Athena's General Reincarnated in Another World

Nathan Evenhart:

The words "Demon God" echoed in my mind like an ancient curse—heavy, ominous, unshakable. Knowing that a war between divine beings was unfolding—and that my world had been caught in the crossfire—didn't exactly spark fond memories.

I needed information. Desperately. Not that I trusted Siegfried. I didn't trust gods, period. To them, mortals were tools—pawns in their endless games. But I still needed answers.

So I had to be careful. Play the fool without overdoing it. Look naive, but stay sharp. I had to play my game now. Because once again, I was caught in the middle of a war I wasn't strong enough to survive—at least, not yet. But I would find a way.

"Demons is just one of his names," Siegfried said, his voice dry, scraping the air like steel on stone. "One of them... is Nidhogg."

The name itself grated against my mind—rough, ancient, unnatural. My thoughts jumped to Morvat—to the battle at the academy. That look in his eyes. The crushing pressure that had weighed down on me.

"But Morvat… he said he wasn't a Nidhogg," I muttered, as if saying it aloud could somehow make it true. "Still, he used a Celestial Aspect."

Siegfried stopped in front of a mural. A floating castle hovered over a spiraling black abyss. He stared at it like he could see straight through time itself.

"If he were a real Nidhogg," he said, "you wouldn't be alive to ask me about it."

That wasn't arrogance. It was a verdict.

"Think of the Nidhogg as entities on my level. And there are only three left."

Three. That meant...

Then who were the ones with the eyes? The ones hiding behind the veil?

"What about the Heralds? The Archbishops? They had the same eyes. The same... power."

"They're not demons," Siegfried said without turning. "They're half-demons."

The word lingered in the air like a secret spoken in a tomb—heavy, final.

"Half-demons?" I repeated.

"Born from the corruption of mortal blood. Mixed with what remains of the Nidhogg. They're not children. They're weapons. Failed experiments. Soldiers forged for a war that hasn't begun yet."

He began walking again.

I sheathed my blade—not out of safety, but because it felt meaningless. Pointless, amid truths this vast.

Siegfried paused, like he was sorting through thoughts older than time itself.

"We're not talking centuries. Not even millennia. This goes back further. Back to forgotten eras." He raised his hand, and nine circles lit up on the mural in ghostly blue.

"Asgard. Midgard. Vanaheim…" He turned to look at me. "Alfheim. Svartalfheim. Jotunheim. Niflheim. Muspelheim…" A breath. A beat of silence. "And Helheim."

The name hit like a shard of ice through my veins. It wasn't just mythology. It was a map of what was left behind.

"Each realm had its gods. Its ambitions. Its wars. But like any structure… all it took was a single crack."

I'd seen it before—though it wore different names each time. Alliances that seemed unbreakable, shattered by pride left unchecked.

One careless word. One oath, broken in silence. Collapse never began with war; it always started with a quiet exception, the kind everyone pretended not to notice.

He stopped in front of another painting. A grinning shadow lurked between the worlds. Its smile too wide. Its eyes too knowing.

"It started with a flaw," he said. "A name."

"Loki."

"Loki was the first Nidhogg to reveal himself," Siegfried said, still facing the painting. "Not because he was the strongest... but because he was the smartest. The most dangerous."

There was something in his tone—not reverence, not fear. Like he was reciting a legend... that still bled.

"He didn't want to destroy through brute force. Not at first. He wanted to learn. Observe. Understand the world like a book... and then write its ending in his own way."

"A god who reads hearts..." I murmured.

"And erases names from history," Siegfried finished.

He kept walking—no rush, no urgency. It was as if every step he took retraced events buried for eons.

"No one knows exactly where he came from. Maybe he was born from the void after the death of Ymir, the Creator. Or maybe... he was always there. Hidden in Ginnungagap, waiting."

Waiting for the right moment, I thought.

"Loki was the perfect shapeshifter," Siegfried continued. "Not just in form, but in presence. He could be a king. A soldier. A god. Or your own shadow. His lies were so flawless... they sounded like wisdom."

We passed a painting where an indistinct figure whispered into a king's ear.

"He started everything in Muspelheim. Manipulated Surtur, the fire ruler, into declaring war against Niflheim. But at the same time... he offered shelter to the victims of that very war."

"Playing both sides," I murmured.

