Kanai was supposed to have been the King. But he was too kind, too lacking in majesty, too peaceful. A Barbarian could not be as serene as a monk. So Vorusk took the crown. He swore to be the most defiant, the most flamboyant, the most terrifying foe to those in the shadows.
And he had done it. He had crushed demons with iron fists until his own hands were a pulp of flesh and bone beneath his gauntlets. He had a thousand beauties for company, yet not a single heir, for he had never shared a moment of true intimacy with those who admired his crown.
The "cowardly" Vorusk had ultimately chosen to challenge death for Kanai's sake. It was the greatest act of courage in his life. He had worn Chilik's Chain around his waist, originally intending to use the speed to run away—but the Barbarians would never accept a King who fled. Every time he faced a Prime Evil, his heart had trembled.
"Kanai, you are watching over Bul-Kathos. I knew you would."
Vorusk continued to murmur, but his silhouette was beginning to fade. Kanai wasn't the only sacrifice required for this Rift. Vorusk was part of the price. This was the second time he had found the courage to face what he loathed: darkness and silence.
"So... who will take over the Great Elder's duties?"
Vorusk's figure grew translucent. It was as if he had never been there, as if he were being edited out of the festival. Kanai was gone, so the mountain needed another soul to regulate its power. From this moment on, the countdown to Vorusk's disappearance began. He would stay until Bul-Kathos officially became the Immortal King. His name, like Kanai's, would be whispered less and less until it was an afterthought.
"Bul-Kathos... hurry and become the King."
Vorusk's final words were a mere wisp of sound. Before Kanai's grave, the legendary armor set of the Immortal King sat neatly on the ground, glowing with a mix of emerald and gold. A thin veil of light shielded the equipment from view. It would remain here, forgotten by the world. Only Bul-Kathos and Raekor would remember him.
The Immortal King, who had never truly had a friend on the mountain, vanished. He had no drinking buddies to mourn him, no close companions to fear his absence. The Barbarians were used to the Second Immortal King staying secluded in the Elder's Sanctum. They simply wouldn't see him on the throne anymore.
Thor stood with his sister, Hela, his eyes softening. By nature, Thor was a Barbarian warrior, but he couldn't carry the weight of the Barbarian race. As he had said before, the ancestors were Barbarians, but he belonged to Asgard. Despite his training under Vorusk, he was an Asgardian. His burden was not the future of the tribes, but the rise and fall of the Nine Realms.
Vorusk had done enough. Thor now had the chance to surpass his limits, but he would never see his mentor again. Vorusk had seen a reflection of his own hidden trepidation in Thor, which was why he had taken the God of Thunder under his wing.
"Thor, what is it?" Hela asked, noticing his confused expression. Thor looked like a child who had just lost a favorite toy and couldn't figure out where it went.
"Sister... let's find a way back to Asgard," Thor said, shaking off the strange sensation.
"If that is what you wish," Hela replied, her voice slightly hollow.
"Sister, do you still want the throne?" Thor asked seriously, his eyes drifting to the demons swarming outside the walls.
"Tell me your plan, Thor," Hela said, lowering her gaze. Odin had hurt her, but she couldn't deny his strength. She harbored resentment, yet she knew Odin rarely made mistakes in his long life. He was her blueprint, even if she hated the architect.
"I don't think I can run from my responsibility anymore. That prophecy... I can't let someone else bear that danger for me."
Thor's voice was firm. The God of Thunder was the future King, but the God of Thunder was also destined to die alongside Cul (The Serpent). Thor didn't intend to hide.
"I hate fate, Thor!" Hela pulled her brother into a brief, fierce embrace, whispering in his ear, "I can lift Mjolnir too. I could have been the God of Thunder."
Her voice held a hint of maternal comfort. She truly loved this brother now—the kind, gentle, dutiful fool. Having rediscovered love, Hela was no longer the Goddess of Death who had rot in a prison. She even felt a pang of genuine regret for Baldur.
"Sister, I will survive. I have to take up Father's burden, and I still have to make things up to you."
Odin was missing, perhaps dead. Asgardians weren't immortal. His father had sacrificed himself for the future; Thor was ready to do the same. He didn't realize how much he sounded like the now-departed Vorusk. Sacrifice was simply the cost of responsibility.
"Go find Loki, brother. I want to see that clever little pest. We need to figure out how to put you on that throne."
Hela squeezed his arm just a little tighter.
"Bul-Kathos... won't you look at me?"
Leah's voice was no longer distant. It felt as if she were breathing directly into his ear. Bul-Kathos could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin.
"Bul-Kathos..."
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