Asgard, Yggdrasil.

  The scene was devastating. Asgard—once a beautiful place of golden buildings, vast forests, lakes, and crystal-paved streets—was now in flames, with its structures in ruins.

  Esus, floating majestically above the center of the great realm, commanded giants who were destroying the region. These beings, called wicker men, were created from hundreds of corpses woven inside a human-shaped wicker frame. The sacrifices performed within them gave them life. To create these abominations, Esus and his malakim had massacred hundreds of inhabitants of Asgard—valkyries, Einherjar, and humans who had been accepted into Valhalla.

  Thor, Freyja, Freyr, and Tyr appeared on the battlefield through the Bifrost bridge that Heimdall had left open, escaping the alternate dimension Esus had created where he had sat on his throne moments earlier. They had managed to defeat the four Celtic champions with little trouble—but not fast enough to arrive in time to save Asgard.

  Heimdall knelt on one knee, his sword planted in the ground. He had been easily defeated by Esus, who was now effortlessly fighting Modi and Magni, the sons of Thor.

  Beside Heimdall, other ?sir had already fallen. Frigg, Vidar, and Forseti lay unconscious after attempting to battle the powerful Celtic anunnaki.

  “Thor and the others… I see you made it,” said Heimdall, showing not a hint of emotion. Joy and anger simply weren’t his thing.

  The god looked completely different now that his totema was activated. His helmet shone in white and blue, with two ram horns protruding from its sides. He wore a white Viking armor adorned with blue and gold lines. Combined with his nearly white skin and hair, this earned him the Asgardian nickname: the Ghost. On his chest glowed a stone engraved with the rune ?.

  “What a tremendous disaster Lel has unleashed upon our realm,” Thor said angrily.

  “Aren’t those your little sons fighting Esus now? ?” asked Freyr.

  “Yes, I suppose… but I doubt they can handle him. They're weak and have been spoiled by their mother,” Thor said, shaking his head.

  “How cruel you are, Thor!” Freyja snapped.

  “I don’t think family matters concern you, Freyja,” Tyr retorted.

  The Nordic goddess scoffed and looked away from the god of war.

  “Tyr is right, Freyja. I just hope this battle toughens them a bit,” Thor said indifferently.

  “But this is good news, actually,” Tyr added. “I was getting rusty from sitting around every day without facing strong opponents.”

  “You’re cruel as well, dear Tyrsy. Sure, I enjoy a good battle—but never seeing my own people defeated like this ?,” Freyr replied, shaking his head.

  “Whether this turns out purr-fect or claw-ful doesn’t matter anymore. Let’s defeat Esus and carry his head to Lel to show them how paw-erful the gods of Yggdrasil truly are,” Freyja said, speaking like a cat.

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  “Seriously, Freyja, no one can understand you when you talk like that. You’re not a cat and you know it!” Tyr snapped.

  “Don’t talk to my sweet little sister like that, Tyrsy ?,” Freyr complained.

  “Make me, you freak,” Tyr growled.

  By my father… these two siblings are complete lunatics, Thor thought as he motioned for them to quiet down to face Esus.

  The four Norse gods also looked different, each wearing their respective totemas.

  Thor held the legendary hammer Mjolnir in his right hand. He wore a golden winged helmet, a golden armor crackling with static energy, and a massive bearskin cloak on his back. His belt, Megingjord, shone white as diamond with the image of a goat on the buckle. His golden boots and the gauntlet Jarngreipr completed his appearance. On his chest glowed the rune t.

  Freyr wore a helmet shaped like the head of a great golden boar. His armor made him taller—large, intricate, with two tusks jutting from the back of his neck. A furry loincloth and boots ending in pig hooves completed the look. He carried a strange sword shaped like the horn of an antelope. On his chest glowed the rune ?.

  Freyja looked like a magnificent valkyrie, with a white-and-gold diadem crowned by two golden wings and a flame symbol at its center. Her hair had become almost white, with two cat ears poking through. She wore a golden breastplate with white accents, a short blue skirt, a blue cape, and long high-heeled boots. She clutched a massive golden spear with dual points resembling a trident. On her chest glowed the rune ?.

  Tyr wore a chainmail shirt as red as the sky over a burning city. His helmet covered his eyes completely, with long mails protecting his neck and small horns on top. He wore a Roman-style red cape and held a sword that dripped like liquid blood. On his belt shone the rune ?.

  At that moment, Esus struck Modi and Magni with a blade-shaped hand, sending them crashing unconscious to the ground. Thor, instead of getting angry at the defeat of his sons, ignored it entirely and smiled with excitement.

  “Now it’s our turn, moss-head!” the thunder god shouted at the Celtic anunnaki.

  Esus turned and smiled.

  “My friends,” he said, “I didn’t expect you so soon to attend my festival celebrating the destruction of Asgard. Hard to believe this all could’ve been avoided with a simple kiss on my feet,” he added with a malevolent grin.

  “That bastard isn’t even wearing his totema,” Tyr growled, eyeing the powerful Celtic deity.

  “What’s wrong? Won’t you put your totema on, Esus?” Thor taunted.

  “I don’t need it to fight trash like you,” Esus answered.

  “And we can’t fight you unless you wear it. It would be unfair,” Thor replied.

  The other three gods nodded.

  “Incredible… even after seeing my absolute superiority over you, you still think I need it. How amusing,” Esus laughed.

  Then the god opened his arms and smiled.

  “Make me put it on.”

  “It will be a dishonorable battle,” Tyr replied. “But if this coward won’t stop destroying our home, I’ll have to commit such an offense to defend my land.”

  “Will you fight first, Tyr?” Freyja asked.

  “Of course,” Tyr replied with clear disdain.

  “Incredible. And you’ll fight him one-on-one. Nordic stupidity never ceases to amaze me,” Esus said mockingly.

  “A coward who doesn’t understand a warrior’s honor has no right to speak,” Tyr roared as he charged at Esus with his blood-red sword drawn.

  Esus’ smug smile didn’t last long—Tyr had easily cut off his right arm.

  “Being an anunnaki, katteres, or igigi is irrelevant before us, the ?sir gods,” Tyr said as he landed gracefully, sheathing his terrifying sword.

  “Now put on your totema, or you’ll force me to kill you without honor.”