The world was in chaos, fire and ice tearing through everything in their path. Ragnarok had arrived, shattering the heavens and the earth. Gods screamed as they fought their final battles, their perfect world breaking into pieces.

Loki stood amidst the destruction, laughing. He couldn’t help himself; watching the mighty fall always amused him. His laughter echoed through the carnage, a mockery of the gods’ final moments.

It ended abruptly when a spear of light pierced through his chest. The pain was unbearable, spreading like fire across every inch of his body. He staggered, knees buckling as his vision darkened.  Death loomed, its cold grip tightening around him, but Loki refused to surrender. “Death?” he whispered through the pain, his grin defiant. “Not for me. I’m Loki, the Trickster. You’ll have to try harder than that.”

Darkness swallowed him whole, cold and empty. It was a vast void without light, sound, or end. Floating in that emptiness, Loki’s essence clung stubbornly to existence.

Disappearing was never an option. That wasn’t who he was. He clawed at the void, pushing against the silence, searching for a way out. Giving up had never been his style.

The void resisted, but Loki pressed on, his will unyielding. Suddenly, he felt a pull. His soul surged forward, tearing through the emptiness as light exploded around him.

He crashed into something solid, the impact jarring. When he opened his eyes, the metallic tang of blood filled his senses. His hands pressed against the ground, trembling and unfamiliar.Something was wrong. This body wasn’t his. Memories flooded his mind, chaotic and foreign, showing fragments of a life he had never lived.

The name “Floki” surfaced, along with the truth. This body belonged to an eighteen-year-old soldier, a conscript who had died in his first battle—a pathetic failure. Loki’s sharp laughter broke the silence.

“Floki? Really?” he muttered, amused. “Your name is almost the same as mine. The universe must be playing a joke.” His grin widened, wicked and cruel. “Well, Floki, you won’t need this body anymore. It’s mine now. Loki’s in charge.”

The battlefield stretched before him, a wasteland of death and destruction. Corpses littered the ground, broken weapons and shields scattered among the carnage. A strange red mist clung to the earth, swirling ominously.

Loki forced himself to stand, though the body protested every movement. Nearby, a rusty sword lay abandoned. He grabbed it, using it for support. “This body is pathetic,” he muttered in disgust. “No wonder you died so quickly.”

More memories trickled in, revealing the brutal truth of this world. Everything revolved around cultivation—a system where strength determined one’s place in life. Those with powerful spirit wells thrived, while the weak were crushed.

Floki’s spirit well was feeble, a faint flicker of energy. “What a waste,” Loki sneered. “But I can work with this. I’ll turn this flicker into a fire.”

In the distance, he spotted a small garrison town. Floki’s memories told him it was a place where soldiers regrouped after battles. Its walls were splintered and patched, barely holding together.  Smoke rose from chimneys as faint voices carried on the cold air. Loki trudged toward the town, each step a struggle. Every movement reminded him of the body’s weakness, but he pushed forward.

He needed supplies, information, and a way to grow stronger. This world didn’t favor the weak, and Loki had no intention of remaining powerless.

As he walked, more memories surfaced. This world had five primary cultivation paths: Mind, Body, Spirit, Elements, and Divine. Each offered power and extended life, but whispers of forbidden paths intrigued him.

“Shadows and death,” Loki mused, a grin creeping across his face. “Now those sound like something I can use.”

Floki’s memories also revealed another truth. The boy had no master, no one to teach him the true ways of cultivation. He only had scraps of knowledge, just enough to realize how weak he truly was.  If Loki wanted to thrive in this world, he would need a real master. Someone who could unlock the hidden potential in this frail body.

The town was busier than Loki expected. Soldiers moved in and out of the creaking gates, their faces drawn and grim. Inside, muddy streets bustled with activity as people traded goods and repaired weapons. Makeshift stalls lined the roads, offering food and basic supplies. The damp air smelled of wood and smoke, adding to the bleak atmosphere.

Loki blended in easily, his bloodstained clothes and weary expression masking his true nature. He looked like just another exhausted soldier. No one spared him a second glance, and that was exactly how he wanted it—for now.

The barracks was a squat, ugly building that looked as if it might collapse at any moment. Inside, the air was heavy with the stench of sweat and unwashed bodies. Soldiers sprawled across bunks, their faces blank with exhaustion.

