The elders had long whispered that Barton Geddes was a curse sent by the Gods, and from the moment his first wailing breath pierced the air, the villagers believed it. Born to a humble blacksmith and his wife in a rural town far from the pulse of civilization, his arrival should have been a blessing. A strong son to one day inherit the forge, to carry on the trade of fire and steel. And in a way, that wish was granted… just not as they had hoped.
Even as a child, Geddes was different. He was larger than the others, stronger, heavier in step, louder in breath. He didn't yet understand the damage his strength could cause. He'd hug too tightly, play too roughly, gesture too widely, and things broke. Plates, spoons, chairs, tables. Walls.
His mother's voice was a constant shriek in his ears, shrill with frustration, cracked with fear. She screamed at him for smashing the crockery, for splitting the furniture, for putting cracks in the plaster with nothing more than an excited stumble. His father tried to be patient at first, chalking it up to youthful clumsiness. But patience, like furniture in their home, has its limits.
Belts and broomsticks came next. Tools used by mothers across the village to discipline unruly boys. But none of it worked. Geddes' body was too strong, his skin too thick. Bruises barely showed. Pain never stayed. The more she struck him, the more monstrous he seemed in her eyes.
And still, he didn't understand.
He didn't mean to hurt the little girl when he tried to help her to her feet. He didn't mean to send the other boy flying with a playful kick of the ball. He only wanted to be included, to belong. But all his efforts left someone crying, broken, or afraid. He'd turn to his parents for comfort, for explanation—but his father had grown silent, and his mother gave him only blame.
The town turned on them slowly, then all at once. Children were pulled away when he walked past. Doors were slammed shut when he approached. His father began disappearing for longer stretches, always to the tavern, returning only to shout or sulk. And then one day, without a word, the man packed his things and vanished, leaving behind a broken wife and a boy who didn't know how to stop breaking things.
His mother unraveled. Her beatings came daily now, even though she knew they did no harm. They weren't meant to bruise his body anymore, but to punish something deeper. Each strike came with a scream. Each scream laced with grief and hatred. She raged at the life she'd lost, the husband who abandoned her, the son she never wanted.
"You're the reason he left!" she'd howl, again and again.
And Geddes—despite his strength, despite his size—could only cry.
He began to understand, slowly. That he was unwanted. That he was feared. That whatever he was, it wasn't normal. Not to them. Not to anyone. The children avoided him like he was diseased. The adults shouted at him to leave, to stay away, throwing stones like he was a stray beast that had wandered too close.
They called him monster.
And over time, he stopped crying.
He just started believing it.
Then, one day, everything changed.
There was a girl in the village. It began with something so small, so innocent—a smile, a wave, a simple hello. And then, unexpectedly, she kept talking to him. She was the seamstress's daughter, soft-spoken and curious. She'd tell him about her day, about her mother's temper or the latest gossip from the market. And for the first time in his life, Geddes spoke back. They walked together in the evenings, sat by the river's edge beneath the old birch trees. He would bring her wildflowers—daisies, mostly, freshly picked and clumsily bundled in his massive hands. And for a brief, shining moment, Barton Geddes felt normal. He felt human. He felt… happy.
It was a warm day in midsummer when she asked to meet him in the clearing just beyond the village woods. He remembered how excited he'd been. He'd even combed his hair and tucked in his shirt. The daisies in his hand looked better than usual—white and bright under the sun. He thought maybe—just maybe—this was what hope felt like.
But when he arrived, she wasn't alone.
A group of boys stepped from the trees, armed with clubs, blades, lengths of chain. His steps faltered. He looked around, confused, the flowers slipping slightly in his grip. That's when he saw her, standing off to the side, flanked by other girls from the village. Her face was no longer warm, no longer kind. That smile he'd come to treasure was now twisted with cruelty, her eyes glittering with something cold and spiteful.
He called out to her. Pleaded. But the boys charged.
They beat him. Cut him. Bound him. He didn't fight back at first—too shocked, too afraid. As he lay bleeding on the forest floor, looking up at the sky through broken branches, he heard her voice one last time.
It had all been a lie. Every word. Every smile. She had never cared. Never meant any of it. She had lured him here, like an animal into a trap, because no one else had the spine to do what needed to be done. The adults wanted him gone but couldn't bear the blood on their hands, so they passed the task to their children. And the girl, the one who pretended to see him… she did it all with a smile.
