes… I visited my husband's kingdom. That was three hundred and sixteen years ago."
Her black eyes gleamed with sinister light, the Soulbound Markings across her skin pulsing with each word. "My husband's people were killed… slaughtered without mercy." Venom thickened her voice, every syllable dripping with wrath.
She tilted her head, that wicked smile stretching far too wide. "And in all this time… not one of you lifted a finger. Not Odin, with all his wisdom. Not Frigga, with all her mercy. And certainly not you, Loki, with your tricks."
Chaos energy rippled from her in violent waves, shadows writhing like living things, the ground cracking beneath her feet.
"They were erased," Crimson hissed, her voice layered with something ancient, cruel, unrelenting.
"Ahahahaha! So… are you the original personality, or merely the thing that protects their souls?" Odin asked, his eye narrowing.
Crimson flashed a deceptively sweet smile. "Well, yes—I am. But what is this 'thing' you speak of?" she asked, her voice edged with confusion.
"So you truly don't know what was speaking through you, hmm?" Odin sighed, the weight of ages in his tone. "Forget it. The real reason we received word only a hundred years ago… is because of the difference between realms."
His voice hardened, cold and absolute. "Time in the mortal world flows far slower than in our divine plane. And even if I could have acted, I would not. To interfere would have meant sacrificing too many of our lesser gods… and igniting a war with Olympus."
"Well, what's done is done—not like they got what they wanted," Crimson said faintly.
But her grandmother heard what she said. She ignored it and asked a second question. "Crimson… what is the curse your mother placed on you?"
CRIMSON'S INNER PERSONALITY:
• Red speaking: "What is Silver doing? Shouldn't she be watching Black?"
• Silver speaking: "I was watching her, but as I sensed your emotions, I tried to take control. But Black suppressed me, so I couldn't do a thing."
• Yellow speaking: Hey guys? Do you think Black will go on a rampage like last time?"
• Purple speaking: "Yeah… that would be fun."
• Yellow, Red, and Silver (in unison): "Hell no."
• Red speaking: "The last time Black went out, she turned our souls into something not even Silver could recognize."
• Purple speaking: "You guys are no fun. I really want to see her destroy a divine plane again."
• Yellow, Red, and Silver (in unison): "Let's hope she doesn't do that again."
Back to the present moment.
"So… it was your curiosity I sensed—the one that wished to know about my curse," Crimson said, her voice calm but edged with steel.
"Yes," Frigga replied. "What type of curse is it?"
"Sigh… I thought it was my son who was curious about my curse. Wait— I think I just say something I shouldn't have? Oh no… Red is going to give me an earful now…" Crimson thought, panic flickering across her face.
"CRIMSON, CHILD!" Odin screamed, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Where is that child?"
"Shut up, Odin!" Frigga snapped. "Crimson, ignore him. I don't know why you chose to hide your child, but I just want to know—who is the father of that child, and tell me about your curse."
Crimson inhaled slowly, her expression unreadable. "Sigh… okay. But nothing else. Just his father," she said coldly
"My curse… it devours my sanity," Crimson whispered, her voice trembling with barely contained rage and fear. "It won't let me rest, won't let me close my eyes. Every moment… every thought… I see him. I see him tormenting me. I want… I need to kill him, to erase his soul—but even that isn't enough. No matter what I do, he keeps coming back. Every face I see… every shadow… it's him. I try to end him, over and over, but he never dies. And each time… each time, he breaks me a little more.
"And… about your child?" Odin asked, his tone sharp but strangely restrained, as if he were at least pretending to care about her pain.
Frigga's eyes gleamed with anger. "Child, don't pay him any mind. Who is it you speak of?"
All five of Crimson's personalities spoke in unison, their voices merging into a single, terrifying declaration:
"MY FATHER… THOR."
Each word dripped with five distinct strands of lethal intent, so potent that even the God-King Odin felt it pierce through him. His breath hitched, and a cold sweat began to bead along his brow. The air itself seemed to tremble under the weight of Crimson's combined wrath.
Frigga felt her granddaughter's killing intent, sharp and undeniable, directed straight toward the place where Thor's divine essence lingered.
Even Loki, who had been scheming to sell the information about Demos, froze. The instant he felt that killing intent, he knew—Crimson was on the verge of ascending, of becoming a God-King.
Frigga thought quickly, shifting the conversation before Crimson's wrath consumed the room.
"Very well then… and who is the father of your child?"
At her grandmother's words, Crimson's black eyes shifted to a deep, luminous purple. Her flawless face—so close to matching the beauty of the Goddess of Love herself—flushed a fierce crimson red. Small sparks of blue lightning cracked and danced above her head, betraying her emotions.
