Odin was not on Asgard. The moment defeat became inevitable, he departed without hesitation.
His destination: Nidavellir, where the Dwarf King awaited.
Shhhhk—!
Swathed in the aura of death, Odin hurled the Gungnir, the Spear of Heaven, to the ground. His voice rasped like aged steel.
"I need a weapon. One greater than Gungnir. Far greater."
The Dwarf King stared at him in stunned silence. The deep lines carved into Odin's face, the pale sheen of death clinging to him, none of it could be ignored. This was not the All-Father of mythic power. This was a god at the edge.
He had heard. All the Nine Realms had heard. Odin, All-Father, the God of War, the Skyfather of Asgard, had fallen. And not to another god or titan.
To a mortal.
To an Earthling.
"How much longer can you hold on?"
The Dwarf King's voice was barely a whisper.
The stench of death hung heavy on Odin, not metaphorical, but tangible, palpable. He had ruled the cosmos for millennia, conquered realms and rewritten prophecy itself. And now?
He was dying.
The wound left by the Earthling went deeper than anyone had imagined.
"Long enough," Odin rasped, "to see the new weapon forged. Asgard reached its peak under my rule. I will not let it wither while I still draw breath."
And for that, he was prepared to do the unthinkable.
The Dwarf King was silent for a long time. Then he gave a slow, grim nod.
"If this is your will... then I shall honor it. We'll melt down the Spear of Heaven, infuse it with more Uru metal than ever used before, and forge the mightiest weapon the Nine Realms have ever seen."
He turned and barked commands.
The dwarves, masters of celestial metallurgy, exchanged uneasy glances, but obeyed without delay. They moved to awaken the sacred heart of Nidavellir's forge:
A bound neutron star.
The Dwarf King lifted Gungnir in both hands, glanced back at Odin, and with solemn resolve, cast the weapon into the core furnace. The spear, once tempered by spells, divine craftsmanship, and cosmic enchantment, began to melt under neutron fire.
"And what form shall it take?" the Dwarf King asked. "Another spear?"
Odin closed his eyes, weariness etched into his every motion.
"The model we envisioned... long ago. You remember."
"The Stormbreaker."
The Dwarf King froze. His expression turned grave.
Stormbreaker.
Even among the dwarves' wildest concepts, this weapon had existed only as theory. The power required to forge it was immense. The risks, monumental. But if it could be made—
It would become the most formidable divine artifact ever wrought in the Nine Realms.
Infused with the essence of Asgard itself, Stormbreaker would be more than a weapon. It would be a conduit of near-total godforce, capable of channeling all divine energies.
Built with its own version of the Bifrost, it could transport its wielder to any point in the cosmos in a blink.
And now, fused with the remnants of Gungnir, a weapon forged to pierce even Skyfather-level defenses, its destructive potential would be beyond comprehension.
Only a handful in the entire cosmos could even hope to lift it.
Odin leaned against the wall, eyes shut. It looked like meditation. In truth, he was simply trying to delay the inevitable, buying time with what little life he had left.
He felt death.
Not metaphorically. Not as a sensation or poetic dread. He felt its fingers wrapping around his bones, its chill in his lungs. Life was draining from him.
And in the blurred edge of his consciousness, a figure appeared, cloaked in black, fleeting yet unmistakable.
For a moment, he thought it was Frigga.
But he knew better.
This was no queen.
This was Death.
One of the Five Cosmic Abstracts. The end of all ends. The ultimate principle to which every life must bow. No being, no matter how mighty, escaped her.
"They say Death appears differently to each soul," Odin murmured.
The Dwarf King faltered, hearing the whisper, but said nothing and continued his work.
"Just a little more time… I'm not ready yet…"
The All-Father's whisper was almost a prayer. A plea not to any god, but to the rules of the universe themselves.
Yet even as he begged for moments, the shadow in his soul did not retreat. It loomed larger, step by inevitable step.
Time passed.
Sweat beaded on the Dwarf King's brow. He knew whom Odin was speaking to. Every ancient race knew the lore. When Death came to speak, no one else heard her voice.
CLANG—CLANG—CLANG—!
With a final strike of celestial metal, the weapon took form.
Gungnir had melted away entirely. Every dwarf of Nidavellir had given their all to craft what came next.
Stormbreaker was real.
And it was more terrifying than even the blueprints had promised. Just existing in one place, it emanated power so vast the neutron star began to waver.
Odin's eyes snapped open. For a moment, life flared again in his grey gaze. He rose, slowly, haltingly, and took shaky steps toward it.
He reached out.
"No—wait! It's not finished!" the Dwarf King cried. "It still needs a handle!"
Odin's voice was calm, steady.
"I have one. I always have."
He produced what looked like a withered, gnarled branch.
The Dwarf King's face went pale.
"Is that… the root of Yggdrasil? You… you visited the dragon?!"
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