Siegfried nodded. "And that was just the beginning. He seduced kings of Midgard with promises of power. Immortality. Dominion over mana. Access to Celestial Aspects."

"What did he want in return?"

"Loyalty. Worship. Blindness."

The anger in his voice was subtle—but there.

"Mortals wanted to be immortal. Immortals wanted to be worshiped. And the gods... they wanted to rewrite destiny. Order collapsed. And Loki watched."

He stopped before another mural—the nine realms now shattered, fragmented.

"He broke alliances with words. Signed deaths in disguise. Assassinated leaders while posing as rivals. Vanir against Aesir. Jotun against Vanir. Fire against ice. All because of a whisper."

"But why?" I asked. "What's the point of all that manipulation? What does he gain?"

Siegfried looked at me then—finally—with a weight that didn't match his calm tone.

"Loki wants to be the only one. The only god. Not through faith... but through control. Through eternity. He wants... to replace."

It wasn't death Loki was after.

It was dominion.

"When everything collapsed," Siegfried went on, "he and the other Nidhogg began to emerge. Slowly. By then, it was too late. Six of the nine realms had already fallen."

"But he was defeated?" I pressed.

Siegfried stopped in front of the final statue—a three-headed black dragon. Eyes closed. As if it were sleeping.

"Yes. My master, Odin, and the few remaining gods faced him in the final war. He was destroyed. His body, annihilated. But his soul..."

"Not completely," I said, staring at the statue.

Siegfried didn't answer.

"If we're here… it means something happened. That he was stopped," I said, trying to piece it all together.

Siegfried stepped back from the statue of the three-headed dragon. There was weight on his shoulders now.

"In the chaos of war, when the nine realms were already collapsing, the gods finally realized they'd been manipulated. But it was too late. Loki had weakened everyone. He used that to kill divinities amid the chaos—on both sides."

"And then revealed himself," I whispered.

He nodded.

"That's when the truth struck everyone. And even then... they won."

"My master, Odin," Siegfried said, his tone now carrying a rare reverence, "alongside his sons and the last of our allies, managed to corner him. Loki's body was destroyed. Most of the Nidhogg were wiped out. Only three remain."

The air seemed to thicken around me.

"Then why didn't they finish the job? Why this... agreement?"

"Because both sides were spent," he replied flatly. "Do you have any idea what was lost in that war? Six entire realms—erased. Bloodlines—gone. Gods, mortals, entire races you now only know as myth."

His eyes met mine. And for the first time, I didn't see wrath or pride.

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I saw exhaustion.

Centuries of it.

"What remained was preserved through a pact," he said. "The Accord of Existence. A sacred ceasefire. Unbreakable."

With a simple gesture, the air shimmered in front of us.

Three spectral spheres appeared, pulsing like slow, steady heartbeats—Asgard above, Midgard at the center, and beneath it all, Svartalfheim, cloaked in shadow. They were the last pillars of balance, and the trembling foundation of an imminent collapse.

"They're the only realms left," Siegfried continued. "Each one entrusted with fragments of what was lost. Midgard, for instance, became a sanctuary for mortals—humans, elves, demi-humans. That's why magic and aura coexist in your world."

"And these three... they're sealed by the Accord?" I asked.

"Exactly. No divine being can attack another realm directly. It's the only way to keep what's left from falling apart."

"But…" I didn't mean to speak, but the words slipped out.

"That didn't stop the attack on the academy."

Siegfried turned to me slowly.

"Because it wasn't a god. It was half-demons. Technically mortals. Born from the fusion of human blood and the remnants of Nidhogg corruption. They didn't break the Accord."

He paused.

"They just found a way around it."

A sharp chill twisted in my gut. Morvat—those eyes, that impossible regeneration. Something about him defied logic, defied nature.

"So they're... hybrids?" I asked.

"Yes. Created in Svartalfheim, under the domain the surviving Nidhogg claimed for themselves. That realm became their haven—filled with corrupted elves, twisted humans, and anything else willing to kneel."

"And their eyes...?"

"Celestial Eyes," he said. "A trait awakened in some of the hybrids. A direct inheritance from the demon blood."

The fight with Morvat made more sense now. The pieces were starting to fall into place, but clarity, in this case, brought no comfort—it brought foresight. And that was worse.