"Who could ever love a monster?" she said.
Something inside him broke.
And then—darkness.
When he came to, the world was painted red. The boys were dead, every last one. Their bodies torn open, bones shattered, limbs scattered across the clearing. Some hadn't even had the chance to scream. Their faces were frozen in terror. Mouths open in silent horror.
The girls had fled.
He was found shortly after, naked and drenched in blood, weeping beside a pile of bodies. His trial was swift. The same girl who once smiled at him now wept before the court, claiming he had attacked them unprovoked. That he had snapped without warning. He tried to speak, tried to tell them what had really happened. No one listened.
Then came his mother.
He had hoped, naively, desperately, that she would defend him. That she would look at him, see the brokenness, and speak the truth. But she didn't. She took the stand and with flat, tired eyes said he had always been dangerous. That he had always been a curse.
The village condemned him unanimously.
They bounded him in chains, strapped his father's anvil to his chest, and dragged him to the cliffs. No ceremony. No last words. Just a few murmurs of satisfaction and a long drop into the sea. The last faces he saw were the girls—smiling. And his mother, looking not angry or afraid… but relieved.
But the Gods, as the elders once said, had always hated Barton Geddes.
And so, they let him live.
He was dragged for miles by the current, broken and choking, but he crawled to shore with blood in his lungs and something far darker in his heart.
It was in that moment, as he lay beneath the grey skies, that the truth settled over him like a second skin.
They had called him a monster.
So, he became one.
****
"You wanna know what happened next, little bird?" Geddes sneered, lips curling as he yanked Helga up by the throat. She gasped, her legs kicking beneath her as she clawed at his wrist. With a growl, he tore her hand away from his neck and threw her aside. Her body hit the asphalt with a sickening crunch, rolling until she came to a halt, face down in the rubble.
"I wandered," he said, walking toward her as she groaned, pushing herself up with shaking arms. "All over bloody Avalon—like some mongrel, no leash, no home. Kings, tyrants, warlords, they all wanted one thing, someone who'd kill without blinking and die without whining. So, I fought in their wars, bled for their banners. And when that got boring?" He grinned wide, though his lip twitched with something darker. "I stepped into the pits. Arenas. Let crowds scream while I tore men apart like paper dolls."
Helga spat blood, her vision swimming as she looked up at him.
"Had it all, didn't I?" he went on, words cracking beneath the smugness. "Gold in me pocket. Wine on tap. Glory, fame, and more wiry little boys than I knew what to do with. Could've emptied me balls every night if I wanted. But it meant nothin'. Not a bloody thing."
He tapped his chest twice, fingers curling into a fist. "'Cause in here? Still empty. A pit. A bottomless one."
He took another step, looming over her now. "Those around me? They weren't mates, they were leeches. Lickin' my boots while they waited for me to slip. Even the mercs—hardened killers, the lot of 'em—kept their distance. Afraid I'd snap. That I'd tear their heads off over a bloody sideways look."
Helga's breathing was shallow. Her gaze locked on him.
"Then comes Burgess, flash bastard with silver words and promises. Blood to spill. Flesh to break. Every indulgence under the sun handed to me on a platter." Geddes shrugged. "And still… food turned to ash. Drink tasted like piss. Even shaggin' felt like scrapin' rust off a pipe. It were all hollow. Like the whole world was laughin' at me."
He looked down at her with something that almost resembled grief.
"They don't understand me. Never did. They see the scars, the fists, the blood, and that's all I'll ever be. A weapon. A freak. A monster," he whispered, tilting his head. "But you do."
"Like livin' in a world made of glass. Always watchin' where we step, terrified we'll break someone just by breathin'. And when we do… they look at us like we were born wrong." He chuckled, bitter. "Because maybe we were."
Helga gritted her teeth.
"They don't see who we are, just what we are." He stood beside her. "They don't love us. Don't want us."
"You're wrong," she said, trembling.
He smiled, broken, knowing. "Am I? You think they'll still look at you the same when they find out? About Astrea. About her mutt. Maybe only a few know now, but soon?" His eyes narrowed. "They all will. Your friends, students... they'll whisper, then they'll turn. Just like mine did."
