Astoria and Faris stood shoulder to shoulder before the churn of battle, blades drawn and held ready, waiting for the moment Odin needed cover.
Odin's rifle in Astoria's hand trembled ever so slightly.
Their breath steamed in the cold night while black blood streaked down armour, making it look like they had fought a dozen wars tonight.
While the streets shook below. Not from the monsters. From him.
The halberd in Odin's hand glowed wrong, its edges warping under the weight of something it was never built to carry.
Mana pulsed through the haft in jagged cracks of light as if it was about to split apart.
And then he threw it.
The weapon spun once. Twice. Then hit the horde like a meteor.
And the world went white before -
-BOOM!
A pressure wave tore down the street, vaporizing bodies in a blast that felt closer to a battlefield bombardment than any swing of steel.
The sound punched their ears before the winds slapped their skin.
And when the haze cleared, half the street was gone.
Bits and pieces of monsters lay around the crater that was covered in black blood.
Faris clutched his halberd tighter, knuckles whitening.
That wasn't technique.
He knew the rhythm of movement, of balance, of strikes pushed past human limits.
But that? That was just raw force, weaponized beyond anything he'd ever seen.
[That Esper skill is… But what exactly is it doing?]
Astoria said nothing.
Yet her violet eyes narrowed, tracking Odin through the smoke.
To her it looked like the weapon itself had been rewritten in his grip.
On the other side, by the walls, Serenya staggered where she guarded the priests.
The dome still burned above them, but her gaze was locked on the golden light bleeding off Odin's frame while her lips trembled.
That shimmer. That blessing. It wasn't hers.
Her chant hadn't finished.
It was Liora herself.
And the weight of that truth hollowed her chest even as awe filled it.
Watching from afar, she knew - whatever Odin was, wherever he came from, the Goddess herself had reached down for him.
While Odin carved his way forward, a scavanged longsword flashing in arcs that split goblins in half before lopping arms off of an orc.
Every swing was brutal, unrefined, but backed by the fully realized might of Iṣṭva.
Though monsters fell, more came as he dragged them step by step through the alleys.
Always turning, always keeping the tide chasing him just a step behind.
Each blink carried him closer to the colosseum's looming walls.
Behind Astoria and Faris stood ready to provide cover fire when a shadow dropped in beside them, boots softly tapping the roof.
Lyra straightened, blood still crusted on her cheeks, yet still grinning through the mess.
"What's the matter, Faris?" she teased, eyes flicking over his pale face. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
He started to answer, but Astoria's voice sliced over his.
Her eyes widened, sharp with realization. "I figured it out! It's the weight… His ability, it lets him increase a weapon's weight."
Faris froze, the idea hitting him like gospel.
His grip on his own halberd tightened, knuckles whitening, "By Liora…" he whispered.
And then Lyra tilted her head, voice light, almost singsong. "Yeah, I know. He told me… You could've just asked."
Both of them turned on her, identical looks of betrayed frustration cutting across their faces.
While she blinked back at them, utterly oblivious.
"Anyway," she went on almost cheerfully, "the trap's ready."
She then turned, hands cupped around her mouth, voice carrying across the smoke-stained street as she yelled toward the red cloak hacking his way through the swarm.
"Odin! The trap is set! If you're tired… I can carry you there!"
Far in the distance, his voice came back, faint and ragged.
"Go to hell, Lyra!"
Then he turned, sprinting flat out, cloak snapping behind him, with the horde pouring down the street in his wake, all of them funneling toward the colosseum's waiting jaws.
Astoria's composure cracked for just a flicker, a soft snort escaped her nose as her lips pursed.
"But how does that weight not slow him down?" she asked, half pouting, half demanding.
Lyra didn't even blink. "Because the weight he adds ignores him… He can't feel it."
Faris drew a sharp breath, "That means… that ability could turn even a stick into a weapon of mass destruction."
"Indeed," Astoria said, nodding, the word clipped but carrying the weight of realisation.
Their talk was cut short by the sound of steel and flesh colliding in the distance.
Odin's voice carried over the din, ragged but steady, loud enough to cut through the roar of the horde.
"Head to the colosseum!" he bellowed. "I'm bringing the party straight there!"
The three of them stood a heartbeat longer, staring at the lone red cloak dancing just ahead of more than a thousand teeth and claws, his sword flashing like a signal in the dark.
Then Astoria turned sharply, his rifle in her hand, and her cold mask slipping back into place. "You heard him. Move."
And together they broke for the colosseum while Odin stayed behind, kiting the nightmare straight into its jaws.