If he was just the harbinger, then the real assault was still unfolding. And that... had only been the test.

"So…" I began, piecing it together, "even with the Accord in place… the other side is preparing. Getting stronger."

"You must have some kind of plan," I added, trying to steady my voice. "Something that justifies allowing this Accord to stand."

"Of course we do," Siegfried said as he started walking again, his tone making it sound like the matter was long settled. "The Accord was the only way to stop total annihilation. No god can cross into another realm with hostile intent."

He stopped.

His gaze sharpened—focused entirely on me.

"But mortals can."

The silence that followed wasn't natural—it was deliberate. He was watching me, measuring, weighing, waiting to see how I'd react. And I recognized the pause for what it was: the kind used in negotiations, when someone plays a piece and waits... for you to reveal your hand on the next move.

"What happened at your academy," he continued, "was the other side exploiting a loophole. They didn't shatter the Accord. They used mortals to trigger the next phase."

"And the reason," he said, extending a hand.

A new image bloomed into existence—an ethereal, three-dimensional map of three worlds: Asgard above, Svartalfheim below, and Midgard, suspended in the center.

"Midgard is the bridge," Siegfried explained. "The link between the realm of gods… and the Dark Realm."

I felt my heart slow.

"Then… if they take Midgard…"

"They can reach Asgard," Siegfried said, eyes fixed on the map. "The Bifrost, the old rainbow bridge, doesn't allow direct passage from Svartalfheim. Midgard is the only bridge."

The portal anomalies weren't accidents—they were calculated stress points. Load tests. Someone wanted to see how much pressure Midgard could take before it cracked.

"What about the border portals?" I asked.

Siegfried let out a slow breath.

"They're fractures in the Bifrost. Minor collapses triggered by the growing proximity between realms. The space between Midgard and Svartalfheim is destabilizing. And the closer they drift... the more portals will appear."

"They're going to invade us…" I murmured.

My thoughts spiraled—to the Illuminated, the True Humans, and the ideological war quietly brewing across my continent.

"You said your kind stopped interfering with mortal affairs," I said, voice low. "But clearly... the other side didn't."

"Ah," Siegfried muttered, as if he'd been waiting for the question. "You're talking about the Illuminated Ones, aren't you?"

I nodded.

"That was the price we had to pay," he said. "Millennia ago, a great portal nearly opened in your world. The only way to stop it… was to merge the continents. We aligned them directly over the anomaly."

"The great portal at the border…"

"Yes. The fusion delayed the inevitable. It bought your people time. But in return, we had to accept a compromise: the other side was allowed to influence part of the continent."

"And that's how the Illuminated Ones came to be."

The pieces were falling into place—too fast for my liking. The political tension, the portals, the growing divide between faith and logic—none of it was coincidence.

"So…" I said slowly, "in a way... the True Humans aren't wrong to blame us for the portals?"

"From their point of view? No," Siegfried admitted. "But think about it. Without the fusion, your world would've been devoured thousands of years ago. The united continent gave you a window—an entire generation's worth of breathing room. It came at a cost."

"When Ragnarok happened," he continued, his voice echoing faintly through the near-empty hall, "the worlds shattered. Only three remained—those still tethered to Yggdrasil."

He glanced at me sideways.

"Why do you think everyone on this continent speaks the same language?"

I blinked, caught off guard. "It was... shaped?"

"Exactly. When we merged the civilizations, we erased the most basic divisions. Language was the first. It had to be done—to encourage unity. Cooperation."

He walked slowly around a detailed model of Midgard, glowing runes faintly pulsing at its edges.

"Midgard absorbed fragments from many worlds. Alfheim, Jotunheim, Vanaheim… and along with them, their people. You mortals... are a living patchwork of what remains."

Then he paused, turning back to me with a gaze that seemed to strip the surface from my thoughts.

"But it also means you carry their mistakes."

"And Asgard?" I asked.

"Asgard was reforged from divine fragments. It became a sanctuary for the Immortals—and for beings too dangerous to roam freely among mortals. Creatures like dragons... or beings like myself."

"And those dragons... are they gods?"

"Some? No. Many are intelligent beasts. But the ones that resemble the Aesir… those wield far too much power to coexist with your kind."

I nodded, letting the flood of truths settle in.

"Then…" I hesitated, "…how do I kill one of them? A Herald. An Archbishop."

