"Hahahahahaha!"
Octavio's deranged laughter burst from the crater like a volcanic eruption. The sound rolled across the battlefield, crashing into the hearts of warriors like a war drum. He stood tall, reborn in the darkness, his skin glistening with metallic sheen, and his aura an unnatural fusion of twisted power.
The Viking Earl raised his arms, flexing with manic delight, veins pulsing with darkened force. His eyes burned black, void of humanity, filled only with unfiltered power and corruption.
"The eternal power of my Lord runs through my veins!" he bellowed, voice laced with ecstasy.
A collective shiver ran through the crowd of onlooking Vikings. Murmurs filled the ranks. Frowns deepened. The true warriors—those loyal to Valhalla's traditions—felt a cold unease seep into their bones.
They all knew one truth: the only Lord of Valhalla was Odinvaldr.
And yet… whatever coursed through Octavio's body now, it wasn't Odinvaldr's blessing. It was foreign. Wrong. Unnatural.
