[Location: Realm Between Realms]
Hiss~
Pain was the first thing that hit me. Not sharp, stabbing pain, like a blade slicing through flesh—but a deep, searing ache that radiated through every inch of my newly-formed body. My lungs screamed as I gasped, burning air ripping down into my chest. The world—or whatever this was—spun around me, a kaleidoscope of colors too vivid to exist in any natural sky.
Ash, frost, and strange, glowing flora crunched beneath my hands as I pushed myself up. My fingers were enormous, rough and calloused, almost like stone under skin. Heat clung to them, faint golden seams glowing in rhythm with the drumbeat of rage pounding in my chest.
And then I saw it.
A tree.
Not just any tree—this one dwarfed everything in sight. Its trunk was thick beyond comprehension, frost-tinged with streaks of icy blue and silver, its branches twisting and coiling like frozen lightning. Roots sank deep into the ground, vanishing into drifting clouds and luminous fog. Somewhere in the distance, faint whispers echoed, like the world itself was breathing.
I didn't know what it was. Yet, a part of me—the instinct that had kept me alive through the dumpster fire that was my human life—recognized it. Something old. Immortal. Important.
And then I heard it:
"Hiss~"
The sound came from above, high in the branches of a nearby cherry-blossom-like tree, whose petals glowed faintly with a soft, blue luminescence. My head whipped toward the source, heart hammering.
And there it was: a squirrel.
Well… not just a squirrel.
This thing looked like a squirrel had swallowed a warrior and spat out something halfway between a general and a forest spirit. Reddish-brown fur, a humanoid face, one eye gleaming bright blue while the other was hidden beneath a rugged, stitched leather eye patch. Pauldrons rested on its shoulders, miniature yet battle-worn. Its tail flicked lazily, like it wasn't particularly impressed with my existence… yet somehow its posture carried authority.
"I… what the hell?" I rasped, my voice rough from disuse.
The squirrel blinked. Not nervously, not confused—calm. Collected. There was something almost human in its gaze, a quiet intelligence that weighed more than my entire rage-filled chest.
"Ah," it said, its voice polite, warm, carrying a soft musical cadence. "You are awake. Good. I was beginning to worry that Mama Níðhögg might have taken you for dinner before I arrived."
I froze. My brain stuttered. Did the squirrel just… speak? Out loud? And in English, or whatever language my brain had somehow decided to default to in this nightmare-colored forest?
"I… uh… yeah, I'm awake," I managed to croak, my throat raw. "Where… where am I? And… what are you?"
The squirrel tilted its head slightly, one blue eye glinting in the soft luminescence of the strange cherry-blossom tree. Its tail flicked once, almost lazily, but the movement carried weight, as though the world were paying attention to it.
"I am Ratatoskr," it said simply, bowing its tiny, armoured shoulders in a gesture that somehow carried more dignity than most kings I had ever seen. "Though, if it pleases you, I am a friend. And no, you are not in danger—well, not yet. You are… between realms."
I blinked. Between realms? Great. Just what I needed. First, I died in a human traffic accident. Then I wake up in some molten-ash, dragon-punching hell, and now I'm between realms with a talking squirrel in battle armour. Fantastic.
"Right," I muttered, rubbing my head. "That makes total sense. Of course. You're a squirrel. I'm… between realms. And there's a giant tree that looks like it's ripped straight out of a snow-globe fever dream. Good to know I'm not imagining things."
Ratatoskr's one uncovered eye softened, almost amused. "Not imagining. Though I would caution against trivializing the surroundings—you are… not entirely in your own right to move freely yet. Your body has… limitations. And your mind… even more so."
I groaned and leaned against a nearby driftwood mushroom for support. "Yeah, well, limitations and I have a history," I muttered. "But, uh… thanks for the warning, I guess."
The squirrel hopped down with surprising agility, landing lightly on the glowing ash-covered ground. Its presence felt almost comforting despite the bizarre scenario. "I'm sorry to say this, but you have to leave... as the situation is kind of 'off' if it makes sense. And deeply…uncomfortable for those who linger too long."
I squinted at him. "Leave? Where exactly? And why does 'off' sound like it's code for 'your life is about to get a literal headache the size of a mountain'?"
Ratatoskr's tail flicked once, lazily, but his gaze sharpened. "Because, mortal—or whatever label suits your current state—you are not meant to remain here. The Realm Between Realms is a bridge, a waiting room for forces that are older than time itself. It is not a place for… unruly awakenings."
I groaned, pushing myself to my knees. "Rude. I just woke up, had molten rage shoved into my chest, got nearly eaten by a fire dragon, and now I'm apparently in purgatory-squirrel central? And I'm the unruly one?"
The squirrel gave a tiny, dignified sigh. "Perhaps not entirely. But your presence has… consequences. Every heartbeat here resonates through branches that span realms. Even now, 'whatever' inside you is affecting the Yggdrasil's branches. Or at least what you perceive as the tree. This place is… sensitive. Fragile, even. And you, young Fury, are anything but gentle."
I froze at the word Fury. My mind scrambled, trying to place it. Fury? Me? That didn't feel right. I was… a guy who ate instant noodles and lost to video game bosses. Not some cosmic embodiment of rage.
Ratatoskr's single blue eye caught mine, steady, unblinking. "Do not mistake humility for ignorance. You are exactly what you were meant to be. But understanding that… will take time. And control. Control you currently lack."
