Chapter Two: Before the Gods Were Born 1
The frost giant opened his eyes and saw the black dragon before him.
The black dragon was extremely ugly, with jagged horns, venom spurting from its teeth, dark scales clinging to its bones, making it appear incredibly thin, and cloudy, yellowish eyes, like a dead man.
Ymir, startled, stretched out her palm to strike the black dragon.
The enormous palm pushed the mist, causing it to condense into water droplets under extreme pressure. These droplets rapidly gathered, piling up in the palm's lines, forming large lakes. These layers of lakes pressed against each other within the palm's lines, appearing to the black dragon like a vast ocean crashing down upon it!
This Ymir was far stronger than Surtur!
The black dragon had no time to think. It spread its wings to fly away, but even with all its might—the wind from its wings could collapse several snow-capped mountains—it could not escape the range of Ymir's palm. The reason was simple: it was simply too enormous.
Even though Ymir's movements seemed incredibly slow, like a normal-sized human swatting a mosquito in slow motion, this slowness was relative to himself.
Beneath Ymir's massive body, his hand surpassed the speed of sound in an instant, so much so that the explosive sound couldn't keep up with the speed of his hand. To the black dragon, this powerful strike was utterly silent, carrying only an unstoppable force.
Helpless, the black dragon had no choice but to chant a spell, change its form, and conceal its presence.
Norse magic had not yet appeared. In the distant future, Odin would sacrifice himself, hanging himself from a giant branch of the Tree of Life, Yggdrasil, gazing into the unfathomable Niflheim, deep in thought, and then piercing himself with a spear for nine days and nine nights before inventing the nearly omnipotent runes. 1
The black dragon, of course, couldn't possibly master runes. Therefore, it was using its own magic. In a past world, the black dragon was also a god, known as the god of magic, the source of all magic. Its name was Zirnitra.
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Now, this name is naturally forgotten, and the other living being in this world never uses it to refer to the black dragon.
Because the black dragon's first appearance was accompanied by thick dark fog, the fire giant Surtur gave it another name—Nidhogg.
Meaning the vanguard of darkness, the attacker of malice!
But even if the god's name is forgotten, the god's power does not disappear. The power of magic is still in the black dragon's grasp. Its massive body shrinks and becomes invisible, and countless mysterious characters undulate on its scales, maintaining the ever-changing incantations. 2
Ymir, bewildered by the disappearance of the small poisonous insect, withdrew his powerful strike, causing the lake of energy gathered in his palm to detach and fall along the horizon onto the glaciers of the Land of Mist.
The lake of energy churned and flowed into the twelve great rivers of the Land of Mist. It especially surged into the Vimur River, making this already winding and long river even more turbulent.
At this moment, the black dragon had shrunk in size and covered its scales with an invisibility spell, making it difficult for the giant Ymir to find.
So Ymir emerged from the clouds above, stood at the bottom of the Kinggalon Abyss, revealing only half of his upper body, and bent down to search for the small insect.
"What a terrifying monster..."
The black dragon murmured to itself. It had flown down from the Land of Mist for about seven "days and nights"—that is, flapping its wings ten thousand times—before it could even glimpse the bottom of the Kinggalon Abyss. Now, this giant stood at the bottom of the Kinggalon Abyss, with half its body still visible—truly terrifying.
"You must be hungry too, it must be time for your milk..."
The black dragon lay prostrate in the air, its small body folded and suspended, erasing its own information.
It had some confidence in its ability to transform. In its previous world, it frequently changed its form, sometimes into a black cat, sometimes into a beautiful young woman, and more often into an old man in black robes. No one had ever been able to see through its transformations.
Even the dim-witted Ymir was no exception.
The giant, with his enormous body and insatiable stomach, felt hunger shortly after waking. Looking around, the vast, empty world offered no food; only the poisonous insect he had just seen lay dormant, a desolate void devoid of life. He had initially planned to swat it dead and eat it, but the insect had vanished. What would he use to fill his stomach now?
Ymir turned to look at Odrumbra, the cow born at the same time as him.
The cow had awakened even earlier than Ymir. Her hooves thumped restlessly, her udder bulging, milk overflowing and mingling with the river.
Ymir sat down beside Odrumbra and began to satisfy his hunger. He buried his head in her udder and began to suckle. His face was filled with contentment; the poisonous insect that had frightened him was now completely forgotten.
Odrumbra, the cow, seemed to thoroughly enjoy the giant's actions. Its eyes were half-closed, its long eyelashes fluttering gently, as if enjoying a gentle massage. It mooed softly from time to time, its tail swaying gently, seemingly following the rhythm of Ymir's suckling, appearing quite content.
This was a real hardship for the black dragon. Having lived alone for years in the cold, desolate Land of Mist, it was extremely sensitive to noise. The sounds of Ymir suckling and the mooing of the cows echoed throughout the world, showing no signs of stopping anytime soon.
The once quiet and spacious world seemed to become crowded with the birth of these two enormous creatures. The black dragon feared that a single flap of its wings would cause it to collide with the giant and be devoured.
So the black dragon could only shrink itself smaller and smaller, until finally it simply abandoned its dragon form, transforming into a short-haired black cat and running towards the Land of Fire.
At this time, the world was still desolate. Ymir's birth had indeed brought life; its boundless life force seemed to flood the entire world like a tide.
But at this moment, the gods had not yet been born, and the vitality of life was limited to Ymir alone, not extending to the entire world; the clamor of the giants filled the world.
Four streams of milk, like white rivers, flowed from beneath Odombra, and Ymir, nestled against the cow's belly, drank from its milk. The cow, meanwhile, fed on salt crystals from the glacier, appearing peaceful and content, seemingly unwilling to move.
The black dragon, transformed into a black cat, continued its journey without stopping, turning its head away from the Land of Mist.
Ymir seemed to prefer the Land of Mist; well, she'd leave it to him, and she'd go to the Land of Fire and squeeze in with Surtur.