I am Thalos, Odin's older brother

Was this the malice of fate, or the cruel cycle of destiny?

After all the scheming and preparation, from tricking Loki to crafting the Tablets of Order, even Sleipnir couldn't escape becoming the eight-legged beast of legend.

The titanic horse's grotesquely overgrown frame had sprouted four additional legs. Now, two full rows—eight legs in total—extended from its body. With shoulders reaching thirty meters high, it dwarfed even the largest giants on Thalos's side.

Opposite him, Odin loomed as a towering monstrosity, standing almost half as tall as Ymir, the ancient progenitor of frost giants. Even seated atop Sleipnir, with his exact height obscured, he appeared to be over forty meters tall.

And that was without even using his giant-form technique.

His gargantuan frame meant that no armor could fit anymore. Draped instead in roughly stitched, nameless pelts, he stood in stark contrast to Thalos's resplendent golden armor.

But those savage skins—when wrapped around such terrifying size—created a primitive, brutal kind of oppression. A wild majesty born of chaos.

And yet, even in such a horrifying ensemble, Odin somehow didn't appear out of place beside the other beasts of his army.

To the west, a black dragon, its body jet-dark and gleaming with coarse ridges and armored scales, beat its massive wings. Scattered fragments of human corpses tumbled from its ridged back as it flew.

Nidhogg.

This was the venomous dragon that gnawed at the roots of the World Tree. It often lurked in Náströnd, the cursed region of the underworld, where a river of poison punished oathbreakers, murderers, and adulterers. Nidhogg chewed their bones.

Prophecy claimed that it would emerge from the northern mountains of Hel after Ragnarök—and now, it had arrived early.

And it wasn't just here—it was delivering corpses.

Its wingspan, easily over 200 meters, made it a living nightmare across the skies of northern Midgard, causing a ripple of panic among both the gods and the giants.

But Nidhogg wasn't the largest.

Matching it in scale was the corrupted dragon Fafnir, but the true aerial titan was the giant eagle Víðófnir. This beast, once perched atop the World Tree, now flapped wings wider than 400 meters, a colossal horror.

Its feathers, at least, appeared weaker in defense than dragon scales—if there was a silver lining.

As the three winged monsters soared and shrieked across the sky, their vile cries echoing, even the frost giants below grew visibly unsettled.

Logically, if these monsters respected their allies, they would act with restraint.

But these were creatures of chaos—they had none.

As they dove in close, mocking the army beneath them, even Sköll, the great sun-chasing wolf, snarled in warning. His massive head tilted up, fangs bared, issuing a deep, primal growl.

Yet Nidhogg dared to nip at Sköll's tail, triggering the giant wolf's fury.

He snapped his jaws toward Fafnir, missing only by a hair's breadth.

The entire scene drew a round of laughter from the ranks of Asgard.

Thalos, still mounted and unshaken, called out across the battlefield. His voice echoed for miles, amplified by divine resonance.

"Odin, this is the army you've mustered to defy my rule over the Nine Realms? How laughable!"

His words hit like a celestial bell, vibrating the hearts of all who heard it—even frost giants felt an oppressive weight on their chests.

Odin's face darkened. He bellowed back, "The mere presence of these supreme beasts proves your rule is a mockery! You represent neither the world's future nor its destiny!"

Thalos replied, hurt in tone, "It pains me... that you no longer even call me 'Brother.'"

Compared to the titan Odin, Thalos's six-meter form on his "tiny" horse was absurdly small.

"Spare us your hypocrisy, Thalos! Fate itself has told me—I am the only rightful King of Ginnungagap! You are nothing but a usurper!"

Thalos was prepared for this.

If Odin wanted to talk fate, he would oblige.

He burst into booming laughter. "How amusing! Even the secrets that the Norns themselves dare not utter, you claim as prophecy. Did Fate also tell you that using chaotic power will plunge the world into ruin? Or are you hoping to reshape gods and mortals into your monstrous image?"

Monstrous?

Odin didn't understand—until Thalos snapped his fingers.

Snap!

Odin's iconic black eyepatch—a beast-hide covering for his lost eye—exploded into shreds.

It was a minor trick, well within Thalos's dominion as the god of the sky.

But the result sent shockwaves through both divine and mortal ranks.

Beneath the patch wasn't a hollow socket or a simple scar.

It was an eye—no, seven eyes. One large, six smaller ones, clustered grotesquely within the same socket, rotating independently, peering in all directions.

The sight sickened the Aesir.

"Disgusting! That's f***ing disgusting!"

"He wants to make us all like him?! A freak?!"

"If that's chaos, I'd rather die!"

Thalos didn't know if Odin still dreamed of filling his harem with goddesses, but after this, he could say goodbye to any shred of charm he once had.

Odin instinctively tried to cover it—but his son Höðr, the blind god of darkness, tore off his own blindfold, revealing four eyes in a similar mutation.

And then Odin no longer cared.

He raised his massive hands to the heavens and shouted, "You're the fool, Thalos! You don't understand Chaos! All things in Ginnungagap should embrace it willingly!"

He didn't realize...

That at the very moment those words left his mouth...

The World Will became enraged.

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