The creatures of the night had gathered before Nastrond’s cathedral, preparing to invade the afterlife.

In the shape of a giant Calamity, Walter Tye called upon the dark forces of the city to tear a hole in reality, his undead forming a large circle around the emerging rift. Annie observed the ritual with attention, while Lady Yseult remained anxiously silent.

Strangely, Annie had taken the sight of Tye’s Calamity form rather well. It appeared she was more curious about the magic used than the ghastliness of his true shape. Hagen, meanwhile, was giddy on his phantasmal horse, the bandit lord in him relishing the thought of a long-awaited payback.

Ghostrings, Many-Swarms, and the goblins would remain behind to secure the city, with orders to inform Tye through magic if Medraut exploited the opportunity to try and attack. The necromancer personally believed that the [Death Knight] would wait for the next Convergence before launching an assault, but caution never killed anyone.

The Linnorm Demilich would protect the Cathedral in his absence; the wyrm wouldn’t stand the ghost of a chance against Medraut, but it might delay him for a few precious minutes.

“Are you afraid, Annie?” Tye asked, sensing her fear.

“A bit,” the witch admitted, although she put on a brave face. “I mean, this is the opposite of what the Academy trained me for. Our teachers kept drilling us how we were meant to protect the realm of men and gods from the Calamities and their armies.”

“Helheim is no happy realm of men,” Tye deadpanned, “and Hel is no generous Aesir.”

“This is still an act of war which sets a dangerous precedent,” Lady Yseult spoke up since she first drank the elixir of men. As usual, she advocated caution. “Hel may be a vile creature, she helps maintain the cosmic balance; a Calamity invading a divine realm may upset the delicate status quo in a dangerous way.”

“It may,” Tye conceded, albeit scornfully. “But those unwilling to take risks cannot change the world. [Enhanced Tear Portal]!”

A circular rift forty feet in diameter appeared before Tye, spilling out the toxic mists of Helheim.

Unlike the cracks caused by the Convergences, this ritual was meant to create a stable portal between two realms. A door which could be opened and closed at Tye’s leisure, as the setting stage for future raids.

Congratulations! By ripping a tear to Helheim with dark magic, you earned a level in [Loremaster]!

+20 SP, +2 INT, +1 CHA, +1 LCK.

Once again, the class proved lackluster in the physical field. Although with his current body, Tye didn’t fear a direct confrontation anymore. While the other Calamities probably dwarfed him in terms of raw power, the necromancer possessed powerful racial Perks and extreme arcane potency.

“To return to Helheim after so long…” Hagen whispered, the city's undead looking at the portal with unease. Many escaped from this realm and feared returning to it. “Feels almost nostalgic.”

“How?” Tye looked down at Lady Yseult. “How did you escape it the first time, Walter?”

“Ah, many have tried to figure it out,” Tye replied, focusing his attention back on the portal. “The truth is, I planned it from the start.”

Annie instantly caught on. “You intended to turn into an undead post-mortem, and prepared to do so.”

“Very astute.” Through a ritual, he had modified his very essence to undergo an undeath transformation after death; when an earthlander slew him and cast him into Helheim, Tye’s soul accumulated necrotic energy from the dark realm, to be released at an appropriate time. That moment being the last second of the year’s final day.

It cost him a year in Helheim, but when the spell ran its course, it transformed Tye’s wayward soul into an [Ankou]; an undead whose [Death Coach] Perk allowed to travel between Helheim and Midgard at will. Which was a unique thing, since [Ankou] appeared spontaneously from the last dead of the year.

Hel herself had never deduced his method, as far as Tye knew.

“Our target is [Gnipahellir],” Tye explained. “The ancient cavern which serves as Hel’s personal dungeon.”

“Loki’s prison,” Lady Yseult warned. “Hel’s hound Garm is chained at the entrance.”

“Hel keeps her favorite ‘guests’ trapped there, including Asclepius and the Pale Serpents’ masters,” the necromancer explained, having spent a short time there to Hel’s tender care. Hopefully, Cywyllog was among them. “Unfortunately, the dark queen’s castle is located right above, so we can expect heavy resistance. Hagen, have you leveled up recently?”

“All the way to sixty, chief,” the Dullahan replied. “Slaying boy kings and destroying cities makes for great experience gains.”

“I see,” Tye replied, more amused than the mortals present. While his other forces lagged behind in terms of levels, their immortality offset the lack of firepower.