"No…" Helga breathed. "They wouldn't…"
"Oh, they will." He leaned closer. "'Cause the truth is, to them, you're already what I am. A monster wearin' a girl's skin."
Helga's breath caught. Her shoulders sagged. The tears welled in her eyes, and for a moment—just a moment—she faltered.
Geddes stared into her. "Look at me, Helga. I am you. And you... you are me."
"Shut up!" Helga screamed, raw and broken as she drove her fist into his chest. It struck with a thud—but Geddes didn't move. Didn't flinch. Her strength, once fierce, had drained away like sand through fingers.
She hit him again. And again. Blows rained, each one weaker than the last. "You don't know me! You don't know my friends! They won't turn their backs on me!" Her words cracked beneath the weight of desperation. "They won't leave me!"
But even as she shouted, her mind betrayed her—flashing with warped images of those she'd trusted. Faceless shadows whispering behind her back. Friends turning away in fear, in disgust. Eyes filled with suspicion. Fingers pointed. Bonds fraying into silence.
"They won't…" Her fists trembled mid-air. Her knees buckled. "They won't…" Tears streaked down her cheeks, carving through the grime and blood.
Geddes let out a slow, pitying sigh and shook his head. "It's a shame, really," he said. Then, without warning, he slammed his fist into her gut.
The blow was devastating. Helga folded around it with a strangled gasp, then flew backward, her body skipping across the road like a stone on water—each impact cracking the asphalt, splintering the ground, before she finally collided with a wall. Stone exploded outward on impact, the entire section crumbling in a cloud of dust and debris.
Geddes walked forward with calm, unhurried steps. The bricks shifted under his boots as he reached into the rubble, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and yanked her upright. Helga hung limply in his grasp, her body bloodied and broken. Her eyes were barely open, her breaths shallow and uneven. Blood dripped steadily from her mouth and brow.
"As much as I've enjoyed our little dance, little bird," Geddes said with a smirk, "I'm afraid I've grown bored." He tightened his grip, then pulled his arm back and punched her square in the chin with brutal force.
The blow launched her skyward.
Helga's body flew through the air, breaking through the upper floors of the building like a cannonball, punching through beams and stone, and exploding out through the roof in a shower of shattered tile.
Then gravity reclaimed her.
She plummeted, crashing down like a meteor into the ruins of the city square. Her body slammed into what remained of the old fountain at its center, the stone basin shattering on impact. The entire square quaked as the fountain collapsed into a crater, debris raining down around her.
Helga lay at the heart of the crater, her chest heaving. A cough escaped her lips, thick blood splattering from her mouth as her body twitched, struggling to rise—still alive, but barely clinging to consciousness.
****
"Helga!"
Elio jolted upright with a gasp, her name torn from his lips like a lifeline. His chest heaved as he looked around, disoriented, his gaze scanning the unfamiliar room. For a moment, the world felt weightless and unreal. Memories returned in broken fragments: the hospital bed, the pain, the darkness swallowing him whole. And then… nothing.
He raised his hands, stopping short. His breath hitched. His eyes locked onto the arm he remembered losing. It was there. Whole. Intact. Fingers wiggling at his command. He stared in disbelief, turning it over, feeling it, as if waiting for the illusion to break.
Then he looked down at the rest of himself. The wounds, the scars. They were gone. Not just healed. Erased. As though they had never been. For a few suspended seconds, Elio couldn't move. Then the memories surged—the pain, the grief, the truth of that night. It returned not as clarity, but as ache. But there was no time to process it, not yet. His heart seized with a single, unshakable instinct:
Helga.
She was in danger. He didn't know how he knew, but he felt it with every breath in his lungs.
Elio slid off the hospital bed, bare feet hitting the cold floor. The gown fluttered behind him as he bolted toward the door. He yanked it open and tore into the corridor, nearly crashing into a nurse.
"Elio?!" the woman called, stumbling in surprise, hand reaching for him. But the boy was already gone.
He ran.
His legs carried him faster than they ever had. He sprinted down the corridors, eyes burning with resolve, heart pounding like a drumbeat in his ears. The world blurred past him. The calls of startled staff, the slam of doors behind—but he didn't stop. He couldn't.
Helga needed him.
And nothing in this world would keep him from her.
