The Monarch's Reflection
Later, when the dust had settled and Jotunheim lay under his rule, the Shadow Monarch stood atop a ruined tower, his cloak billowing in the icy wind. His generals stood behind him silent, watchful.
Igris, ever the warrior, observed the conquered landscape with quiet satisfaction. Beru twitched, his mandibles clicking in anticipation of their next move. Bellion stood with unwavering discipline, his dark armor gleaming under the distant light of the shattered sky.
"My liege," Bellion finally spoke, his voice calm. "What is our next course of action?"
The Shadow Monarch did not answer immediately. His gaze was fixed beyond the horizon, beyond the broken remnants of Jotunheim.
There was a time, long ago, when he had been human. When he had been bound by the rules of a world that no longer mattered.
But then he had awakened.
Not just in power—but in purpose.
He had been given this second life, granted dominion over death itself. And what would he be if he did not take what was now his by right?
The universe was fractured.
The gods sat atop their thrones, believing themselves untouchable. The mortals scurried beneath them, blind to the forces that dictated their fate. Even the Titans, the so-called celestial rulers, played their petty games with infinity itself.
And yet…
None of them saw what was coming.
A shadow rising from the abyss.
A force neither god nor mortal.
A monarch.
His golden eyes gleamed with something ancient. Something inevitable.
"We move forward," he finally said, his voice calm. "Jotunheim was only the beginning."
Beru twitched eagerly. "Shall we take Midgard next, my king?"
The monarch smirked. "Not yet."
He turned, facing his generals.
"There are pieces to place. Alliances to break. Power to claim before the world even realizes what's happening."
His gaze flickered toward the heavens.
"And before we shape the universe… we reshape Asgard."
His generals knelt.
And in the distance, unseen by gods or men…
The shadows grew.