“So what is the plan of attack?” the Dullahan asked, itching for a fight.

“I carve a path ahead, and you clean up,” Tye ordered. “You will escort Lady Yseult since Balder’s silence severely crippled her spellcasting. Although… I can perhaps help with this.”

“I will follow into the rift, but I shall not worship you, Walter,” Lady Yseult replied firmly. “You are no god of mine.”

“Worship is an improper word,” Tye replied. “You simply need to accept me as your source of divine essence. This is a gift, not a business transaction, and Helheim is a dangerous place. Perks and spells may save you from an untimely death.”

“And deny Balder?” The priestess shook her head. “No. I have come to meet my god; I will not betray him.”

Hagen let out a sigh, which was astonishing since he had no lungs. Tye was half-tempted to imitate him since she was making her journey harder, but he respected the priestess enough not to push it. “Annie, you have the [Horn of Jotunheim]?” the Calamity asked his apprentice.

“Yes.” The witch nodded, showing him the icy horn which Tye had earned for his participation in the Jotunheim Convergences.

“Sound it if you feel threatened,” the necromancer said, preparing to step through the rift, like a giant marching for war. “I will call you when I have cleared the path.”

“Remember your promise,” Lady Yseult whispered.

“If Balder is in Helheim, he is either in Gnipahellir or in Hel’s castle itself. We shall ask him for the truth directly; and then, you shall know if your faith will go unrewarded.”

Then, without waiting for an answer, the Calamity stepped into Helheim

The second he walked through the portal, Tye felt his connection to Nastrond weaken, and the range of his abilities drastically weakened as well. His mind-reading range lowered from miles to a bit more than a hundred feet, and he could no longer alter the city as he wished.

He had left his home for a foreign land where he didn’t belong.

As the giant undead entered Helheim, he found the cursed afterlife to be exactly like it was in his memories. The land of the worthless dead was a dreadful and terrible place; a cold and barren expanse covered in thick ice, much like its brother realm Niflheim. Yet, where freezing winds and darkness ruled Niflheim, Helheim had traded them for a toxic purple fog. Poisonous mists covered the land, consuming the living alive, and keeping the dead in constant pain. The very air choked with the smell of rot. A strange, sun-like object in the skies provided a measure of light, the fog making it appear to be a constant eclipse.

This strange star was no fiery object, but a hole in reality itself; the souls of the dead fell from it like tiny meteors. Some never reached the ground, caught by stone gargoyles and monsters who had once been Hel’s priests and servants, but most crashed below in putrid swamps, frozen wastelands, ashen mountains, or acid lakes. Without food or water, nor even the ability to feel pleasure, they would exist in a constant state of want.

The lucky shades of the worthless dead would haunt the misty expanses until Ragnarok; an eternity of grief and misery, but with no further torment. Those who had committed graver sins, such as heresy, murder, adultery, oathbreaking, or necromancy, could expect worse treatment. Their shades were gathered and imprisoned inside dark dungeons dispersed through the land, where torturers subjected them to the worst tortures known to Hel.

Sometimes, the torturers grew bored of their victims and hunted innocent shades for sport. More often, they simply attacked any group of shades which grew too large and stable to Hel’s liking. Sometimes, they let these gatherings pick up steam, before crushing them in an orgy of violence; building up hope only to extinguish it.

In time, all learned to fear Hel’s messengers. Respite never lasted, and no place was safe. Abandon all hope, a gargoyle had once told Tye’s shade, after catching him in a swamp, for in Her Dark Majesty’s embrace, you will only know despair.

He never listened.

Tye had opened the gate as close to Hel’s fortress as he possibly could, and took a second to observe his surroundings. Hel’s castle, a dark construct of ice and obsidian, oversaw the realm atop a vast plateau; from below, it appeared like a crown of black daggers, hundreds of flying shapes swarming around this rookery. A great cavern, its entrance more than two hundred feet high, opened below the plateau. The river Gjoll flowed beyond this rock formation, a bridge of ice allowing outsiders entry into Hel’s demesne.

The place brought him terrible memories but also built up anticipation in Tye’s heart. For decades, he had dreamed of coming back as a conqueror, and he did.

You have exited [Nastrond] and entered [Helheim]. Your [Dark Lord of Nastrond] Perk has been deactivated until you return to your lair.

[Calamity Force (Age of Undeath)] activated. Your very existence will cause the dead to rise as undead and carrion-eaters to multiply in the realm. The longer you stay in [Helheim], the more the effect will intensify.

