The battlefield was scorched ruin.
The light of Amaterasu had guttered out, Susanoo's seas boiled to mist, Tsukuyomi's moonlight broken into shards. Only their breaths lingered, weak and faint in the shattered clouds. But the air did not ease, nor did the heavens relax.
Two shadows moved forward, steady as tides, heavier than mountains.
Izanagi and Izanami.
The father and mother of the Shinto cosmos.
One hand shaping, the other unmaking. Creation and death side by side.
The weight of them pressed until the broken clouds sagged, until rivers of prayer hissed into silence, until even Zeus's storm faltered for a breath. Odin's single eye narrowed. Zeus rolled his shoulders, sparks crawling across his chest, and the air snapped back alive.
No words. Not needed.
They collided.
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