Meanwhile Jörmungandr and Tom.
Jörmungandr's eyes blazed as he lunged, his titanic jaws snapping toward Tom like a storm — rows of dagger-sized fangs aimed to swallow him whole.
But Tom didn't flinch.
With a faint shimmer of dark magic, Tom disappeared.
—BOOM!—
The serpent's bite slammed into the icy ground, splitting the earth apart in a thunderous shockwave. Ice chunks the size of houses flew into the air, cracking and exploding, while jagged fissures spread across the lake.
In the next instant, Tom reappeared on a ledge of frozen stone, silver eyes glowing with cold amusement. He lifted one gloved hand, fingers twitching slightly. A ripple of black and crimson magic coiled up his arm, and in a burst of dark light, a massive scythe erupted into his grasp — its curved blade humming with infernal power, glowing faintly like the heart of a dying star.
Jörmungandr roared, his tail whipping through the air. Entire mountains shattered as the tail smashed into them, sending avalanches rolling down. The sheer pressure bent the trees, cracked the ground, but Tom blurred — gone again.
Suddenly, with a crimson flash, Tom appeared midair right in front of Jörmungandr's massive face.
The serpent's golden eyes widened.
Tom's voice was a whisper.
"Let's end this."
He moved.
—SLASH!—
In a single, blinding arc, the scythe sliced clean across Jörmungandr's massive throat.
For a second, time froze.
The serpent's eyes bulged.
A wet, horrific gurgle escaped his split windpipe.
Then it happened.
—SHHHHHRRRKKKK—!
A fountain of thick, steaming black blood erupted from the gaping wound, spraying into the sky like a hellish geyser. Jörmungandr's body twisted, writhing violently as he smashed into the ice, his coils slamming into the ground with the force of earthquakes. Entire chunks of the frozen lake collapsed into the abyss as the World Serpent's death throes shook the world.
Tom calmly landed on the cracked ground, boots crunching against blood-soaked ice. His scythe rested lazily on his shoulder, his silver eyes watching coldly as the beast convulsed.
Jörmungandr let out one final, rasping roar —
"RRRHHHAAAAAAAHHHHHH—!!"
Then his massive body collapsed with a final earth-shattering crash, sending up an explosion of ice and rock. His golden eyes dimmed, blood pooling beneath him like a black sea.
Tom stood silently. Slowly, he exhaled.
"Thirty percent…" he murmured, shaking his head slightly. "You really weren't worth more."
He flicked his wrist — the massive scythe vanished into smoke.
As the air grew still again, the only sound was the faint crackling of ice and the slow trickle of blood sinking into the frozen earth.
Tom turned away, his black cloak swirling around him like a shadow. Without looking back, he faded into the cold mist — leaving behind only the massive corpse of the dead god-serpent, and the lingering echo of his unstoppable power.
Far away, in the dim glow of their chamber, Medusa stirred.
She had been lying curled on the couch, her emerald hair like flowing silk across the cushions, pretending to rest. But her golden eyes suddenly snapped open — a chill ran down her spine, sharp and electric.
She felt it.
The crackle of raw magic pulsed faintly through the air, like the distant tremor of a thunderstorm on the horizon. But it wasn't just magic. No — it was Tom's magic.
And it was vast. Dark. Terrifying.
She sat up slowly, careful not to disturb Claudia, who was deep in sleep, gently curled under the blanket Tom had laid over them. Medusa's heart pounded. She placed a hand on her chest, her slender fingers trembling slightly.
"…Tom…" she whispered under her breath.
She didn't know why, but she could sense something had happened — something huge. Something monstrous. Her connection to Tom wasn't fully clear, but it was undeniable; she could feel the ripples of his power across the weave of magic. And tonight, that ripple had surged like a tidal wave.
She rose quietly, slipping toward the window. Pulling the curtain aside just slightly, she gazed out into the frozen horizon. The moon hung pale and cold in the sky, casting silvery light over the dark trees.
Her golden eyes narrowed.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips — not gentle, but proud.
"So… you unleashed more of your strength," she murmured. "Tom… what kind of man are you, really?"
