In just a few minutes, the entire city was abuzz with the news.
"Did you hear?"
"All-Father challenged a Bronze-rank goddess."
"Are you kidding ?"
"What's his ga?"
"She's a goner for sure."
"It's the All-Father we're talking about."
"The Norse god-king, Odin."
The gods split into three groups:
Those who didn't care and thought it was an insignificant fight, like every Bronze-rank fight they were used to having.
Those who supported the Norse god-king, Odin. In their eyes, a low-rank goddess should not have the audacity to face the All-Father, and she should consider it an honor that he ca to her in person to "acquire" the Valkyrie.
It was a hidden, unspoken law that the strong forced upon the weak.
Many high-ranking pantheons have sothing close to a signature creation that represents their pantheons. When you see that creation, you'll instantly know which pantheon it belongs to.
For the Norse pantheon, the signature creation is the Valkyrie—beautiful and deadly winged warriors of the gods.
There were no Valkyries in other pantheons. High-rank gods are too prideful to create sothing their rivals and enemies have. As for the low-ranks, well... fear prevented them from copying the creations of the higher ranks.
For a low-rank god, the Valkyries were both an inspiration and a fear.
As for the third group, they weren't happy about what was happening. In their eyes, a god-king was bullying a Bronze-rank goddess. And that was unforgivable. However, they wouldn't interfere; they knew better than to poke the All-Father and his entire pantheon.
They just hoped that the Bronze-rank goddess would put on a good show.
As for the goddess in question, she wasn't worried at all.
In fact, she was very excited.
…
"Morgana!... think again"
Inside a wide stone training room, a voice filled with worry and anxiety.
"I'm telling you, this is a bad idea. Odin is not soone you can ss around with." Lora, the goddess of animals and farming, was wringing her hands nervously, her tiny body trembling. "You're a Bronze-rank, and he's a high-rank; there's no way you can beat him."
"Don't worry."
In the center of the training room, Morgana was stretching, her toned legs kicking the air, her supple breasts swaying softly beneath that sexy black bikini.
"I'm not fighting against Odin, rember?"
"That's the problem! He's sending his subordinate, and he's a Bronze-rank too!"
"So what?"
"So what? SO WHAT?!!" Lora's tiny hands trembled, her eyes brimming with tears. "Even a Bronze-rank god can crush you, Morgana! And that guy is a Viking god; he's a god of war. You can't win!"
"Lora." The silver-haired goddess stopped her training, walked up to the tiny loli, and kneeled, looking her straight in the eye. "Trust ."
"I... Morgana..."
"Trust ."
"I..." Lora's eyes closed, her small hands clutching her chest. "I trust you."
"Good girl." Morgana patted her head, a warm smile on her face. "Don't worry, everything will be fine."
"Okay..." Lora sighed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Just promise , no matter what happens, don't die."
"I promise."
"Really?"
"Yeah, no dying," Morgana smirked.
The training room door swung open. Katerina entered, smiling widely, a bottle of wine in hand, and a dozen others floating behind her like loyal servants.
"You're late, Wine Goddess." Morgana stood, crossing her arms under her breasts.
"Sorry. The crowd was thick. The Arena's packed to the brim, waiting for your fight." Katerina rolled her eyes, her smirk turning wry. "Everyone's betting on the Norse god to win. They all think you're dood."
"Hmph."
"And... they're not wrong." Katerina shook her head, her expression dark. "Morgana, even I know that the odds are stacked against you. Even if both of you are the sa rank, Vili is still a God of War. Fighting is literally what he was born to do."
"I know."
"Then why are you doing this?!" The Wine Goddess asked, her aura flaring, the wine bottles rattling behind her.
"Because I want to."
"I can't believe this..."
"It's simple." Morgana shrugged, her grin widening. "Odin wants Eir. So I'm going to fuck Vili and break his ass in front of every god watching."
"Are you serious?"
"Absolutely."
"..." Katerina stared, her blue eyes narrowing, her mouth falling open, not believing the shaless horniness of the silver-haired goddess. Then she shook her head, her voice coming out in a sigh.
"Fine, do whatever you want."
"That's the plan." Morgana giggled, flashing a toothy grin. "Oh! And thank you for bringing the drinks, you're the best."
...
The Arena was alive long before the gong.
The Nexus streets sward with gods, demi-gods, spirits, and beings whose nas mortals would never speak. Markets shut down, temples emptied, and even entire pantheons halted their usual feasts to funnel into the coliseum of obsidian. Betting tables overflowed, faith points exchanging hands faster than wine at Dionysus's orgies.