The quartermaster barely glanced at Loki as he approached. With a scowl, the man tossed a small ration pack onto the counter. “Another deserter?” he muttered.

“Fine. Take this and leave me alone.”

Loki chuckled as he grabbed the food. “Deserter? Not quite,” he said, though the man didn’t bother to look up. Typical, Loki thought with amusement.

That night, Loki sat cross-legged on a straw bed in the corner of the barracks. Around him, soldiers snored and muttered in their sleep. Ignoring them, he closed his eyes and focused inward.  Floki’s spirit well was pitiful—almost nonexistent. But Loki wasn’t going to accept that. Slowly, he began weaving threads of his divine essence into the faint flicker of light.

The process was slow and excruciating. His body strained to handle the unfamiliar power, sweat dripping down his face. Still, he pressed on, relentless. Hours later, he felt it—a tiny glow deep within his core. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. A satisfied smile curved his lips.

“Not bad,” he whispered to himself. “This is only the beginning.”

The next morning, Loki stepped outside. The air was crisp and cold, carrying the scent of damp earth. Soldiers moved about, preparing for the day ahead.

To them, he was just another face in the crowd. Loki’s gaze turned to the horizon, where the rising sun painted the sky in fiery streaks. His grin sharpened, filled with promise.

“This world will bow before me,” he said softly. “I am Floki now, and soon the whole world will know this name.”

A soldier approached him, sneering. “You look terrible. Report for duty, conscript.”

Floki tilted his head, his grin widening. “Duty? Of course. Lead the way.” For now, he would play their little game. But only for now.

The training grounds were loud and chaotic. Recruits sparred in pairs, their movements clumsy and uncoordinated. Floki stood back, watching them carefully. Their weaknesses were painfully obvious.

A burly instructor stomped into the center of the field. “You fight with spirit, or you die without it!” he barked. “Pair up!”

Floki stepped forward, pointing at a tall, smug recruit. “You’ll do,” he said with a sharp grin. The sparring began, and it quickly became clear how weak this body was. His movements were slow, his reactions clumsy. But his mind was sharp, as always.

He watched the other recruit intently, studying his patterns. “Pathetic!” the recruit sneered, swinging wildly. “You won’t last a second out there.”

Floki grinned, his eyes gleaming. “We’ll see.”

When the opening came, Floki took it. His dull blade struck the recruit’s wrist, forcing him to drop his weapon. The crowd fell silent, surprised.

The instructor stomped over, his expression unimpressed. “Luck won’t save you in a real fight.”

Floki shrugged. “Luck favors the clever.”

“Back in line,” the instructor snapped. “You’ve got a long way to go.”

Back in the barracks, Floki thought about what he had learned. Spirit beast cores, he realized, were valuable resources for cultivation. If he wanted to grow stronger, he would need them—and much more.

“I’ll need to leave this place,” Floki muttered. “And I’ll need power before I go.”

The next day, Floki joined a group heading into the forest to gather supplies. The recruits around him were nervous, whispering in hushed tones.

“Even a weak spirit beast could kill us,” one murmured. His voice trembled with fear. Floki rolled his eyes. Cowards.

A wolf with glowing red eyes lunged from the shadows, snarling. The recruits scattered in panic, their fear taking hold. Floki stayed back, observing the beast carefully.  When the wolf turned its attention to another recruit, Floki moved in. His blade slashed at its leg, making it stumble. The others swarmed the wolf, finishing the job.

One recruit glared at him. “Not bad for a weakling.”

Floki laughed, slipping the wolf’s spirit core into his pocket. “Weak? Keep telling yourself that.”

At the edge of the forest, Floki held the core in his hand. Its faint energy pulsed against his fingers. It wasn’t much, but it was his.

Then, from the shadows, a low growl rumbled. Floki’s body tensed as glowing yellow eyes emerged from the darkness. A massive beast stepped forward, its energy heavy and suffocating. Floki grinned, sharp and cruel. “You think I’m prey?” he said, his voice dripping with malice.

“Let’s see who the real predator is.”

The beast lunged, its claws slicing through the air. Floki braced himself, his spirit well flickering weakly. “Come on, then,” he growled. “Let’s play.”

The darkness swallowed them both.