****
As Helga lay in the ruins of the shattered square, arms splayed, amber eyes half-lidded, the world above blurred and distant. The clouds drifted lazily through the dusk-drenched sky, each breath a sharp, splintering pain. Her ribs were cracked, maybe broken. Her insides ached with the familiar throb of internal bleeding. It reminded her of the duel against Marcus, of the time she thought she'd reached her limit. Despite it all, there was a strange stillness to the moment. A fragile silence, as if the city itself held its breath.
The crunch of boots on broken stone shattered it.
She turned her head, the hulking silhouette of Barton Geddes looming larger with every step. He rolled his shoulders, his neck cracking audibly as he sauntered toward the crater, his smirk already forming.
"Y'know," he drawled, "I just realized—I never told you how the story ends, did I?"
He stopped at the edge, peering down at her, eyes gleaming with something far fouler than pride.
"Bet you'd think I left my old village behind, never looked back. That I'd moved on, yeah?" He chuckled, low and cold. "You might've been right—if I weren't such a vindictive bastard."
The smirk widened, teeth bared.
"Took me years to return. Place hadn't changed much. 'Cept the girls—the ones who set me up. They moved on, married off, had brats. Life was all sunshine and bloody daisies. Like I was some bad dream they'd finally woken up from."
He stepped closer, boots grinding over crushed gravel.
"But wouldn't you know it? Burgess sent me on a little errand—seems the village elders didn't take kindly to the Tower's rules. Said they needed bringin' to heel. And who better than the beast they tried to drown?"
He squatted beside her. "You should've seen their faces when they saw me. Like I'd crawled straight up from the pit they tossed me into. Screamed like pigs."
He exhaled through his teeth, a shiver of pleasure in his tone. "I made 'em watch, all of 'em—the husbands, the parents, the families, as I ripped them limb from bloody limb. And those lying little birds? I strapped the lot to a pyre and lit 'em up, one by one."
Geddes paused. "'Course I saved her for last—the one who smiled through it all. Thought that grin of hers would be the last thing I ever saw. That made it sweeter, yeah?"
He lifted his hand, gesturing lazily. "And her bloke? Tried to cut her loose, run off and save his own skin. Didn't get far. Split 'im open like a melon."
He gave a low chuckle. "She gave me the whole bloody song and dance. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'Didn't mean to.' Claimed her mum and dad put her up to it. All that gobble-gobble, right? Birds'll say anything when the fire's lickin' at their heels. But she weren't smilin' when the flames caught hold. Funny how all that pretty just melts away in the end."
He stood tall, words louder now, like he wanted the world to hear.
"But the real fun? Was what I did after. See, after I gutted the parents, I turned their precious little brats into coin. Rounded 'em up like strays. Put 'em in chains and sold 'em off like meat. Sure, they begged, screamed—didn't matter. 'Cause no one came. No one ever does."
He chuckled, rasping with sick pleasure. "I reckon by now, they've had their innocence bled dry and their holes stuffed full enough with man parts they can't even sit right."
Helga's jaw tightened at the sound of his words, more so how much he reveled in it.
"Now the gold," Geddes grinned, a wicked glint in his eye as he let out a low whistle. "Cor, it poured in like bloody rain, it did. Kept me high, pissed drunk, off me tits, and buried in every rotten vice I could lay me grubby mitts on. Didn't sleep for days—didn't have to. Just kept the party rollin', and made damn sure every last coin went to good use."
Geddes leaned back with a long, satisfied breath, his eyes half-lidded like a man savoring the memory of a fine meal. "Ah… them were the days. Had me thinkin', just for a tick, maybe I'd cut ties with the Tower altogether and shack up with the Authority proper. Almost did, too."
Helga's fingers twitched faintly—but she still didn't rise.
"Oh, and the cherry on top?" Geddes grinned. "I went home. To me mum. Poor old bird. Begged for her life. Said she always loved me. Tried to hug me like it'd wash away the years. So, I hugged her back." He cracked his knuckles slowly. "Snapped her spine like kindling. Then looked her dead in the eyes… right before I tore her bloody head off."
"Got her skull polished up nice. Turned it into me favorite goblet. Makes the ale go down smoother." He laughed. "There's a saying I came across once. Not much for readin', but this one stuck with me. 'The child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth.' And burn it I did, little bird. Burned it to cinders."