Siegfried raised an eyebrow. "Why ask that?"

"Precaution," I said.

He offered a thin smile. But there was no humor in it.

"They're still mortal. Tainted by demon blood, yes, but not immortal. Decapitate them—or reduce the body to ash—and they won't regenerate."

"But the eyes…" I said quietly. "The Celestial Eyes…"

"That's another story," Siegfried said. "The eyes grant special abilities—resistance to time, manipulation, heightened perception… but even they have limits."

I hesitated before taking a chance. "And you? If I cut off your head?"

He stared at me like I'd asked whether the sky was blue.

"I'd regenerate, obviously. But you'd be vaporized long before you got close enough to try. Now, why would you even be interested in that?"

"Just trying to understand the power scale," I murmured, feigning innocence.

"Even if you had a Death Aspect—something capable of striking the soul—it still wouldn't work. The strength of an Aspect depends entirely on the wielder. And you..."

His eyes narrowed.

"…are a speck."

"Well, that's encouraging."

"Keep this in mind," he said, now more serious. "Archbishops wield one Celestial Aspect. Heralds? Two."

"They're stronger than you?"

"No. But they stand above most Immortals. The real danger isn't their strength—it's their numbers. One? I could blow away with a breath. Twenty, together? They could bring down an Asgardian soldier."

His tone darkened.

"That's how the last bearer of your eyes died."

I froze.

"How?"

"She was caught off guard. Wounded. And they were waiting. She was Sisika's closest friend."

The air around us shifted. Something had changed.

"I'll have to go soon," Siegfried said, suddenly picking up his pace.

"Wait—go?" I asked.

"My master is calling me back to my world."

I quickened my steps to keep up. "Can't you just... pause time and keep talking with me?" I offered, half-joking.

He muttered. "Stepping into the time flow doesn't freeze real time. Time itself is a dangerous dimension—and my master would know if I entered it."

"Dangerous how?"

He stopped, and when he looked at me, his gaze was more serious than I had ever seen it.

"Few deities ever awaken the Aspect of Time. It's among the rarest. Those who do can access a dimensional stream where time moves differently. But there's a limit. Go too far, and…"

"And what?"

"You fall into the Void. A limbo between worlds. Helheim."

The name dropped like iron into my chest.

"But… I thought only three realms remained?"

"Three still connected to Yggdrasil," he corrected. "Helheim is different. A dead world. A graveyard of collapsed realms. There's only one way in—"

"And no way out," I finished.

"Exactly. It's like a pit. Easy to fall into… impossible to escape."

Silence settled between us again.

"How rare is this Time Aspect?" I finally asked.

"Extremely. Powerful gods can awaken one of two: Time or Space. Never both."

He paused.

"But… there are exceptions."

My eyes narrowed. "You're saying there are beings who've awakened both?"

He nodded slowly. "Very few. As for time-stopping… maybe five entities in existence can do that. And you—or rather, those eyes you carry—are one of them."

"Then Morvat... is he one of those five?"

"No. He can't stop time. His Aspect simply makes him immune to temporal effects. It was crafted to counter yours."

I understood now. Balance. Every power had its counterweight.

"Now," Siegfried said, stopping in front of a towering statue—a massive, three-headed black dragon carved from obsidian.

"Let's talk about Loki. The enemy."

"He's dead… isn't he?" I asked.

"More or less. But there's something you should understand. Every deity is born with one Celestial Aspect. The most basic—Body. That's what lets us shape our forms—humanoid or beast."

He stared up at the statue like it was a memory etched in stone.

"Stronger gods awaken more. Two… three… The rarest, the truly exceptional—can reach four. I can count them on one hand."

My eyes tingled. I reached up, touching them lightly.

"These eyes…"

"They could allow you to awaken six Celestial Aspects," he said. "A waste, really. But here we are."

He sighed.

"There's also the Divine Rank. A level where mastery over an Aspect reaches its absolute limit. I haven't achieved it. Only my master has."

"And Loki?"

Siegfried answered without hesitation.

"Loki has mastered all six Celestial Aspects."

He paused.

"Two of them… at Divine Rank."

The words carried more than just weight—they carried a hidden structure, an entire hierarchy of power I had only barely touched... until now.

"How many beings in existence have that kind of power?"

"Two," he said. "Loki… and Odin."