Her heart twisted strangely in her chest.
She knew what kind of being he was: the kind that didn't stop, the kind that crushed titans, the kind that the world itself should fear. And yet… she didn't fear him.
If anything, she felt drawn even deeper.
Medusa touched the window softly, her fingertips leaving little misted marks on the cold glass.
"I should be terrified of you," she whispered softly, her eyes half-lidded. "But instead, all I want is to stand by your side… even when you turn the world into a graveyard."
She turned slightly, glancing back at Claudia — still sound asleep, breathing softly, unaware of the storm that had just passed outside.
Medusa's smile deepened — just a little, just enough for her fangs to show.
"Yes… Tom," she murmured. "No matter how many gods you slaughter… no matter how drenched in blood you become… I'll be here. Watching. Waiting."
Her fingers slid down the window.
"And when the time comes… I'll make sure you know you're mine."
Meanwhile.
in the icy forest, Sarai — Tom's sister — felt it.
A surge of magical energy so immense it made the ground tremble, the sky pulse.
She turned sharply, eyes wide, sensing the devastating clash from across the land.
> "That… that can't be…" she whispered.
"That power… that's my brother?"
Her fists clenched at her sides.
Hatred, confusion, a strange tightness in her chest — all colliding at once.
> "No… I don't believe it. He was supposed to be weak.
I'll find him.
I'll kill him myself."
But deep down —
for the first time —
she felt a flicker of doubt.
Medusa turned sharply, eyes narrowing — but then her breath hitched.
Tom stepped in, his tall figure dark against the morning light. His cloak was torn, the hem dragging slightly. His boots were caked with dirt and dried blood. His black clothes clung tightly to his body, his sharp jawline streaked with crimson.
But worst of all was his aura.
That terrifying, cold, pressure — like death itself had walked in.
Medusa's sharp tongue was ready — but something inside her fluttered. She slowly uncrossed her arms, watching silently as Tom raised his bloodied hand, snapped his fingers, and just like that — every trace of gore vanished. His black scythe, still dripping with the blood of the slain serpent, shimmered once before dissolving into mist.
Now he stood there — expressionless, silent — staring at her.
Medusa let out a slow, shaky breath.
"…You're back," she murmured softly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
Tom gave the faintest nod, his dark eyes flicking to hers briefly.
"Yes."
For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.
Then, narrowing her eyes slightly, Medusa stepped forward.
"And where exactly were you all night, my love?" she asked, her voice a low tease — though there was a flicker of real worry under it. "Gone off to kill gods again? Or maybe just ripping apart some poor souls for fun?"
Tom's lips twitched — just a little. He turned away, removing his gloves, avoiding her gaze.
Medusa smirked.
"Oh… don't tell me." She glided closer, her bare feet silent against the stone floor, her eyes shining with dangerous amusement. "the mighty God killer— the beast on the battlefield — turns into a scared little kitten when his wife asks questions?"
Tom stiffened slightly.
"…It was nothing important," he muttered, trying to brush past her.
But Medusa wasn't having it.
She moved smoothly in front of him, placing a slender hand on his chest, stopping him cold. Her other hand came up to gently trace his jaw, tilting his face toward hers.
"You're avoiding me," she whispered, her voice honey-sweet and dangerous.
Tom closed his eyes for a second — the sharp, cold edge in him cracking just the tiniest bit.
"…I'm fine, Medusa," he said quietly, his voice softer now.
Medusa smiled slowly, leaning up just a little.
"I know you are." She pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, then let him go. "But don't think you can scare me with your blood and scythes, Tom. You're still mine."
Tom let out a slow exhale, the faintest curve of a smile touching his lips as he finally relaxed.
Outside, the sun rose higher, casting warm gold across the room.
And for once — even just for a moment — the mighty God killer, the slayer of gods, the terror of the realms… was just a man, standing quietly with the woman who love him.
Medusa looked at him quietly. Her voice lowered, deeper, more fragile.
"You killed Jörmungandr… didn't you?"
Tom's lip curled faintly—neither a smirk nor a frown.
"He asked for it."
Silence hung between them.