I coughed, trying to push myself upright. "Control, huh? Yeah, about that… every muscle in my body feels like it wants to punch a mountain into submission, so… maybe you could tone down the pep talk?"
The squirrel's whiskers twitched, almost imperceptibly. "That… is part of the problem. Your rage is unrefined. It is raw, untamed, and dangerous. Even here, it stirs the roots and shakes the boughs. You must learn to wield it before it consumes you."
I let out a humorless laugh. "Great. Just what I needed. Rage management 101 from a battle-squirrel. Fantastic."
He tilted his head again, though there was no trace of irritation—only patience, infinitely more than I had right now. "I'm deeply ashamed to say this again but—"
"Yeah, Yeah! Leave, right? But where? How? I got no clue." My mind flickered ever of slightly as my heart thumped like a war drum in my chest. Every pulse seemed amplified, echoing through the branches of that colossal, frost-tipped tree. My fingers itched, golden veins flaring faintly as if reminding me of the fury buried inside.
Ratatoskr crouched slightly, his blue eye gleaming in the strange light of the cherry-blossom trees. "Yes," he said calmly, "you are unprepared. But remaining idle is worse. There are those who watch. Those who wait. And you… are far from inconspicuous."
I groaned, dragging a hand down my scorched face. "Right. Because apparently, I'm the cosmic equivalent of a neon sign screaming, 'Here I am! Destroy me!'"
"Not destroy," Ratatoskr corrected gently, hopping closer. "Observe. Test. Measure. You are… unique. And uniqueness in these realms draws attention, some of which is… unpleasant."
"Unpleasant?" I echoed, voice dry. "You mean dragons? Fireballs? Eye-gouging… squirrels?"
A flicker of amusement crossed the little warrior's humanoid features. "Actually, Níðhögg is a caretaker of sorts; Her purpose is to gnaw on the roots of Yggdrasil and prevent overgrowth at the World Tree's base, whilst also defending any roots that were under attack. As her why she attacked you, well answer to that would be, you suddenly exited from the other end of Spark of the World, also known as Ginnungagap, which mind you, never happened."
I blinked. My brain tried to process the words, but it felt like trying to read a novel while skydiving.
"Wait… wait, hold on. You're telling me—" I waved a scorched, glowing hand vaguely toward the abyss behind me, "—that I somehow popped out of the literal gap between worlds, straight into the teeth of a root-munching, dragon squirrel, and that's… normal here?"
Ratatoskr's single blue eye remained unshaken. Calm. Patient. Infuriatingly patient.
"Normal is relative. Unprecedented is not. Your arrival is… irregular. And Níðhögg reacts to irregularities with… enthusiasm." He paused, tail flicking, and for a brief second, I could almost swear he sighed. "You are… difficult. But not irredeemable."
"Difficult? Irredeemable?" I scoffed, coughing through ash and heat. "Buddy, you have no idea. I spent my—"
But quickly stopped myself from revealing my transmigration-or-whatever-this-is to this patience incarnate Squirrel. And from the talk, I have gathered enough to know that this Norse, yeah, THE Norse Mytho or Pantheon, whatever goes, and from the scenery, I could conclude this God of War franchise which means—
Daddy Version of KRATOS!
Goddamn, I literally got goosebumps from just thinking about Kratos.
The name alone made my skin crawl and hair stand on end. I'd seen the trailers, the promos, the endless fan theories. The violent, hulking god of war who stomped through realms and shattered everything in his path. And now, thinking about him here—before the events of the story I'd obsessed over, before Ragnarok even whispered its name—made my gut twist.
Because if Kratos was anywhere nearby, that meant serious trouble. And I didn't even have my bearings yet. I barely knew how to walk without setting fire to my own feet.
I swallowed, trying to calm the war drum of rage that throbbed in my chest. Control, Ratatoskr had said. Control before it consumes you. Easier said than done when your body feels like it wants to punch the world into submission.
I glanced again at the towering cherry-blossom trees, their petals glowing softly, drifting like embers in the wind. Everything here screamed mythic. Everything screamed deadly. And in the back of my mind, a little paranoid voice whispered: Kratos is going to notice you. And when he does… he won't ask questions.
I pushed myself fully upright, letting the golden heat of my veins flare faintly, almost instinctively. My fists clenched, trembling with the urge to unleash a fraction of the power threatening to consume me. I had no idea how to use it. Hell, I didn't even know if I could survive it. But instinctively, I knew this much: if Kratos found me first… I'd better be ready.
I shook my head, trying to focus. Step one: survive. Step two: figure out where the hell I am. Step three: don't get eaten by either dragons, squirrel-warriors, or demi-gods before breakfast.
"Here, this way. I will open the path to Midgard for you, as for what you do after that, that's your choice," Ratatoskr said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of inevitability. He hopped onto a low branch, the glowing petals around him shivering faintly as if acknowledging his command. "But beware—once you step through, there is no turning back. Midgard is… alive, and it does not suffer the inexperienced kindly."
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the burn in my chest, the molten fury itching at the edges of my mind. Midgard. That name alone resonated in the deep corners of my memories, even the fragmented, panic-filled ones from before death. This was the world of gods, monsters, and ancient grudges. And now? I was being dropped straight into the middle of it.
"Yeah, sure," I muttered, voice raw and hoarse.
***
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