He towered over her now, looking down through the shadows cast by the mid-day sun.
"I'm tellin' you all this, Helga Hufflepuff, not just to gloat. But because this is what waits for you."
He leaned down and grabbed her jacket, hoisting her like a ragdoll, his fist cocking back.
"You think you're different? That they'll love you forever? One misstep. One slip. One moment they can't explain—and they'll turn. Just like they did to me." His eyes narrowed. "So, you tell me, little bird—what'll it be? Die for a village that'll never have you… or burn it to the ground and let the flames keep you warm?"
Geddes flashed a wide, crooked grin, his teeth streaked with blood. "Suppose it don't matter in the end, does it? Whatever answer you were hopin' for…" He drew his fist back, muscles tightening like steel cables. "You'll be takin' it with you to the grave."
****
Helga's vision blurred at the edges, her surroundings fading into a haze of shadows as the world tilted and dimmed. Each breath came sharp and ragged, pain lancing through her ribs like knives. She tried to block out Geddes' voice—his twisted monologue, his venomous view of the world—but no matter how tightly she clenched her mind against it, his words cut through.
Because deep down, she recognized the truth in them.
Geddes wasn't just some madman drunk on slaughter. He was her reflection. Twisted, violent, grotesque, but unmistakably carved from the same stone. Cursed with power she never asked for. Strength others mistook for blessing, but which had only brought isolation and fear. The strength of the Norse giants, kin to the blood of Ymir. Enough to crack mountains. Enough to drain oceans. Enough to crush everything she touched, even the things she tried to protect.
They called it a gift. But how naïve they were, to think such power came without cost.
Helga had been born into a large, rowdy household. The only girl among five older brothers. They'd always towered over her, but none of them could match her strength. Not even close. She remembered being three years old, lifting them all, laughing, while they sat stacked on a bench. She was four when she rolled home a boulder larger than their cottage, asking if she could keep it as a pet.
She hadn't known how to hold back.
Playdates ended in bruises, broken toys, or worse. Friendships dissolved the moment her strength revealed itself. No matter how careful she was, how hard she trained, how tightly she clung to control, accidents still happened. One wrong grip. One reflex too fast. A friend with a dislocated shoulder. A fractured wrist.
They always left.
Some were scared. Some whispered behind her back. Others stared at her like she was a beast in a cage. Even with the love of her parents, her brothers, her grandfather—who always told her she was special, not broken—it didn't stop the world from seeing her as something to be feared.
A freak. A monster.
She spent her childhood in isolation, training relentlessly not to grow stronger, but to seem normal. To fit. She buried the Jötnar blood deep, locked it away like a shameful secret. Eventually, she learned to hide it well enough. She smiled, laughed, a barrel of joy wrapped in sunshine, never allowing herself lose control.
And slowly, people started to accept her.
She made friends. Real ones. But even then, the fear never left her. The fear that they'd find out. That they'd see her for what she was. And once they did, they'd turn their backs too. Just like all the others.
Now here stood Geddes. The ghost of what she could become. A walking nightmare of everything she'd tried so hard not to be. And his words echoed like iron inside her chest.
That she was no different.
That the world didn't want her.
That no one ever would.
The thought weighed on her like chains, dragging her down into that dark place she'd spent her life escaping. Maybe he was right. Maybe there was no point in fighting anymore. Maybe she was just playing a role, delaying the inevitable.
Maybe monsters weren't meant to be loved.
Her breath trembled. Her body slackened. She let her eyes drift shut, letting the pain wash over her like waves. If this was the end, so be it. Let Geddes finish what the world had started.
Because maybe, just maybe, the world would breathe a little easier without her in it.
****
"HELGA!"
The name tore through the air like, raw and desperate. Geddes halted mid-motion, his bloodied gauntlet hovering inches above Helga's face. He turned his head, lips curled in irritation.
At the far edge of the square stood a small boy in a hospital gown, barefoot and trembling, sweat streaking his face as he leaned against a wall to steady himself. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, but it was the fire in his eyes that stopped even the wind around them.
Helga stirred, her cracked lips parting as her gaze found him. Her vision swam, but she knew that voice. That face.
"E…Elio…?"
"Helga!" he shouted again. "Don't you dare give up!"