"Odds are ten-to-one on the Norse."
"Twenty-to-one she gets pulped in the first five minutes."
"Please, five minutes? She won't last one swing from Vili."
Morgana stretched lazily, listening to the whispers from the open balcony of the training hall. She liked it—every sneer, every laugh, every bet against her was delicious. Every god in the Nexus was about to watch her either rise or fall.
And falling wasn't on the nu.
"Mother…" Eir's voice broke the silence. She had stood quietly the whole ti, black wings folded behind her, eyes sharp as drawn steel. "This fight… You know what it ans."
"Of course," Morgana smirked, rolling her shoulders. "It ans I get to humiliate a Viking in front of Daddy Crow himself. What's not to love?"
But Eir didn't smile. Her spear clutched tighter, her jaw locked.
"It ans Odin will never forgive you if you win. And if you lose…" she hesitated, her voice dropping, "…I am the prize."
The room fell silent for a beat.
"Eir, listen to ." Morgana turned to her Valkyrie daughter, silver hair shimring like liquid moonlight, and cupped her chin. "As long as I draw breath, no one is ever taking you away. Especially not so old crow who can't even grow a decent beard."
BOOOM!
The doors to the Arena training hall opened, blinding light spilling inside. A herald in golden armor raised his staff, voice booming through the entire coliseum:
"Combatants, prepare! The Bronze-Tier Challenge is about to begin!"
The crowd roared. Gods chanted, stomping their feet, rattling weapons. The stands shook with anticipation.
Vili was already there, waiting at the opposite gate. A red-bearded mountain with war-scarred arms, his axe massive, resting on his shoulder like it weighed nothing. When his eyes t Morgana's across the Arena floor, he grinned wide, savage, and hungry.
"Morgana, the Goddess of Sex," the herald bellowed. "And Vili, God of War of the Norse Pantheon!"
"Goddess Morgana." The herald turned to Morgana, saying, "Since you are the one receiving the challenge, Goddess Morgana—you alone have the right to decide what kind of trial shall take place!"
A hush fell over the coliseum. Tens of thousands of eyes turned toward her. It didn't matter that she was Bronze-rank; it didn't matter that every whisper had already written her epitaph—right now, the rules gave her the power to choose.
That was the law of the Nexus. Only the receiving can choose the battle format; the rank doesn't matter.
"Oh!" Morgana smirked, tilting her head, silver hair spilling down her back like molten moonlight. "So, anything I want?"
"Correct," the herald replied, his golden helm gleaming. "One-on-one combat, endurance trial, divine test, duel of domains, or any Nexus-sanctioned form of challenge. The Arena will obey."
"Hehehe." Vili's grin widened, his muscles flexing as he rolled his axe off his shoulder. "Pick combat, whore. It's the only way this ends. Let crack your bones with axe!"
The crowd howled its approval, chanting his na, the air vibrating with bloodlust. "Vili! Vili! Vili!"
Morgana raised a single finger, pressing it to her lips as if to shush them. The chants faltered, just for a mont. Her crimson eyes swept the coliseum before landing back on the red-bearded giant.
"Hmm. Tempting," she purred. "But here's the problem, Vili—you're thinking too small. You want to fight like a warrior? I'm not a simple warrior."
The Arena held its breath.
"I'm Morgana, the Goddess of Sex and..." She spread her arms wide, hips swaying, every curve of her body daring the gods to keep staring.
"..WAAAAARRR!"
THUD! THUD! THUD!
Her Aura exploded, bleeding into the air, red, dark, and deadly. It pressed on the lungs of every god watching, sharp and suffocating like smoke from a battlefield. And behind her stood an army.
An ethereal crimson legion of n, slamming their weapons and shields, chanting, roaring, their weapons humming with hunger. The sound of their march shook the Arena floor, each step a drumbeat of doom.
Every god in the area felt it.
Morgana's understanding of the concept of War was high. Higher than most gods here.
"I-Impossible." Vili gasped, his knees buckling, his face turning pale. "S-Such an amount of divinity. It's insane."
Even Odin and his Norse pantheon gods looked shocked and confused by what was happening.
"How?" Odin mumbled, his good eye fixed on Morgana. "HOW?"
"Declare your choice," the herald demanded, his voice sharp though his hands twitched against the staff.
"Death!" Morgana declared, her voice echoing across the arena, the chant of the Crimson Legion ringing in its wake.
"A fight to the death!"
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