The Last God

The Norse warriors moved through Chicago like ghosts.

Marcus ran beside them, his legs burning but steady. The weakness that had plagued him for months was gone, replaced by something fierce and unfamiliar. Power hummed beneath his skin, making every step feel too light, too fast.

They cut through alleyways and abandoned lots, avoiding main streets. The leader, the one with the blue glowing eyes, kept glancing back at Marcus with an expression that might have been concern or calculation.

"Where are we going?" Marcus asked, breathless.

"Somewhere the Vesper cannot reach," the warrior said. "My name is Bjorn. I serve the Allfather's court."

"The Allfather. You mean Odin?"

"The same." Bjorn raised his hand, signaling a stop. They had reached an old subway entrance, chains stretched across the entrance with faded warning signs. "Down here."

One of the warriors ripped the chains apart like paper. They descended into darkness, boots echoing on cracked tile. The air grew colder with each step, carrying a scent like pine forests and snow.

At the bottom, reality shifted.

The abandoned subway platform transformed. Torches blazed along walls carved from ice and stone. A great hall stretched before them, pillars reaching into shadows above. Warriors stood guard, their armor gleaming, their faces hard.

This was not Chicago anymore.

"Welcome to Valhalla's Gate," Bjorn said. "One of many doors to our realm. You are safe here."

Marcus doubted that. Nothing felt safe anymore.

A woman emerged from the hall's depths. She was tall, wearing leather armor reinforced with silver, a sword strapped to her back. Her hair was white as winter, her eyes sharp as broken ice.

"So this is the mortal who carries Ares's curse," she said, circling Marcus slowly. "He looks half dead."

"He was tortured for six months, Sigrun," Bjorn replied. "What did you expect?"

Sigrun grabbed Marcus's chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. Her touch was rough, examining him like livestock. "The mark is there. I can feel it. But it is wild. Uncontrolled." She released him with disgust. "He will be useless in the coming war."

"That is not your decision to make," Bjorn said quietly.

"No. It is mine."

The voice boomed through the hall like thunder. The warriors dropped to one knee instantly. Even Sigrun bowed her head.

Marcus turned.

The man who approached was ancient and ageless at once. He wore simple robes, but power radiated from him like heat from a forge. One eye blazed gold. The other was covered by a leather patch. Ravens perched on his shoulders, watching Marcus with intelligence that was not animal.

Odin. The Allfather himself.

Marcus's instincts screamed at him to kneel, to bow, to show submission. But another part of him, the part filled with Ares's rage, refused to bend.

Odin stopped before him, studying Marcus with his single eye. "Interesting. The god of war's final gift. Tell me, Marcus Chen, do you know why Ares marked you?"

"No," Marcus said, his voice steadier than he felt.

"Because you were dying," Odin said. "That night, when the pantheons clashed, you threw yourself between a child and certain death. Ares saw that. In his final moments, as Greek and Egyptian gods tore him apart, he chose to mark not a warrior, but a protector." Odin smiled without warmth. "A cruel joke, perhaps. Or prophecy."

Marcus's head spun. He remembered the Crimson Night in fragments. Fire. Screaming. A little girl trapped beneath rubble. He had pulled her free, and then something massive and burning had crashed down on him.

"The Greeks do not know you survived," Odin continued. "Neither do the Egyptians. But the Vesper discovered you, and now she has lost you. That makes you a problem."

"I did not ask for any of this," Marcus said.

"No one ever does." Odin turned away, hands clasped behind his back. "War is coming, Marcus Chen. The pantheons have maintained uneasy peace for centuries, carving territories, keeping boundaries. But resources grow thin. Power fades. And gods grow hungry."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Everything." Odin glanced back. "You carry the last essence of a war god. That makes you a weapon. A symbol. Whoever controls you controls a rallying point for the Greek remnants. Whoever kills you sends a message."

Marcus felt cold. "So I am just a trophy."

"To them, yes." Odin's eye gleamed. "But to me, you are an opportunity. An investment."

Bjorn stepped forward. "My lord, he is not ready. The mark is unstable. Training him could take months."

"We do not have months," Sigrun cut in. "The Vesper will tear the city apart looking for him. The Greeks will join her hunt once they learn the truth. We should use him now, while we have the advantage."

"Use me how?" Marcus demanded.

Sigrun smiled, cold and sharp. "Bait."

The hall erupted in argument. Warriors shouted over each other, some agreeing, others protesting. Marcus stood in the center of it all, realizing the terrible truth.

He had escaped one cage only to fall into another.

Odin raised his hand. Silence fell instantly.

"There is another option," the Allfather said slowly. "A test. If Marcus survives, he earns his freedom and our protection. If he fails..." Odin shrugged. "Then fate has spoken."

Bjorn looked worried. "What test?"

"The Hunt," Odin said. "Tonight, the Vesper searches for him. Let her find him. Marcus will have one hour to evade her in the city above. Alone. Unmarked. If he survives until dawn, he walks free."

Marcus felt the trap closing. "And if I refuse?"

"Then we hand you to the Vesper ourselves," Sigrun said. "At least that way we gain a favor."

Odin watched Marcus with that single, burning eye. "Choose, mortal. Prove you deserve the god's gift you carry. Or die trying."

Outside, dawn was still three hours away.

Three hours to survive a goddess's hunt.

Marcus looked at the warriors surrounding him, at Odin's cold calculation, at Sigrun's predatory smile.

He thought of Viktor's basement. Of six months in chains. Of being weak and broken and used.

Never again.

"I will do it," Marcus said.

Odin smiled. "Good. The game begins now."