Borgir's grip loosened, and with a contemptuous flick of his wrist, he threw Thor away like a garbage bag being tossed into a dumpster. Thor's body sailed through the air before crashing hard into the ground, rolling several times before coming to a stop in a crumpled heap.
The frost giant stared at the spear in Eira's trembling hands, and something twisted inside his ancient chest. He had promised Thor a quick death—a warrior's death, clean and honorable. It would have been merciful, fitting for one who had shown such courage.
But now, looking at that familiar spear still shining with the same ethereal light as it had on that day when it pierced his chest, when it had been the instrument of his humiliation and imprisonment, everything changed.
The memories flooded back with visceral intensity. The pain. The betrayal. The twenty thousand years of burning isolation that had followed. All of it crystallized in that single weapon.
No, Borgir thought, his face contorting with renewed rage. This bastard deserves a more painful death. A much more painful death.
But first, he needed to deal with this mortal who had reminded him of that old, painful memory. The woman who had dared to threaten him with that weapon.
Eira couldn't help but feel completely speechless at the turn of events.
The ancient spear had been in her family for as long as their family history existed—generations upon generations, passed down from parent to child with reverence and care. There was a legend attached to it, whispered around hearth fires and recorded in faded journals: that it was the personal weapon of Bor himself, that the All-Father had slain many monsters using this very spear in the ancient days when gods walked freely among men.
She had thought of bringing it to give to Thor, thinking that perhaps a weapon of his father's—or at least something connected to Asgard—might help him in whatever trouble he was facing.
But why, looking at it now, had the monster's target instantly shifted to her?
Eira's hands tightened on the spear shaft as she watched Borgir's attention lock onto her like a predator spotting wounded prey. Behind him, Thor lay in a growing pool of his own blood, his breathing shallow and labored, his face a mass of bruises.
Her legs started shaking. Every survival instinct in her body screamed at her to run, to drop the weapon and flee into the forest and never look back.
But she didn't falter. Not even for a moment.
Gathering every scrap of courage she possessed, drawing on reserves of bravery she didn't even know she had, Eira shouted in the loudest voice she could muster:
"You monster! Leave him alone!" Her voice cracked slightly, but she pushed through it. "Why don't you pick a fight with someone your own size?"
The words echoed across the clearing.
For a moment, Borgir's movement paused.
A flicker of something—shame, perhaps—welled up in his heart. What was he doing? Bullying some powerless mortal child? Threatening a woman who barely came up to his knee? Where was the honor in that? Where was the warrior's pride he'd clung to through twenty millennia of imprisonment?
But then he remembered.
Twenty thousand years. Twenty thousand years of burning shame, of helpless rage, of planning vengeance against those who had wronged him. The anger overwhelmed everything else—the shame, the hesitation, even the faint whisper of his warrior's code.
His paused steps resumed, each one deliberate and threatening.
Thoom. Thoom. Thoom.
The ground shook with each footfall as he advanced on Eira.
Thor's vision had become blurry from the lack of oxygen and the brutal beating he'd endured. Through the haze of pain and the darkness creeping at the edges of his sight, he saw Borgir slowly moving toward Eira.
Desperation welled up in his heart for the first time in his life—true, absolute desperation.
He had never felt this helpless. Not when he'd been cast out of Asgard. Not when Mjolnir had rejected him. Not in all his centuries of battles and wars and conflicts across the Nine Realms.
He tried to move, tried to stand, tried to do anything. His muscles wouldn't respond. His body had been pushed beyond its mortal limits.
No, his mind screamed. Not her. Anyone but her.
And unbeknownst to Thor, responding to the intensity of his emotion, to the desperation of his will, the weather itself began to change.
The sky, which had been clear just moments ago, suddenly became covered with thick, dark clouds. They rolled in from nowhere, gathering with supernatural speed, blotting out the sun and plunging the forest into premature twilight.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. Then closer. Then directly overhead, bouncing from cloud to cloud like the beating of a massive drum.
Around Thor's prone body, little sparks of electricity began to dance across his skin. They started small—barely visible flickers of blue-white light—then grew stronger, arcing between his fingers, crackling through his hair.
The air itself seemed to hum with gathering power.
And then, in the next moment, with a sound like the world splitting open, a massive thunderbolt struck exactly where Thor was lying.
......
Inside the dimension, Elric stood before the glowing chakra fruit that was almost ripe. The fruit pulsed with concentrated energy, its surface shimmering with an otherworldly light that illuminated the strange pocket dimension around him.
He reached out and picked it up.
The moment his fingers closed around the fruit, the reaction was immediate. Almost like the dimension was exhausting all of its energy, the whole space started to break apart little by little. Reality itself began fragmenting—cracks appeared in the air, spreading like a spiderweb across the fabric of the pocket dimension.
The walls dissolved. The ground beneath his feet became transparent, then vanished entirely. Everything that had sustained this prison for millennia was being consumed, burned away, unmade.
Within moments, the dimension collapsed completely, and Elric found himself standing in the exact same place in the physical world from which he had vanished. The forest clearing was quiet and still, as if nothing had happened at all.
Elric looked down at the small fruit he was holding in his palm.
It was the size of a strawberry—modest and unassuming. When he examined it with his chakra senses, he was surprised to find that it contained very little energy compared to his own massive chakra reserves. The power within was barely a fraction of what he currently possessed.
So why was his body screaming at him to eat this thing?
The craving was visceral, primal. Every instinct demanded that he consume it immediately. His mouth watered.
According to Isshiki's memories—even a whole planet's worth of energy wouldn't normally provoke this kind of reaction. Chakra fruits were valuable resources, yes, but they shouldn't cause this overwhelming, almost addictive compulsion.
What made this one so different?
But unfortunately, he could not eat it himself.
He was just borrowing the power of the Naruto version of an self. Eating the fruit in this state would be almost like if a normal person tried eating a chakra fruit without any preparation or cultivation.
He didn't think that would be a very good idea.
Anyway, I'll find out sooner or later, Elric thought, carefully storing the fruit in a preservation seal.
That aside, he quickly expanded his senses to survey the area.
The ice giant was chasing both brothers, just as he'd expected. He could sense Borgir's massive energy signature radiating fury and violence, pursuing Thor and Loki through the forest.
Because of how remote this place was, even with all the commotion—the explosions, the fighting, the earth-shaking footsteps—no people had come to check what was happening. The nearest town was miles away, and the forest naturally discouraged visitors.
And as for Thor and Loki? Well, there was a big boss looking over them. Odin might seem absent, but he would never let his sons actually die.
So Elric didn't particularly care about their immediate situation. He just wanted to eat this fruit. More specifically, to feed it to the Naruto version of himself.
The temple ruins where he'd been conducting his experiments stood nearby, ancient and silent. Elric walked toward it with purpose, his mind already focused on the next step.
Inside the crumbling stone structure, surrounded by faded carvings and broken pillars, Elric found a quiet spot and sat down cross-legged. He placed the sealed fruit carefully in his poket, then closed his eyes.
Than thought about the white space.
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