Sibley screamed as she fell, rushing past pillars of light punching holes in an infinite darkness. Something had her, dragging her bodily to the gates of Hel heedless of her struggles. Grimmir, she realized, or the Advisory, his hand around her waist in a grip that would not be challenged.

Soon her chest burned and the sparse lightning dimmed. The air was wrong, tasted strange, and no matter how much Sibley breathed, her breath only grew more strained. And then, it hit her. She was suffocating.

The realization had her flailing. She struck at Grimmir knowing it would do nothing. He killed Vara and faced Magni right before her eyes. She could have been an apex mage and he probably wouldn't know the difference.

There was only one hope now, Vara, but Sibley hesitated, chained by the knowledge that the goddess had already lost to Grimmir once. The pain of that loss had her roiling for days. It would come again if Vara lost, but Sibley wouldn’t let herself be dragged off without a fight.

A torrent washed over Sibley’s mind and body like a rush of water pulling her out to sea and away from any hope of summoning. It was worse than falling. Direction lost all meaning as she spun or maybe the world itself moved around her like coiling snakes. And then something struck her in the face, the floor she realized before emptying her stomach onto it.

“It's about time you got back!” Sibley heard someone say but she was too busy gagging to care. The smell, gods, the room’s spinning. She couldn't think like this. The words didn't even sound like the common tongue. It sounded more like jotnar speak.

Sibley spat a final time taking her first clear breath in what felt like ages and found herself in a room illuminated by large mirror-like crystals embedded in the walls. Each held moving images like a balling as if they were-.

A chill ran through her. They'd been watching. There, the mirror on the opposite wall was the feasting hall where Magni raged, slitting a table in twine as his fist came down in rage. Another showed the castle courtyard and some inside the newly built Aesir temples.

“What is this!” Sibley shouted.

Grimmir turned to her with two others close by. One was human, dark haired and clad in black with a baculous holding an oversized core in a staff of twisted wood. The other was a fey floating off the ground with red and purple hair longer than she was tall. The little woman could have been a girl for all Sibley could tell, but the knives shithed across her leather armor spoke of a hardened fighter.

"Just stay there and keep quiet," Grimmir said.

Sibley stepped up to him, forgetting her fear in a rush of anger. "I will not-"

The tirade building in Sibley's chest caught in her throat as an ax appeared in Grimmir’s hand. He Didn't say a word, just held the weapon over his shoulder and stared at her for a long moment then turned away as if she wasn't there.

“Did you find a way around the oath?” the man asked.

“No,” Grimmir responded. “But she doesnt know we can’t hurt her. As for who she is.” Grimmir sounded a bit sheepish. “She’s the one who summoned Vara."

Sibley tried her best not to react as she used her blessing. They talked like Dreyarks, bound by magic to not harm her apparently, but they spoke as if she didn't know their words. With all their spying, they didn't know of her divine blessing. She could understand any spoken word, even the jotnar tongue they spoke now. A useless ability for the most part, certainly nothing compared to a divine weapon or sacred flame. Now, it could save her if she didn't betray its existence.

“What were you thinking?” the man said. “The oath won’t let us harm her and she could summon her goddess at any time.”

“What if she summons that crazy bitch again?” the fey added.

“She won’t,” Grimmir said in answer. “Didn't really have a plan when I took her. But what about the strikers? Who’d they send?”

“Rollo,” they both said.

The name swirled around Sibley's mind, changing, shifting, until finally becoming the truth. They tried to use some kind of alias, replacing a name with something else her divine blessing easily translated.

“That’s it,” Grimmir said dejectedly. "Only one apex striker, for me after killing a fucking god!"

"Rollo and half the company," the human said. "But he said Cull was sent after you."

"So that’s two," Grimmir said. "We can assume Striga or Ozen will be sent soon enough, but I don't know the other apex strikers."

Sibley couldn't believe what she heard. At least four apex magi and more, all whose names she didn't know. Vellia only had a handful of individuals with such power, a dozen at most and all famous, while North Bastian had four. No, one now, she remembered, as the king and queen were gone and another fell to Grimmir’s ax during the festival. Only the former prince Eric was left.

South Bastian was a mystery but couldn't possibly have too much more. These strikers being of Jotunheim or some other far off land was more likely, but their names were vellain.

Whoever these strikers were, they held more strength in their ranks than some countries. And by the way Grimmir spoke, he was of their ranks, if not a rogue branch needing to be put to heel.

****

It was like being an oracle. The strikers had come in force, just like Brand had known they would, looking for his head and only finding defeat. The battle had torn a chunk of North Bastian asunder, but they fell all the same without a single death.

That had been the most important part. If even one striker died, there would be no going back. Brand, Uhtred, and Astrid would be hunted regardless of how right they were. And that was the point, being right about what had to happen.

Half measures weren't enough, and as cut-throat as Rollo made them out to be, strikers didn't, no, they wouldn't do what needed to be done. They just didn't have the vision. That's how Brunhild had been, Brand's once captain, ordering the killing of officials here and there like that would stop a war that couldn't be stopped.

It was all so inevitable. The hate was there. The need for blood would come soon enough, so soon in fact hiding in shadows to not be seen would only cost more lives, even more so than having Vara summoned. So Brand would do things his way and they'd say he was right in the end.

