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*****
The sensation of traveling via the Bifrost was quite peculiar. Unlike a sorcerer's portal, which allows one to step directly from one point to another, the Bifrost felt more like traveling through a high-speed conduit. Feny could even see the starry expanse of space flashing past outside the shimmering walls of the beam.
If one factored in the preparation time and somatic components required to open a long-distance portal, the speeds of the two methods were actually comparable. In short order, Feny arrived in Vanaheim, enveloped in the radiant energy of the Rainbow Bridge.
Because the tactical situation was dire, Heimdall had dropped them directly into the heart of the fray. The massive, descending beam of the Bifrost instantly commanded the attention of everyone on the field, causing a momentary, reflexive lull in the fighting.
Within the Nine Realms—Midgard being the recent exception—almost everyone recognized the signature display of an Asgardian transport beam. Seeing it now caused the faces of both sides to shift.
The people of Vanaheim were filled with joy and relief, knowing their reinforcements had arrived. Conversely, the invaders and rebels looked grim; Asgard was the supreme power of the Nine Realms, and Odin, the All-Father, was a name feared across the stars.
Thus, before Feny could even get a clear look at his surroundings, a sharp arrow whistled through the air, streaking directly toward him.
Fortunately, while he hadn't yet donned Incursio, he had maintained a reflexive level of vigilance during the transport and had his Breathing Technique active. He sensed the attack instantly and twisted his body, letting the projectile zip past.
Once the danger passed, Feny was immediately incensed. He hadn't even begun to cause trouble yet, and the enemy had decided to pick a fight with him first.
Was it because he was the most handsome person on the field, or did they simply assume he was the weakest?
"Everyone, stay sharp!" Thor shouted, noticing the sneak attack. He looked around the chaotic battlefield and bellowed with divine authority, "I am Thor! All of you, lay down your weapons!"
Hearing Thor's command, Feny momentarily suppressed his urge to hunt down the archer. Since he had promised to follow Thor's lead, he felt obligated to show a bit of professional courtesy.
Feny might have given Thor respect, but the enemy certainly didn't. After a brief, stunned silence following Thor's declaration, one of the rebels armed with a ranged weapon responded by firing a shot directly at the Prince's head.
Thor's temper flared instantly. After dodging the projectile, he hurled Mjolnir at the attacker, roaring, "To arms!"
Sif and the Warriors Three, having fought alongside Thor for centuries, immediately moved into their practiced combat formations.
Feny didn't hesitate either. He summoned Incursio, and the silver-white armor encased him in a heartbeat. With his white cape billowing in the wind and his visor's crimson eyes glowing, he locked onto the alien who had fired the first arrow.
The attacker wore pitch-black armor with a full-face helmet that only exposed a dark-skinned mouth. Feny couldn't tell the race, but the creature held a strangely shaped crossbow—the source of the previous shot.
Seeing Feny's transformation and the murderous glare directed his way, the alien flinched. He looked left and right, clearly contemplating a hasty retreat.
Feny had no intention of letting him escape and lunged forward with a heavy stride.
Seeing Feny closing in, the alien stood his ground and fired another bolt. The black arrowhead, made of an unknown material, shimmered with an ominous energy.
In truth, while the technological level of Asgard and Vanaheim was far superior to Earth's, their weapon development leaned heavily toward melee and traditional "cold" weaponry.
There were several reasons for this. First was tradition; both the Aesir and the Vanir possessed incredibly long lifespans, which bred a certain indifference toward the passage of time and a reluctance to change established ways.
Second was physiology. Being "god-like" races, they possessed immense natural resistance to gunpowder and chemical explosions. During his duel with Thor, Feny had bombarded him with Explosion magic repeatedly, yet Thor had only ended up with singed hair. Had he been a Midgardian, he would have been reduced to ash.
Furthermore, Feny suspected a cult of personality was at play. Since the strongest beings—Odin, Hela, and Thor—all favored melee weapons, the rest of the Nine Realms followed suit. Only Earth, isolated and largely ignored by Asgard, had veered off onto its own technological path.
However, calling them "cold weapons" was a bit of a misnomer. At their level of advancement, they hadn't abandoned technology; they had simply integrated it. An Asgardian spear could be used for thrusting, but it could also fire energy blasts similar to a rifle. Shields were often reinforced with energy barriers and deployable protective domes.
The crossbow-wielding rebel was no different. His arrowheads were engineered to penetrate energy shields. If brought to Earth, a single bolt could likely bring down a fighter jet without issue.
But to Feny, these were minor inconveniences. His power was balanced for any scenario—ranged or melee, defense or offense. He was a master of flight, teleportation, summoning, healing, and logistics. If he allowed himself to be killed by a random foot soldier's arrow, he'd never be able to rest in peace.
"Turn!"
Feny didn't even bother to dodge. He used the Golden Golem to command the flying bolt to deviate from its path.
The laws of reality in Vanaheim were much weaker than those in Asgard, significantly amplifying the potency of his "Reality-Warping" magic. He felt that with a little more effort, he could even manifest matter as he had on Vormir.
The alien soldier stared in disbelief as the bolt he had aimed perfectly at Feny's chest suddenly swerved mid-air as if it were drunk, traced a jagged 'S' shape, and buried itself harmlessly in the dirt.
He looked down at his crossbow, wondering if the weapon had malfunctioned. But when he looked up to reload, he found a silver-clad figure standing directly in front of him.
"Gibberish... garble... dark-shadow..."
The alien soldier jumped in fright, dropping his weapon in his panic. Realizing he couldn't retrieve it in time, he threw his hands up and babbled something at high speed. Even the universal translator struggled to make sense of the frantic dialect.
However, judging by the panicked tone and the raised hands, Feny surmised the creature was either begging for mercy or attempting to surrender.
Feny, however, had no interest in listening. In the brief moments since his arrival, he had scanned the surroundings. The Vanir gods looked essentially like humans, much like the Aesir. But the place they were currently in wasn't a palace or a city—it looked like a humble village.
The ground was littered with Vanir civilians lying in pools of blood. He even saw children among the fallen. The sight sparked a cold, sharp anger deep in his chest.
He had no intention of accepting a surrender. He wanted to eliminate the threat, and more importantly, he wanted the experience points.
"Sorry, I don't understand you," Feny said coldly.
He extended his palm, and a point-blank Explosion blast slammed into the alien's head. Crimson flames instantly engulfed the rebel's entire skull.
(End of Chapter)