No doubt Hel and her elites had received a similar warning. Time to go on the offense.

“[Clock Stop].”

The world froze.

The flow of time and causality stopped for five seconds, leaving only Walter Tye free to do as he wished. He immediately cast devastating spells in quick succession. “[Tectonic Pulse],” he said while stomping on the ground, the attack spell’s activation delayed; he then focused on buffing himself. “[Accelerated Sinmara’s Shield], [Rune Reflector], [Accelerated Adamanskin]...”

The necromancer glanced at Hel’s castle with anger.

“[Meteor Rain].”

Time resumed, and the devastation began.

The ground trembled for miles, an earthquake centered around Walter spreading around him like a destructive pulse. The bridge over the river Gjoll collapsed, the waters of the poisonous river overflowing. All magic except Tye’s own was disrupted, half the land's runic defenses folding like paper.

Tears in space rippled in the skies, as hundreds of fiery stones fell from the heavens in a cataclysmic rain. They hit Hel’s castle, shattering its obsidian towers, and devastated the plateau. Many gargoyles keeping watch over the rock formation were killed in one strike, while explosions devastated the countryside, the land soon becoming an endless expanse of smoking craters.

Nothing better than a new spellcasting tier.

This time, the defenders noticed Tye. Gargoyles and winged crowmen poured from the plateau to swarm the giant undead, and close the portal.

These monsters had once been mortals; Hel’s priests and inquisitors. Unlike those who paid lip service to the goddess in an attempt to gain an easier time in the afterlife, they had been true fanatics, hunters of undead, executioners, and death worshipers. Only the true fanatics were accepted into Hel’s church, and they had earned Walter Tye’s scorn tenfold.

Their zeal had been rewarded in Helheim, the goddess transforming them into the torturers and tormentors, instead of the victims. Their souls had been warped into monsters, to reflect the inner cruelty that festered beneath their human skin. Some attempted to cast spells on Tye, but his [Godslayer] Perk prevented their goddess from granting them their [Prayers]; most raised tridents and spears, attempting to take down the magic caster in melee.

Their paltry attacks bounced off his skin, Walter swinging Apophis like a club to throw away those getting too close. Between his enormous racial resistance—which reduced all damage by seventy-percent—and his magical buffs, these attacks felt like fly bites. A cloak of flames protected him, burning the wings of these paltry birds, and while they attempted to shatter the [Necromancer’s Stone] on his forehead, they couldn’t damage the mighty artifact.

However, while his height gave him reach, Tye's transformation hadn’t increased his strength as much as he had hoped; while the Calamity had incredible defenses, his brawn didn’t match up.

However, swings from his staff killed these fiends easily. Outside preventing priests and divine-powered casters to gain their gods’ help, [Godslayer] also caused Tye’s spells and physical attacks to inflict supereffective damage to divine entities. The gods and their servants were extraordinarily vulnerable to his touch.

No wonder the Calamities would paint the world red with Aesir blood during Ragnarok. The System gave them the tools and incentives to seek battle with them, and if Medraut’s theory was correct, they were always one level above their competition.

“[Inevitable End],” Tye activated some of his new Calamity Perks. A field of necrotic aura formed around him, hastening entropy and stealing away the lifeforce of his attackers. “[Breath of Decay].”

Tye opened his reptilian mouth and breathed.

Instead of air, he unleashed a cloud of green poison in a cone more than a hundred feet long and wide. A supernatural venom that ignored [Resistance] to [Poison], and even downgraded [Immunity] to this element; every attacker caught in the path rotted away in seconds, their flesh consumed and leaving only bones behind. Tye then inhaled back the poisonous smoke, the souls, rotten flesh, and sins of his victims absorbed within him.

[Sin-Eater] Perk activated! You regained all your HP and SP! You learned all your victim’s known spells!

These people had given their lives to Hel willingly, tormenting the living and the dead alike in the service of a mad deity. As he devoured them, he gained awareness of all their sins; every torture they inflicted, every execution they carried, every plague they spread. A litany of dark deeds in the name of a wicked, entitled deity.

The necromancer had no regret consigning them to his belly.

“[Meteor Rain],” the Calamity cast again after he had dispersed the attackers, renewing the destructive bombardments. The hunters fell like flies, crushed below meteorites or consumed by his breath. “[Accelerated Meteor Rain]. [Enhanced Meteor Rain].”

