The jungle hummed with the downpour of rain. The air was wet and thick with the scent of charred flesh and blood, smoke still drifting upward from the blackened corpses of the Incan dead. Mike's breathing was steady, his skin slick with the remnants of battle. Steam rose from his body as the rain hissed down.
He didn't look back.
There was nothing left worth seeing.
Bahamut's voice rolled through his mind like the deep shifting of tectonic plates.
"Keep moving!"
Mike cracked his neck, the sound like stone grinding against stone. "Then tell me where."
"You will feel their essence."
The dragon's laughter echoed through the jungle, low and knowing.
Mike kept running forward. Each step sank into the soaked earth, his feet splashing through puddles of ash and mud. The canopy above was thick, strangling what little light broke through the storm. His eyes gleamed faint reddish gold in the dimness.
Hours passed. Time had become meaningless here.
Then the forest began to change. The air cooled. The humidity bled away, replaced by a biting chill that didn't belong in the Amazon. Frost glittered faintly on the leaves, spreading outward in thin crystalline webs. Mike exhaled and saw his breath mist in front of him.
His lips curved into a grin. "That's new."
"Ancient cold," Bahamut rumbled.
Mike's hand brushed against a frozen vine, snapping it clean. "I guess I'm close."
He moved faster. The trees thinned as he climbed over a ridge, his feet cracking the frost beneath them. Beyond the slope lay a wide valley, glimmering faintly with reflected light. Ice coated the trees, turning them into crystalline sculptures. The air shimmered with faint white mist.
At the center of the valley stood a small village, though calling it human would have been generous. The huts were carved from pale stone, smooth and cold, veins of frost crawling over their surfaces. Strange markings glowed faintly on the walls, runes that hummed with energy.
Mike's nostrils flared. There was a scent beneath the frost.
"There," Bahamut whispered, the word vibrating through his bones. "Go, hatchling. Feed."
Mike descended the slope, his breath curling into the frigid air. His muscles tensed, ready.
At the center of the village stood a cow.
Massive, pure white, its fur shimmering like polished marble. It stood calmly in the snow, unbothered by the frost clinging to its flanks. Its eyes were deep and soft, almost maternal. Yet as those eyes turned toward Mike, he felt the weight of eternity within them.
Bahamut's laughter boomed through his skull.
"Ah! A proper meal indeed! A vessel of the great Auðumbla, the cow who fed gods and giants alike. A true feast!"
Mike's mouth twitched into a grin. "You've gotta be kidding me. A cow?"
"Do not mock their form," Bahamut warned, though his tone was still amused. "The god of that vessel licked the ice that birthed the first god of her pantheon. She carries the breath of creation itself."
Mike's muscles tightened. "Then she'll make good fuel."
The cow's calm gaze didn't waver. A voice, faint and echoing, brushed against his mind, gentle, motherly, patient.
"Child of flame… must you always destroy what you do not understand?"
Mike's eyes narrowed. "Yeah. I do."
The ground trembled.
From the far side of the village, the ice shattered, enormous cracks racing through the ground as two shapes rose from beneath it. The earth shook with each step they took. Giants, taller than the trees, their skin pale as glacier stone. Steam rose from their bodies where frost met the humid air.
The first was clothed in plates of frozen bone, eyes glowing faint blue, vessel of Ýmir, the Frost Father. His breath was winter itself, every exhale spilling clouds of ice.
The second burned like a living forge. His skin cracked with veins of magma, molten fire dripping from his beard and hands. His eyes were furnaces. The vessel of Surtr, the fire giant of Múspellsheimr.
Mike smiled. "Finally… something that might actually fight back."
"Be careful," Bahamut warned. "Those two are not mortal pretenders. They are fragments of primordials bestowed upon giants from Tartarus."
Mike's hands flexed. "Good."
Ýmir's voice was deep and rumbling, like glaciers grinding against one another. "You are the devourer."
"Yeah," Mike said, rolling his shoulders. "Please don't be weak."
Surtr's laughter crackled like burning wood. "You mock the flame that ends worlds, little creature?"
Mike grinned, teeth flashing. "You talk too much."
The air detonated.
Surtr's vessel moved first, faster than his size should allow. His flaming sword came down in a blazing arc that turned the frost to steam. Mike dodged, the blade missing him by inches and carving a molten trench in the earth. He launched forward, claws slashing across Surtr's arm. The blow barely cut through, the giant's flesh hissed but didn't tear.
