The ascent was not a climb, it was a vertical earthquake. Carried by Jormund's will, the two companions tore through the strata of Tartarus. But as they crossed an area of petrified roots, where the underworld is at its narrowest, Jormund stopped abruptly.
In a cavity in the gray rock, chained by meteorite iron links that seemed to drink in the light, was a frail figure.
It was a young woman, her clothes in tatters, her skin pale as death. Her silver hair fell over her wild eyes, but what struck Siegfried was the bushy, nervous wolf's tail that beat the ground with contained anger. Her hands ended in black claws capable of scratching obsidian.
"Don't come any closer..." she hissed. Her voice was a growl, a promise of blood.
Siegfried took a step back, sensing a thirst for murder emanating from the prisoner.
"A hybrid? Here?" he whispered. "She smells like the end of the world."
Jormund stepped forward. He did not fear the bite. He saw in her what he himself had been a few hours earlier: a primal force muzzled by the gods. He placed his hand of gold and stone on the chains of meteoric iron.
"Who are you?" asked the son of Chronos.
"I am the one who will devour the sun," she replied, baring her fangs. "I am Fenrir. And these chains are Gleipnir, the lie of the Aesir."
With a growl, she lunged, her claws seeking Jormund's throat. But Jormund did not move. He did not parry. He simply let his new aura of Jötunn unfold. The temporal pressure and mass of the Styx fell upon the room. Time froze around Fenrir, blocking her in mid-leap.
Jormund grabbed the chains. He did not merely break them; he forced them to age a thousand years in a second with his father's blood. The iron crumbled to dust.
Freed, Fenrir fell back to the ground, panting. She looked at Jormund, her yellow eyes widening as she perceived the immensity of the force that dwelled within this colossus. She, who had known nothing but hatred, felt something even more powerful: the natural authority of Earth and Time.
She no longer tried to bite. She bowed slowly, her forehead against the cold rock floor, her wolf's tail still as a sign of respect.
"Strength..." she whispered, subdued by the evidence. "You are not a god. You are the Master. My jaw is yours."
Jormund placed his heavy hand on the young woman's head.
"Rise, Fenrir. We seek not slaves, but revolutionaries. The sky still stands, and I need your fangs to bring it down."
The trio was now complete. The Anomaly, the Knight, and the Wolf.
With a powerful gesture, Jormund resumed the ascent. This time, they were no longer fleeing Tartarus. They were leading the first charge of the end times. When they finally broke through the surface and emerged into the blue snows of Niflheim, they were no longer prisoners. They were a pack.