He had learned this lesson from Avalon. Why bother with physical combat when you could bombard the enemy from a safe distance? The main weakness of any spellcaster was their SP reserves, but with so many sinful corpses, his items, and his own Perks, Tye could afford to keep spellcasting until he had reduced Hel’s dominions to rubble.

So he did exactly that.

In total, Walter Tye bombarded Hel’s dominion for twenty minutes straight, until he had reduced it to a smoking ruin and turned the landscape into a no man’s land. The destruction was so absolute, that most of Hel’s servants had fled in all directions; either to seek reinforcements or flee in terror. The remains of their brethren littered the landscape, mutilated by the falling stars and detonations.

Helheim had become a vision of Ragnarok.

The Calamity doubted that Hel had perished in the bombardment, or had even been wounded. But looking at her broken fortress felt exquisite.

When certain he had murdered everything within a mile, Tye gave the signal, his followers and allies entering Helheim. Hagen entered first, expecting a fight only to be disappointed by the sight of a mass grave; Lady Yseult put a hand on her mouth to avoid breathing the toxic mist, only to quickly realize that the elixir had already shielded her from its effects.

As for Annie…

“Incredible,” the witch said, whistling, while an army of ghouls, vampires, and other undead left Nastrond to invade Hel’s realm. “So this is how Helheim looks like… is there a sun beyond the mists?”

“No,” Tye replied, amused by her curiosity. “Shades call it [Hel’s Eye], although I doubt she can see through it.”

If she could, Tye would find a way to blind it.

“But then where does the light come from?” Annie asked, more concerned by the magical theory behind this realm.

“You destroyed Hel’s castle,” Lady Yseult whispered in absolute dread, as she glanced at the smoking ruins on the plateau.

“Yes, chief, you stole all the fun,” Hagen complained, glancing at the devastation with longing. “Couldn’t you spare a few survivors?”

“No,” Tye replied, before turning to glance at his undead army. “Spread across Helheim, grab as many souls as you can, and lead them to Midgard. If you encounter hunters, slay them all and bring the corpses back to Nastrond for me to feast upon.”

“Gross,” Annie complained, while Lady Yseult oversaw the landscape with sorrow.

“I never thought…” The priestess shook her head. “This is… even worse than I imagined.”

To know was one thing. To understand was another. “Do you see now, why half a life is still better than death?” the Calamity asked Lady Yseult.

“I…” the woman trailed up, struggling for words and failing to come up with something.

“Do I lead the others while you rescue our own, chief?” Hagen asked.

“No, you stay with me,” Tye ordered. “I have declared war on death, and she won’t take it nicely.”

“I still cannot believe you can say that and back it up.” Annie shook her head. “Even in my wildest dreams…”

“I doubt Hel is foolish enough to challenge you, chief,” the Dullahan said, glancing at the [Necromancer’s Stone] on his master’s forehead. “Unless she has a death wish.”

“It is not Hel I worry about, but whatever shades she has recruited.”

And in particular, the Earthlanders in her employ.

With those words, Tye walked towards the cavern, Hagen, Annie, and Lady Yseult following him. As the group moved, the undead army began to spread across the land. Swarms of bats filled the skies, while groups of ghouls prepared to cross the river Gjoll; they would look for souls and smuggle them back through the rift, to be transformed into undead or in preparation for a return to life. Tye wasn’t sure if [Naglfar] could revive someone with a soul alone, but he could perhaps create empty flesh vessels for these spirits to inhabit.

The necromancer would force immortality down everyone’s throat, whether they liked it or not.

Having annihilated every defender, Tye arrived at the cavern’s entrance. He had often seen it from afar, from his brief time in the castle above. Hel’s terrifying pet Garm, keeper of the underworld and jailer of Loki, had stood watch over [Gnipahellir]. The necromancer had only caught a few glimpses of the beast, a titanic hellhound who could match Calamity Fenrir in ferocity.

The hound was missing.

However, the cavern’s entrance was covered with the traces of battle. Cuts in the ice, arrow-shaped holes in the stone, burn marks… Tye glanced around, noticing shattered chains meant to hold a hound the size of a whale.

“Someone fought Garm here.” Lady Yseult frowned, clearly disturbed. Garm wasn’t supposed to die until Ragnarok, where he would kill Tyr in battle. His absence was worrying. “An outsider?”

“No.” If it had been anything capable of killing or wounding Garm, then it would have chased away Hel’s hunters. Yet they had remained there to stand watch. No, whatever fought the hellhound was on Hel’s payroll.