"I hope you've enjoyed this little rebellion," Rollo said.

The man leaned back in his chair stabbing a fork into a sweetly seasoned piece of meat. The platter in front of the striker was luxurious, mirroring every accommodation the prison cell held. A small apology for having spent a week in confinement when it should have been two days at most. Another casually of Vara’s summoning Brand supposed.

"Can't say it's been anything close to enjoyable," Brand said, inching closer to the shimmering barrier of light separating the men.

Brand's eyes shone with mana as he embraced mage sight. The magics suppressing Rollo's power were failing. More than half the runes and enneagrams were covertly destroyed while many more were worn down and soon to follow. A day, or maybe even a few hours, and Rollo would have been free.

Brand places a hand on the barrier, taking control of the spells. The left side of his lower back tingles as he repaired the damage, reading how to straight from the design tattooed on his body.

"There," he said. "Now I have a few more days."

"You don't even have that," Rollo said brimming with confidence, but his fist tightening betrayed his frustration. "Cull is on his way. You might have captured us but-"

"I've already defeated Cull," Brand said walking past the cage.

"What?"

Brand turned, calling out over his shoulder. "Give me two days, three most, and you'll be out."

"Did you really beat my Da?" Asked a familiar face, one Brand was happy to see even under the circumstances.

"Cora!" Brand beamed. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"I'm here too."

Brand turned, finding Dagfinn suspended on a bed of mana thread like some kind of spider.

"Look at that," Brand said. "The old gang is back together."

"Let me out so I can show you how happy I am to see you," Cora said her first, already shining with burning light.

"Maybe later, when we can all look back and laugh about this."

Brand kept on, moving passed cell after cell repairing each as needed. Most held strikers he'd never met but there was also Ooba with bloodied knuckles. The fool had tried punching his way out.

"I'm going to kill you?" the man raged.

"Sure you are," Brand said and kept walking.

A moment later he passed by Elma's cell to a bit of a surprise.

"We're over, Brand!" she shouted at him filled with scorn. But what the hells was she talking about?

"Ok," Brand said.

Elma's anger turned crestfallen. "That's it?"

Brand groaned. The fool woman had never been his woman. Told her so more than once too, not that she listened. Probably thought being the only one he plowed for some time made her special and not just convenient.

An annoyance for another time, because the cells had been checked so it time to free himself of the soul nesting in his chest.

Brand entered a chamber, a large closet really, with runes, circles, and all manner of arcane designs etched across every surface. The air went stale as he closed the door behind him as no air flowed through the space. It was completely isolated from the world without so much as a torch as to not interfere with any magic cast within.

Without ceremony, he tossed the S-ranked beast core on the ground. It rolled, coming to an immediate stop and glowed, spreading lighting about runes at a time until they was blinding.

Palms to the ground and the runes on his own skin growing bright , Brand seized control, searching for the spell he needed. There, perfectly drawn among a dozen, what he’d had to draw himself while freezing on a mountain peak after his battle with Vara.

Brand pushed life into the spell all the while feeding it the beast core’s power. For a heartbeat, a torrent of fear, panic, feelings too mixed and burning too brightly to understand threatened to drown him. Then it was gone, or more precisely, she was gone, until flashing into existence.

Long red hair covered Thora’s breast, but that was all. Like the first time Brand had created her body, she was born naked, but that seemed the last thing on the thunderer’s mind.

“Where is he!” she shouted in what could have been a hateful growl thrusting for blood or a whimper as if she meant to flee.

“Magni is still in the south-,” Brand said.

Thora surged forward crashing into him like a rushing boulder. He crashed against a wall shattering stone as he was half buried in it and fell to the ground gasping. When he looked up, spitting blood from his mouth, he saw Thora trying to work the handle to the room. Instead, she broke it with a heave, snapping metal with ease.

“Calm the fuck down!” Brand shouted, but Thora punched the door with a frantic need to escape imagined threats. The blow ripped it off its hinges while the stone making up its frame shattered like glass

Brand wiped the blood from his lips. “Fine then.”

With a thought, Thora spasmed, arms flitting about wildly leaving small craters as they crashed against stone. She fell a moment later, back arching without pain or control, but her eyes remained steady, taking in Brand’s ire as he grasped her throat, pinning to the ground with a mountain of added weight.

His sanctum had taken months to build and she’d destroyed half of it in mere seconds.

“Here’s the deal, Thunderer,” he said, loosening his grip as to just hold her still. “You’re an apex cultivator now, stronger even.” Thora’s eyes widened with surprise and a question, one happily answered. “The beast core I stole would have made you strong, but I still had mana left after facing Magni. Couldn't kill him though. He’s a lot tougher than Vara, that’s for sure, but he gave me more power than I knew what to do with, so I gave it to you.”

Brand released his control over her as he removed his hood tossing it over his newly formed weapon, avatar and maybe even comrade if she proved herself.

“Here is the deal,” he continued, keeping his eyes locked on her’s. “Work for me and keep the power. Don’t, and I remake you as a first gate cultivator.” Brand reached out offering a hand. “What do you say?”