Tears streamed freely down his cheeks, mixing with the grime and sweat clinging to his skin. "Don't you dare let him win! They took Mama and Papa from me… from us!"
He sobbed as he stumbled forward, fists clenched at his sides, his cries echoing through the rubble-strewn streets.
Geddes turned back to Helga with a scoff. "The bloody hell is that runt?" he muttered, brow raised. Then, with a dismissive shrug, "Eh. I'll kill 'im after. You first."
With a roar, he drove his fist down. The blow slammed into Helga's skull, bouncing her head against the shattered stone with a sickening crack. Dust and blood burst from the crater as her body went still once more.
"No!" Elio broke into a scream, falling to his knees, his small hands gripping the stone as if trying to pull the earth back together. "Helga, please… please! Don't go…"
Tears choked his words as his head dropped forward. "You promised me…"
Geddes chuckled. His bloody knuckles still pressed against her brow. "Well, that's that then." He exhaled, stretching his neck until it cracked. "Helga Hufflepuff," he said with mocking reverence, "I gotta hand it to you… you were fun. Best scrap I've had in years."
Then his smirk returned, dark and satisfied. "But all good things, as they say, must come to a bloody end."
He turned toward Elio, eyes narrowing. "Now then… let's finish off the brat."
****
Helga floated in the void.
Blackness pressed from every angle, thick and suffocating. Curled into herself, arms wrapped tight around her knees, her face buried, she drifted weightless in a world without shape or time. Here, there was no one to hurt. No one left to lose. No more mistakes to make. Only silence, and the quiet relief of surrender.
She would rather fade into nothingness than live long enough to become what Geddes had become. Let the world forget her. Let her friends move on—to someone safer. Kinder. Human.
But then…
"Is that what you truly believe, bambina?"
The voice was gentle, warm—familiar. Helga's eyes snapped open.
Light seeped into the darkness, faint at first, then growing, a soft white glow that rippled from her chest and stretched across the void. Shapes began to form. Color. Warmth. And beside her knelt a man, with kind eyes and a weathered smile, his hand resting gently on her shoulder.
"Helga," Pablo said, "we knew you were special the moment you walked through our door." He chuckled lightly. "No one else ever devoured four pots of mamma's spaghetti and still had room for torta di mele."
Another figure stepped close, her voice like a breeze stirring the soul.
"And we loved you, just the way you were," said Edda, her dark eyes shining. "So did Elio."
Helga's lips trembled as tears welled. She turned and buried herself in Edda's arms.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" she sobbed. "I couldn't save you. I—"
"Hush," Edda whispered, cupping her face with tender fingers. "None of it was your fault. What happened was always going to happen… and if we had to choose again, we would. Because it was right."
"The world, bambina, is cruel," Pablo said quietly. "Filled with people like Astrea—people who treat life like something cheap. Something they can use… or destroy."
"But that cruelty survives only when good people allow it," Edda added gently. "And you, Helga, you stood. Even when it hurt. Even when you were alone. You faced the darkness so no one else would have to."
Helga blinked through her tears. "But Elio… he's—"
"Aye," Edda said, tight with sorrow. "We would've given anything to watch him grow. To see him laugh again. Go to Excalibur. Fall in love. Have children of his own."
"I always wanted to be a nonno," Pablo added, a bitter smile tugging at his lips.
"But fate is cruel," Edda said softly. "Even so… he will grow. He will endure. Because you will be there, Helga. To guide him. To love him. You're his strength now."
"And he's not alone," Pablo said, rising slowly and gesturing ahead. "And neither are you."
Helga turned.
Before her stood the faces of those she had loved and lost—Rowena, Godric, Salazar, Helena, Jeanne… her family, her friends, the companions who had shaped her journey. Each one radiant, each one smiling, steady and sure.
"This is not your end, bambina," Pablo said. "We may be gone… but our dreams live on in you."
Light began to scatter from his body, dissolving into soft glowing orbs. Edda's form too began to fade, her smile never faltering.
"You are not Barton Geddes, Helga. You'll never be him," Edda whispered gently. "Because you are Helga Hufflepuff. So go… show this world. No matter how dark, how cruel, how twisted it becomes, that it doesn't get to break you. Not like it broke him.
And with that, they vanished.
The others followed—fading into the light like embers caught on the wind. Helga remained still for a moment, her chest rising with a breath that felt like the first.
