Threads of the Soul

Chapter 427 - 427: Only two of them

"I bow to none! I am King!"The Lion-Centaur let out a rumbling growl and roared out its answer, speaking for the first time since it had arrived. That was a surprise to some, as they had yet to meet a beast who could talk.

The man the declaration was directed to, simply laughed at the beast as if it was merely a kitten. The declaration resounded with a few of the others, who muttered and murmured nervously in agreement.

The next to give his answer was the American, who stepped forwards with a cocky grin on his face, "There are only two of you, and as far as I can see horns here ain't packing nearly as much muscle."

He drew a revolver from his side, spinning it on his finger. A golden sheen spread across the weapon as he twirled it, before it snapped to a stop and he raised it in a blur. The fully golden gun shimmered with subtle danger as he pulled back the hammer, causing the chamber to spin and a bullet to be primed to fire.

"Instead of kneeling, why don't we just put a few bullets in you and take that hammer from your cold, dead hands. Even with your buddy boy here, I'm sure we're more than enough to take the two of you."

The murmurs from the crowd grew larger and more confident. Although not all of them were Celestials yet, that didn't mean they were completely useless and weak. Even ants could overwhelm an elephant with enough numbers, and they were far from ants. Not to mention, they had a few elephants on their side too.

Status and Legend meant nothing in the face of real strength. That's what they told themselves at least, in an effort to keep their spines straight as they stood up to the old gods of legend.

"Two of us?" Thor let out another thunderous chuckle, raising his hand slowly. "Who ever said there was just two of us? I'm not going to waste my time on all of you weaklings. So I brought some servants for that."

He snapped his fingers, the sound unsurprisingly carrying through the air like a crack of thunder. A moment later, a figure dropped through the hole Thor had left in the roof.

The figure was dressed in classic viking armour, with sickly green skin and glowing emerald eyes. A malevolent aura curled off of the figure as they drew a pair of axes from their belt. Then, another figure dropped down beside them, and another, and another.

Legions of ghoulish vikings poured in through the hole, with some of them crawling over the edges and down the walls like something out of a horror movie. Above them all, descending from the skies, was a woman in regal armour riding atop a majestic flying steed, a horse with six legs and a pair of pure white wings sprouting from its side.

She held a spear in one hand, and a horn in the other. A horn that she raised to her lips and blew into, letting loose an ear splitting tone.

The gathered army of undead vikings surged forwards at the sound of the horn, crying out in rage and excitement as they threw themselves into battle once more.

The American, Xander, frowned at their appearance and immediate charge, throwing themselves into battle without a care for their lives. This was definitely not part of his plan. He could already hear the others chastising him in their heads for his word choice.

But he didn't have time to care about that. He quickly drew his other revolver, which rapidly turned gold under his touch, and let loose a barrage of shots. Gunfire drowned out the screams of the undead as he fired as quickly as his fingers could move.

Bullets flew, far more than the six shot guns should be able to hold without reloading. They curved in the air, redirecting their paths to burrow into the heads of their intended targets regardless of the aim of the shooter himself.

The howling undead dropped like flies, yet their comrades barely batted an eye. As soon as their companions bodies fell, they were quickly crushed under the foot of the charging army who didn't so much as try to walk around them. For every one that fell, another swiftly took their place as more and more kept dropping through the hole in the ceiling.

Xander clicked his tongue, firing a few more shots from guns that seemed to have infinite ammo, before turning them towards the pair in the centre. He had the mindset that a few bullets in them would stop this invasion.

Yet as soon as he pointed his guns to the middle, he frowned deeply and glanced around in confusion. Where was the little one?

A stabbing pain erupted from his side, forcing him to yell out in pain. A knife was buried a few inches in his side, blood already oozing around its blade. A blue hand held that knife, as the blue skinned Loki gave the American a condescending smirk, before yanking the knife out and disappearing again.

Xander fired a few more shots, hoping to hit him by chance, but his bullets only flew harmlessly through the air.

The trickster reappeared, cackling softly to himself as he twirled the blood-soaked knife, yet the next second more versions of him appeared. A dozen identical duplicates, their mischievous cackles synchronising and echoing as they twirled their knives.

***

Corvus side stepped an axe swing with ease and laziness and glided away from the undead viking like he was dancing on ice. The undead never had a chance to follow or even move for a follow up swing, as its body simply collapsed into perfectly cut squares, leaving only its weapons floating in the air.

Those weapons turned around and flew forwards, burying themselves in the chest and heads of other undead that were charging towards Corvus, who was busy dancing around another one.

The swarm might be overwhelming for some, but he was completely in his element. The area around Corvus simply became a region of absolute death, which wasn't surprising considering the average level of these undead.

Transcendent for the most part, although often in the higher levels of it. Surprisingly there were a few low Celestial level ones, which was a disturbing realisation. Those took special attention from him, but thankfully the process that created them left them without their abilities. Only weapons and strength.

Strength that would be overwhelming, if he were a normal Celestial. But even now, whatever Scar was doing, was constantly feeding him strength. He was growing as he was fighting, a fact that was even more clear as he eagerly devoured the souls of every undead that was sent towards him.

They tasted disgusting. Completely rancid as they were tainted by the process that spawned them. But even despite the taste, Corvus still guzzled them down like he was a pig at a trough of swill. Power was power, after all.

Speaking of the process that spawned them, he got a front row seat to that.

Batting another undead to the side, sending it flying into the wall, Corvus narrowed his eyes at the woman that rode the six legged Pegasus. If he remembered his Nordic mythology correctly, he would be a Valkyrie. Or at least, what the myth of the Valkyrie's was based on.

He also couldn't help but notice that this warrior woman bore a striking resemblance, at least in her equipment, to his sisters [Warrior Within]. Whether that was a coincidence or not... he wasn't entirely certain.

There wasn't many leaders in the room. Combined with their companions, there were roughly 100 of them total, more or less. So when one of them died, it was easy to notice. The pressure increased, the fallen's companions would scream in horror and the dying themselves didn't go silently either.

Every single time one of their number was culled, the undead would eagerly drag away the body and bring it to that woman - the Valkyrie. She would call out their souls, twisting them and warping them through a mutation that was undoubtedly given to her by her masters rather than by a system like theirs.

That twisted soul would manifest into one of the ghastly, undead Vikings. Fitted out with a set of armour and whatever weapon the warrior had been using at the time of their death, as it was eagerly plucked from their cold dead hands.

Even worse, whenever one of the undead died, Corvus could see their bodies dissolving into pure soul essence which rushed back to the Valkyrie to be made anew once more. It was an endless horde of undead vikings.

Einherjar. That was the name that the Vikings had given them.

However, it seems they didn't account for him being here. Someone who could devour their souls and not just put an end to the endless, but turn it into his own power.