Asgard, Yggdrasil

  “Were you summoned by Father Odin as well?” Thor asked as he approached the doors of Valhalla that led to the patriarch’s throne.

  Three gods stood there waiting.

  One of them was the radiant and handsome Freyr, wearing only a loose white cloth around his waist, shining with divine brilliance.

  The second was a breathtaking goddess with curly blonde hair tinted with a playful rosy hue. She wore a tight-cut white dress with golden clasps, a slit that revealed her sculpted pale legs adorned with golden sandals, and a dark feathered cape over her shoulders.

  The last was a one-armed god, exuding the bearing of an experienced general. His hair was cropped short in a Roman style, his face bore several scars, and he wore a red tunic common among the people of Norway, along with black leggings. At his side hung a reddish sword, worn from countless battles.

  (Image created with Gemini AI for illustrative purposes only)

  “That’s right, Thorsy—my sister and Tyr were summoned too ?,” Freyr answered with his luminous smile.

  “At last, we’ll learn why our father has been missing for so long,” Tyr muttered.

  “They said it was urgent for us to come. Maybe it has to do with Loki’s uprising in the human world,” added the beautiful goddess Freyja.

  Soon I’ll finally be able to travel to Midgard and arrest Loki myself, Thor thought.

  “All four of you are here; you may enter,” one of the valkyries at the throne gate announced.

  The two valkyries lowered their spears, the massive doors parted by themselves—blinding the gods with a flash of light.

  When their vision returned, the golden columns and ceiling of Valhalla were gone.

  Instead, branches, thick foliage, and dense vegetation surrounded them—as if they now stood deep in an enchanted forest.

  A row of malakim wearing deer masks and white robes lay prostrated along a dirt path leading up to a platform carved from a fallen log.

  There, seated on a throne, was a man… and four figures who were clearly not deer-masked malakim.

  Behind the throne rose a colossal mistletoe tree—its branches decorated with severed heads, dangling lifeless in a grotesque and ritualistic fashion.

  “Welcome to the new realm of Asgard, ?sir gods,” said the man seated upon the throne.

  He appeared as a short-bearded man with chestnut hair and green eyes, wearing white robes with golden trim. In his right hand he held a staff of mistletoe wood and leaves. He sat with provocative confidence.

  “Who are you? Where is Father?” Thor demanded as he and the others instinctively shifted into defensive stances.

  The four figures beside the throne burst into mocking laughter.

  “There’s no need for violence in this sacred place, friends,” the enthroned man said calmly.

  “By orders of Lel, I am the new sovereign of Asgard. I am the god Esus.”

  A chill ran through the four ?sir.

  “Esus? The Celtic Anunnaki?” Freyja shouted. “What are you doing here?”

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  “Where is Father Odin? Answer me, or I’ll mount your head on my blade!” Tyr growled, gripping his sword.

  “Dead,” Esus replied with a wicked smile.

  “That is why I chose to incorporate Asgard into my domain.”

  The four Celtic gods beside him continued laughing.

  “Impossible! Father would never be killed by a weakling like you!” Thor shouted.

  “Oh, don’t worry—I wasn’t the one who killed him. That deed was handled by the monsters in Lel. I simply accepted the throne they offered,” Esus replied coolly.

  “They were tired of your humans invading their holy lands, so they decided to take matters into their own hands. As of today, Lel governs the Nordic territories.”

  The ?sir instinctively reached into their bodies for their hidden totemas.

  Immediately, the four figures around Esus moved defensively.

  “Taranis, Belisama, Sucellus, Smertrios… no need to fight,” Esus said, raising a hand.

  “We are civilized gods who understand the word diplomacy… or so I hope.”

  “I summoned you not to battle, but because you are the strongest of all Asgard. I want you to join me. If you do, your lives—and the lives of your people—will be spared.”

  “But if you refuse, I will raze all Asgard and sacrifice you inside a colossal wicker man.”

  “What a generous offer,” Freyja said coldly.

  “But there’s one small problem with it,” Tyr added.

  “We are a realm of warrior gods, not diplomats,” Thor declared.

  “That means all of Asgard will fight foreign invaders to the last breath—no matter how impossible it seems. And we won’t stop until your heads hang from our weapons,” Freyr said defiantly.

  Esus laughed.

  “I regret to inform you that you are trapped in this dimension. Only Heimdal could save you—but he would never dare defy me, not after how he has ‘protected’ this sanctum.”

  “I never protected this sanctum,” said a voice from afar.

  “I serve only my father, the great Odin. But if he is no longer here, then I obey Thor, second-in-command.”

  From out of the fog, Heimdal stepped forward, joining the four ?sir with his horn, Gjallarhorn, in hand.

  “Heimdal! I knew you wouldn’t betray us,” Thor shouted joyfully.

  “No one in Asgard would ever betray the great Lord Odin,” Heimdal replied in his usual cold, emotionless voice.

  “You’re nothing but a pack of worthless barbarians,” Esus sneered as he stood from his throne.

  “Finish them while I prepare all Asgard for a grand sacrifice to our mighty benefactor: Lord El.”

  He turned and left, followed by the deer-masked malakim.

  “Don’t run, coward!” Thor roared.

  “You have no right to address our master like that, god of thunder,” said one of Esus’ followers as he stepped before Thor.

  The man had reddish-brown hair and beard, wore a brown cloak, a round steel helmet decorated with golden olive branches, and a bronze cuirass adorned with a golden wheel.

  “I am Taranis, Celtic god of thunder,” he declared. Electric power surged around him, forming a radiant wheel behind his back.

  “I’ve always wanted to cross weapons with you.”

  “Barbarians belong impaled on my spear,” said another figure stepping before Freyja.

  She was a woman with blue-tinted hair and eyes, wearing a long white gown. Water shimmered beneath her feet.

  “I am Belisama, and this will be the last sight you behold, Freyja.”

  Another man appeared before Freyr: blond, finely featured, with green-aquamarine eyes and an ethereal glow. He wore a red cape, a golden chestpiece, a blue skirt, and khaki trousers—carrying an enormous hammer.

  “I am Sucellus, the most beautiful god in existence. Freyr, I will smash your repulsive face with this hammer,” he said with a seductive smile.

  The last warrior lunged at Tyr—who dodged swiftly.

  He was massive, hairy, unkempt like a caveman, wearing simple checkered trousers and wielding a giant club.

  “Not bad, Tyr. You dodged my surprise attack. But you'll need more than that to defeat Smertrios,” the brute said, resting his club on his shoulder.

  “Heimdal!” Thor shouted. “Use the Bifrost. Get out of here! Warn Asgard that we must fight these bastards. Stop Esus if you can. We’ll join you soon!”

  Heimdal nodded and vanished in a burst of rainbow light, opening a portal behind him.

  “And you three—time to show these tree-huggers Asgard’s true power. Transform!” Thor commanded.

  Each ?sir drew their totema—and a blinding light engulfed the battlefield.