The Eight-Legged Steed Sleipnir let out a long neigh that tore through the curtain of rain, its front hooves rearing high before stomping down hard!
It began to gallop across the surface of the water—no, not the surface. Those eight iron hooves never touched the river at all. The roaring gale had lifted it up!
Each hoofbeat of the warhorse stirred up invisible waves of air. Like The Chariot rolling out of myth, wrapped in thunder, it launched a devastating charge toward the heart of the river.
On the horse's back, Odin leaned forward slightly, his posture like an eagle about to strike. His right hand gripped Gungnir tightly, the divine spear's tip flickering with a lethal cold gleam in the downpour.
Faced with this overwhelming assault, Naga let out a string of laughter as clear and bright as wind chimes. She merely raised the Pale Bone Staff in her hand and lightly tapped it forward—
As if a spark had fallen into an invisible sea of oil!
"Boom!"
Boundless flames erupted across the river in an instant. Tongues of fire danced wildly as they spread forward like a burning carpet, carrying the might to incinerate all things as they swept toward the charging divine steed and god-king.
Sleipnir displayed an agility completely at odds with its massive body. At the critical moment, it suddenly swerved sideways, its enormous frame carving out a graceful arc as it narrowly avoided the head-on blast of flame. Its hooves shattered wind and waves, yet the momentum of its charge did not slow in the slightest!
A thunderous boom rang out from the river's center as a dark, massive boulder broke through the surface and rose, like the exposed spine of an ancient dragon awakening from sleep.
Naga lightly raised her delicate hand, pointing