Frigga's lips curved into a knowing smile at the sight of her reaction. "Tell me who it is."
Even Odin, the All-Father himself, remained silent—watching, waiting.
Crimson lowered her gaze slightly, her voice soft, almost shy.
"It is… my husband, Leonidas S. Sparta."
Odin, Loki, and Frigga all screamed in shock.
"How is that possible?! Did he not die five hundred years ago?!"
Crimson flinched at their voices, startled, her black eye turned purple in a instance . She quickly began to explain—every detail, every moment—of how she gave birth to Demos.
Three minutes later, silence hung heavy in the chamber.
Then—
"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Loki's laughter ripped through the air, echoing like a madman's hymn against the stone walls. He clutched his side, his voice laced with venom and mockery.
"So… you're telling me you gave birth to your own grandson's soul?" he sneered, green eyes alight with cruel amusement. "Ahahaha! You Greek gods truly are rotted in the head!"
Odin showed a small, sinister smirk.
"Stop it, Loki," Frigga snapped at him, her killing intent growing immeasurable.
Loki stopped messing around the moment he felt his mother's killing intent.
"She did it to save her grandson," said Frigga.
"So that was the reason you smell like a baby. I thought some god from Olympus knocked you up," Odin exclaimed. "So where is that child?"
Frigga sighed the moment he finished.
Crimson turned and tore open the void to the Chamber of Nothingness. Before she entered, she said,
"You will never find my son, nor will I let you try to use him in any of your games. Just be happy I even let you know about his existence."
Her gaze sharpened.
"Grandpa, I can tell just by the look in your eye—you want to use us both," Crimson said, her voice full of killing intent. "Using me is fine. But never set your one remaining eye on my son, because if you do, I will be the reason for Ragnarök."
She stepped into the void.
Odin's one eye gleamed with a sinister light, his God-King aura releasing the moment he heard the word Ragnarök.
"CRIMSON S. SPARTA! GET BACK HERE—NOW!"
BACK TO THE AZURAN STAR
Demos waited in the center of the tribe as his people gathered around him. Three minutes later, they all sat in a circle, eyes fixed on him.
"I was speaking with my mother," Demos began, his voice steady, "and she told me the truth of what we are and what is happening to me. Which I want you all to remember. This… is her blessing for you."
Gorthok and Akira raised their eyebrows in confusion.
"What do you mean by blessing?" Akira asked.
"Do you know what you are called, Akira?" Demos replied with a question of his own.
"What I'm called? I'm Akira," she said, frowning.
"No—that's your name. I'm talking about your race," Demos corrected.
Akira turned, looking at the people around them, then shook her head slowly.
"Well, Mother told me that all of us are called Spartans. That is the name of our race. And it's not just us. Four hundred of the long-ears, four hundred of the dwarves… and us, the barbarians. We should be four hundred too, but I can't remember why I was late to lead all the Spartans back to greatness."
"Wait—Demos, what are you talking about?" Akira asked again, still confused.
"Didn't you just name us Spartans?" Maverick and Thane asked together.
"Well… yes. I didn't know we already had something in common," Demos answered.
Forty minutes passed.
Demos tried his best to explain what he had learned from his mother… and from Voldemort… to the tribe.
The first to break the silence was a young warrior who had been training with Demos.
"So, Tribe Leader… you're saying we are barbarians—yet at the same time, we are not? And… we'll look like you, with those glowing marks on your body?" he asked, confusion in his voice.
Demos nodded firmly. "Yes. Every one of us will bear the Spartan's Soulbound Markings. But only the men will receive all three markings. The women will bear only two… with the sole exception of my mother."
"Hold up, Demos," Akira interjected, his voice sharp with confusion and irritation. "What you're saying is… your mother is a Goddess? That she took four hundred women from all three tribes, that some unknown thing made a part of whatever it is—and these three tribes are tied to that same thing? And now you're telling us we all have souls from some ancient kingdom? And you expect all these tribes to just listen to you? No. We will need this Mother Goddess you've been speaking of."
Demos' eyes narrowed. "I'm not asking you to simply believe me."
In that instant, his Soulbound Markings flared to life, pulsing across his arms and legs. Blue lightning erupted, distorting the air around him. The ground trembled, and every man in the tribe recoiled in fear at the sight.
Then Demos' voice thundered, every word carrying the weight of Sparta itself:
"I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THINK OF ME!
THE NEXT TIME YOU DISREGARD MY MOTHER—OR OUR SPARTAN HERITAGE—
I WILL TEACH YOU ALL WHAT 'SPARTAN LAW 8 AND 4' IS FOR!"