It was either a ploy… or training.

“So?” Annie asked, anxious.

“Trap,” Hagen said.

“Trap,” Tye confirmed, although he didn’t know which kind. “But we go in anyway.”

Tye couldn’t afford to retreat. The [Necromancer’s Stone] kept pulsating, sensing the call of blood, while the necromantic bond which the necromancer shared with the undead he had raised grew stronger.

“Buff yourself up,” Tye ordered, stepping inside the cave ready to cast [Accelerated Clock Stop] at the first sign of trouble. “Hagen, close the march.”

His iron confidence emboldened his companions, albeit slightly.

Tye had never entered Gnipahellir before. However, within a minute, the place struck as worryingly familiar. Murals carved in the stone covered the walls, while will-o-wisps provided the light needed to read them.

Murals of Ragnarok.

Hel was definitely aware of the cycle, as Medraut had suspected. And since the Aesir trapped Loki within this prison, then quite a few others had probably figured it out. Lady Yseult examined the murals, while Annie mumbled to herself, her eyes widening. “Tye…” she trailed, probably connecting the dots.

“I am not sure,” Tye admitted. He only had Medraut’s theory to work on, and he would rather confirm it by interrogating others. Assumptions could prove deadly. “The full truth awaits us a bit farther.”

An overwhelming sense of fury and paranoia filled his heart, Tye immediately noticing the attempt to alter his mind.

You have entered the range of [Calamity Loki]’s [Bloody Discord].

[Bloody Discord] canceled by [Calamity Loki].

“Stop,” Tye told his group. “You have seen this?”

“We are entering Loki’s prison,” Lady Yseult declared, holding her arms. In spite of having received the Elixir of Life, she must have felt so vulnerable without a god to protect her.

“It said he canceled his Perk,” Annie noted, worried. She moved behind Tye’s titanic shape as if he could protect her from danger.

“The cavern behaves like Nastrond,” Tye guessed. “It is a pocket dimension, capable of containing Loki’s Calamity powers.”

“If he canceled his Perk, then it means he is aware of our presence,” Hagen said, “and welcomes it.”

“You are both Calamities,” Lady Yseult told Tye with sorrow. “I am not surprised.”

Tye shrugged it off and continued walking forward.

The tunnels twisted and turned, often dividing, but Tye followed the stone’s call, letting it guide him. Within minutes, they reached an underground temple the size of Nastrond’s cathedral. Scratch that; it was a perfect replica of the cathedral, albeit with a giant rock in place of Yggdrasil’s spring.

Hel awaited them at the center, chained to the stone.

The necromancer froze, as the goddess who tormented him for years looked back, her regal clothes replaced by rags, her hands, and ankles bound by rune-covered chains. Unlike the last time they met, she was as tall as Tye himself in his Calamity form. A giant black serpent whose fangs oozed venom slithered above her, glancing at the necromancer with wariness.

“Tye?” Annie said, drawing the necromancer out of his shocked daze. Yet she wasn’t talking at him, but at the chained deity; Hel smirked in response.

“Tristan?” Lady Yseult gasped, putting her hands on her mouth in astonishment.

“Why is a giant me chained to the rock?” Hagen asked, more amused than confused.

Tye immediately figured it out but used [Thief of Mind] to confirm his suspicions.

You could not read [Calamity Loki]’s mind.

Tye had heard some of his surviving undead describe his terrible visage when the Calamity had briefly peeked through a rift during the Convergence. Yet, as befitting of a god of trickery, Loki could show prettier faces when he wished it.

“This joke is not funny,” Tye said through telepathy, before scanning the rest of the room. He could have sworn he had sensed another, weaker mental presence in the area.

“You cannot blame me for the absence of love in your heart, Walter,” the chained trickster answered with Hel’s voice. “I would agree to show you a lovelier face if you kept that pretty stone away from me.”

Tye froze, as he noticed a smaller prisoner, bound to the deity’s left.

“Walter?”

Much to Loki’s obvious annoyance, Tye completely ignored him.

Instead, his eyes were set on a bound captive to the Calamity’s left, a beautiful woman in polished adamantine armor chained to a mural wall. She glanced at Tye’s staff with her sole remaining eye, her gaze hardening. She recognized the necromancer instantly, in spite of his physical transformation.

Tye thought it was an illusion or a shapeshifter, but his telepathy told him this was the real deal.

Annie, who couldn’t read minds, simply gasped at the sight.

“Gwen?”