Then she opened her eyes, her gaze sharp, her resolve unshaken.
The void was gone.
Now came the rising.
****
Elio's sobs grew louder, his tears falling soundlessly to the shattered stones beneath him, each drop mixing with the dust and ash that clung to the city's broken heart. Helga didn't move. Not a sound, not a breath.
And then, something shifted.
Geddes froze.
It started as a faint vibration, a subtle prickle across his skin, like the rising hum before a thunderclap. The air thickened. The wind grew tense, charged, wild. A crackling buzz hissed through the silence.
Then came the light.
Beneath his fist, lightning arced. A sudden snap of voltaic discharge danced across Helga's gauntlets, glowing brighter by the second. Geddes recoiled, startled. The metal groaned. Shifted. Changed. The gauntlets unfurled, piece by piece, realigning with uncanny precision. Their shape sleeker, tighter, the veins of light pulsing through them like living fire.
"What the bloody hell's goin' on?" Geddes shouted.
Helga moved.
A hoarse cry tore from her throat as her back arched, stones lifting around her, caught in the rising surge. Dust swirled in a whirlwind as she pushed herself up, her brow pressing against his suspended fist. Her eyes snapped open. Glowing.
Geddes' jaw slackened. "Hold on—are you gettin' stronger?!"
Helga planted her feet, the cracked earth groaning beneath her boots. Her whole body trembled, but not from pain, something was awakening. Her power, unshackled.
The air screamed.
Then she pulled her fist back, and lightning surged down her arm, the gauntlet glowing white-hot. Her voice rose, thunder in her lungs.
"O star that heralds the end—rend the chains that bind this earth!" she roared. "Anchor of the Nine Realms!"
She shifted low, coiling like a spring. Geddes roared in return, fury blazing in his eyes as he brought his own fist down with murderous intent.
"Shatter—Laevatein!" she cried. "Muspelheim—Niflheim—" Her punch connected with Geddes' gut. An impact like a divine reckoning. "SMAAAASH!"
The shockwave exploded outward, a concussive blast that split the street, shredded stone, and flattened the trees ringing the square. Windows for blocks shattered in a single instant. Geddes' eyes bulged, his torso folding around the blow before his entire frame was launched backward like a cannonball.
He hit the building behind with the force of a meteor. Brick, steel, and concrete crumpled on impact. The structure collapsed, folding in on itself in a thunderous avalanche of debris.
Silence followed.
Helga stood in the eye of the storm, panting. Her knees buckled, arms trembling, blood streaking her face, but she stood. She looked to the heavens and let out a raw, defiant cry that echoed through the bones of the city.
Elio, still on his knees, watched in awe. His lips parted, his breath stolen as he witnessed the storm that had saved him.
The rubble trembled—then exploded outward.
Chunks of stone flew as a wall was shoved aside with brute force. Geddes emerged from the wreckage, his silhouette limping through the dust, shoulders heaving. He staggered a step, then collapsed to his knees with a heavy thud, one massive hand clutching his abdomen.
A deep, spreading bruise bloomed across his torso, livid and dark, pulsing with agony.
He doubled over, gagged, then vomited blood onto the fractured stone beneath him. The crimson pooled between the cracks. Another retch followed, splattering red across his hand. Blood dripped from his brow, trailing over his battered face as he slowly looked up.
His eyes, bloodshot and glassy, locked on the girl who had brought him low. The half-broken girl who, moments ago, lay crumpled and beaten.
His jaw trembled, then clenched hard, blood leaking between his teeth.
"How…" he rasped, wet and hoarse. "You were half-dead a minute ago…" He gagged again, coughing up another mouthful. "You'd given up. You were done. So how the hell did you—?!"
"Because," Helga snarled, "no matter how many times life tries to drag me down… no matter how many times it tries to crush me… I won't bend. I won't break. Not for you. Not for this wretched world. Not for the Gods, and not for whatever cruel fate thought I'd lie down and die."
She stumbled forward, her gauntlets still glowing faintly, blood trailing down her chin, her eyes burning bright with fury.
She jabbed her thumb into her chest. "Because I'm Helga Hufflepuff. I'm the Badger of Terra!"
Her breath caught—then she roared with everything in her.
"AND I'M UNBREAKABLE!"