"…Tom," Medusa said slowly, "Do you ever wonder what you're becoming?"
That question made him blink. Slightly.
She turned to face him fully, her emerald eyes locking onto his.
"I've walked beside tyrants. I've danced with kings. I've loved and killed gods. But you… You're something else. You're not just power, Tom. You're evolution."
Tom raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Medusa stepped closer, her voice gaining weight.
"One day, the world will look up and see your shadow over the sky. Your name will strike fear into immortals. They'll build temples to beg you for mercy… but you'll have none left to give."
Her fingers curled into fists at her side.
"And when that day comes… when the stars themselves turn their backs on you, when there is no one left to fight and nothing left to rule… who will you be then?"
Tom finally turned his head. His eyes—calm, ancient, terrifying.
Medusa whispered, almost trembling, "I've seen what you'll become, Tom. You'll go beyond gods. Beyond reason. Beyond even yourself. And you'll lose everything that makes you… you."
The silence grew thick.
Then—Tom stepped forward, inches from her, his voice a cold whisper that shook the world.
"I know what I'll become," he said. "I just don't care."
Medusa's breath hitched.
He continued, eyes glowing faintly blue.
"I will become the storm that gods whisper about in fear. The silence after kingdoms burn. I don't need their love. I don't even need their fear."
He leaned slightly closer.
"All I need… is for them to remember one thing."
Medusa blinked. "What?"
Tom smiled darkly.
"That I was here."
She didn't speak again. She couldn't.
Because deep down… she realized something horrifying and beautiful:
Tom wasn't walking toward his destiny.
He was dragging destiny toward him—by the throat.
Meanwhile
The icy winds howled through the cursed forest, sweeping across the twisted trees like the whispers of the dead. Frost clung to every surface, and the silence was thick, unnaturally still—as if the forest itself held its breath in fear.
Sarai, sister of the God slayer, walked forward with calm yet deadly grace. Her magical armor shimmered with violet and black runes, pulsing faintly as if alive. A long black cape flowed behind her, and at her side, the legendary sword Arakh'dor—a blade whispered to have ended entire armies in seconds—gleamed with ominous hunger.
Her eyes—burning like frozen fire—scanned the land ahead. The once-thriving village that lay before her was now nothing but a graveyard of shattered homes, broken statues, and dried blood.
She stepped through the abandoned village gate.
Her voice whispered in the cold air, more like a curse than a thought.
"So… this is what the world became after my brother's rise? Weak. Silent. Rotten."
The snow crunched under her boots. Silence lingered.
Then—
A massive shadow dropped from the cliff above.
BOOM!
The earth trembled as a towering creature landed before her—ten feet tall, grotesque and bloated, its skin a diseased grey-green. Fangs dripped with venom. Muscles bulged under rotting skin. It was a Blight goblin, one of the forgotten horrors of the north. Its eyes were small, black pits—but filled with primal hunger.
It grunted, then howled—raising a dagger the size of a tree trunk and bringing it down like thunder.
CLANG!
With blinding speed, Sarai's sword rose.
The demon's dagger shattered in two mid-strike. Sparks flew as the steel screamed.
Before the monster could react, Sarai spun—her blade glowing dark red. She jumped high into the air, her body flipping over the beast in a crimson arc.
SLASH. SLASH. SLASH. SLASH.
Strike after strike rained down in rapid fury.
The demon roared in pain—gurgling and stumbling backward as crimson fountains erupted from dozens of wounds. But Sarai wasn't done.
She landed on his hunched back—eyes glowing with pure rage.
"You think you're a monster?" she whispered.
She raised her blade with both hands—and brought it down like judgment.
SLAAAAASH!
A final, brutal swing.
The creature's body exploded—split into twenty-five separate chunks, blood spraying in every direction like a fountain of gore.
The snow turned red.
Sarai stood in the middle of the carnage, her face and armor soaked in hot blood. Her sword steamed in the cold, dripping crimson. Her breathing was calm—too calm.
She looked up toward the distant mountains where she knew Tom walked.
Her voice, low and venomous, dripped with hatred.
"You will die, Tom."
"You will definitely die."