"Ahhhh—!"
A beast-like roar tore through the night.
Andrew clutched his head, howling in agony.
Surviving a thermobaric explosion—something powerful enough to annihilate a small city—was already enough to leave the entire world stunned.
But though he lived, his body was a ruin. Nearly half of him had melted away. If not for a strange force constantly mending his flesh, he would've died the moment the blast hit.
Yet that healing power wasn't enough—it only barely kept him alive. His wounds refused to heal, festering endlessly, locking him in constant torment. Every second of existence was like being plunged into molten lava, his entire body burning alive.
"Help me! Help me!!"
His desperate screams echoed in the empty night.
The pain was driving him mad.
Then came that cold, detached voice again—the Dark God's Son.
"Until I've fully recovered, I cannot help you."
"Save me! I don't want your excuses!" Andrew bellowed, his voice raw with pain.
There was silence. Then—
"I have a way to make the pain stop... temporarily."
"Then do it! Now!"
The next moment, an overwhelming energy erupted from Andrew's body. The ground trembled as an invisible field spread out from him, pulling in every fragment of metal within reach.
Screeching, clattering—metal shards, beams, and even cars flew through the air, drawn toward him like a magnetic storm. Within seconds, his entire body was encased in a metallic shell.
A figure now stood where Andrew had been—a man made entirely of steel.
The searing agony gradually faded. Andrew's eyes lost their haze, regaining clarity. He flexed his hands, his expression hard.
"This is the only way I can dull your pain for now," the voice said. "The metal replaces your flesh, severing your pain receptors."
Andrew was silent for a long time.
"Is there… any way to heal me completely?"
"There is. Complete the forging of my Dark Artifact."
A vicious gleam flashed in Andrew's eyes.
"I understand."
Forging the artifact required slaughter. And for someone wracked by unimaginable pain, murder felt almost like relief.
Killing? Perfect.
"Start with the religious sects."
Andrew didn't question it. Didn't even hesitate.
"Fine."
He soared into the sky, vanishing into the clouds.
And that night marked the beginning of a nightmare that would plunge the world into chaos—The Great Religious Massacre.
Day One:
The Vatican fell. The Pope of the Catholic Church was crucified atop St. Peter's Basilica. Thousands of believers were slaughtered in the streets.
Day Two:
Dozens of mosques across the world were reduced to rubble—including the Shah Faisal Mosque, the largest mosque on Earth. Countless Muslims wept in terror.
Day Three:
Tens of thousands of Buddhist monks and followers were massacred. The blood of the faithful stained temple courtyards and mountain paths red.
Day Four:
No new religion fell that day—but Andrew clashed head-on with a U.S. military strike team. When the battle ended, an entire district was wiped from the map. Half the soldiers perished; the rest fled in horror.
The world was trembling.
As news spread, the truth followed:
The Son of Hodr, the Dark God among the Twelve Aesir of Norse Mythology, had descended to Earth to slaughter humanity and forge a Dark Artifact.
Panic and madness erupted across nations.
Followers of the Norse faith fell into ecstatic fervor, seeing Andrew as a divine messenger. They sought him out, eager to join the embrace of their god—even if that god was the Lord of Darkness himself.
Meanwhile, believers of other faiths were consumed by terror. They knelt and prayed frantically to their own deities. If Hodr's son could manifest in reality, did that not mean their gods might exist as well?
After all, Hodr—though one of the twelve Norse gods—was not the strongest. If he was real, then surely the Almighty, or the great kings of other pantheons, must be too.
If only one more god would descend… then Hodr's Son would no longer be unmatched.
Hope mingled with fear, and across the globe, faith reached a fever pitch.
But days passed. No divine miracles came. No gods appeared.
It was as though only Hodr existed—that all other deities were false.
And Andrew kept killing.
A chilling thought began to take root in the hearts of humankind:
Maybe there are no other gods.
Maybe every other faith is a lie.
Maybe only Hodr—the Dark God—truly exists.
Some believers tried to approach Andrew… and were slaughtered without hesitation.
Faith began to crumble.
"God… any god, please! Save this pitiful world!"
At that moment, in Lakeview Manor, Ivanka knelt before a door.
She had been there for hours—perhaps longer. Her legs were numb.
She didn't knock. She knew it was pointless.
If He inside wanted to see her, she wouldn't need to.
If He didn't, no amount of knocking would change His will.
Finally—
Sigh.
A soft breath. The door opened by itself. A glow shimmered, and Balder—the radiant god—appeared before her.
Ivanka looked up, forcing a faint smile through exhaustion.
"My Lord… you finally agreed to see me."
Balder reached out, his hand brushing gently across her hair. A warm surge of divine light flowed through her, easing her pain and stiffness.
"Why do this to yourself?" he asked softly. "This world cannot be saved. That boy—Andrew—is already on the brink of transcendence. The Dark Artifact he's forging is nearly complete. Even at my full power, I might not defeat him now."
He paused, then sighed again.
"Come with me, Ivanka. You've done well. I'll bring you back to Asgard."
Ivanka's lips trembled as she lowered her head, pressing it against his hand.
"My Lord's grace… is my greatest honor."
Her voice quivered.
"But this is my home—my country. My friends, my family… they're all here. I can't abandon them."
She looked up at him, eyes filled with desperation.
"You are the Apostle of Light… isn't there any way left to save us?"
Balder was silent.
Ivanka's heart leapt—he hadn't said no outright. That meant… there was something.
Finally, Balder tilted his head back and sighed.
"There is one way," he admitted. "But the chance of success is… infinitesimal."
Ivanka leaned forward, eyes blazing with hope.
"My Lord, please—tell me!"
"Summoning a God."
He spoke each word slowly, solemnly.
"Summoning… a god?"
Balder nodded.
"I will lead the ritual myself. With the collective faith of an entire world as the foundation, we may call forth my true Lord—Balder the Holy, the God of Light."
"My Lord does not care for this tiny world. But with the purest essence of planetary faith as the offering… there is a slight chance it might draw His gaze."