Surtr's backhand came like a falling mountain. Mike caught it with both arms, the impact shaking the valley. He slid backward, his feet carving deep furrows in the frozen soil.
Ýmir's vessel raised his hand, and the sky turned white. Spears of ice formed above, thousands of them, descending like rain.
Mike roared, wings of fire bursting from his back as he spun upward. The ice shattered against his flames, melting midair into boiling steam. He landed on Ýmir's arm and tore into it with his claws, ripping chunks of flesh and ice. Blue blood sprayed across the snow.
The frost giant howled, shaking his arm violently. Mike was thrown into a frozen wall, the impact cracking the stone. He pulled himself out, laughing.
"Better!"
Surtr came again, the ground blazing beneath his steps. The fire jötunn's sword swept low, searing through the air. Mike leapt over it, landed on the blade, and sprinted up the weapon toward the giant's chest. Surtr tried to swat him, but Mike was already there as he drove his claws into the giant's throat and unleashed a torrent of black and red fire from his jaws.
The flames met molten flesh and exploded outward, turning the world into light and fury.
When the smoke cleared, Surtr was still standing. His laugh thundered through the valley. "You think to burn fire, child?"
Mike dropped back to the ground, panting once. The grin never left his face. "Don't know if I don't try."
Surtr slammed his fist into the ground. The earth shattered beneath his strike, cracks spidering outward. Lava burst upward from the fissures, the jungle igniting at the edges of the valley. The sudden heat twisted the frost into mist, a storm of steam engulfing everything.
Out of the haze, Ýmir's massive hand reached for him. Mike twisted aside, but the fingers caught his leg, dragging him upward. He roared, slashing at the ice-covered flesh, sparks flying as his claws tore through the frozen armor.
The giant slammed him into the ground, the impact splitting the earth open.
"Get up!" Bahamut's voice roared, shaking his mind. "Stop toying with them!"
Mike rolled to his feet, blood dripping down his face. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. "Fine."
The flame inside him pulsed, spreading through every vein. His eyes burned red and gold, brighter than before. Steam rose from his body as the air itself warped around him.
He lunged forward faster than a human eye could track. His claws cut deep into Ýmir's leg, slicing through the thick hide until frost and blood erupted together. The giant bellowed, swinging wildly, but Mike was already climbing, tearing into the massive body as if it were a mountain of flesh and ice.
He reached the chest and slammed both hands into it, forcing his flames inward.
The frost giant froze for a moment, then split apart from the inside, cracks of light racing through his body before he exploded into a storm of shards.
Mike landed in the spray of blood and ice, snarling while gripping Ymir's heart in his hand.
Surtr charged, roaring with fury. His sword fell again, scorching the ground. Mike caught the blade with one hand, flames bursting around him. The ground turned molten beneath their feet.
"Fuck off" Mike growled, and unleashed a storm of his essence.
A pillar of black fire roared upward, swallowing both of them. The sky turned red. The ice melted into rivers that boiled instantly. For a heartbeat, it was impossible to tell which of them was fire and which was flesh.
When the blaze died, Surtr was on his knees. His molten armor dripped, cracked, and dimmed. Mike stood before him, his body charred but healing as he took a bite out of Ymir's heart and stared up at the giant.
Surtr's voice was a low rumble. "I will return for you vile dragon."
Mike bared his teeth. "Come and I'll kill you again."
He leapt, driving his claw through the giant's throat and tearing upward in one brutal motion. Lava poured out like blood. Mike landed as the massive body began to collapse, steam rising from its corpse.
Silence fell.
The frost melted. The jungle hissed.
Only the cow remained.
Auðumbla watched him quietly. There was no fear in her eyes, only sadness, a deep, endless sorrow.
Mike wiped the blood from his jaw and started walking toward her.
"Will you fight?" he asked.
The cow lowered her head. "I have already done my part. I gave life once. Now I will give it again."
Bahamut's voice was deep and amused. "Even the kind ones feed the strong. Consume her, hatchling."
Mike stood before the great white cow, her breath frosting the air between them. For a brief moment, he hesitated, not out of pity, but acknowledgment.
Then he opened his mouth.
Taking large bites out of the glistening white cows flesh. There was no scream, no struggle. When he finished devouring the cow, the valley was silent.
Steam rose from his body as snow began to fall again, the flakes melting the instant they touched his skin.
Mike turned away without a word, eyes glowing in the dark. His laughter rolled like thunder across the partially frozen jungle.