"Kira!" Vidar tried to shout. Instead, he howled in desperation.

She gave a cackling laugh that wasn't hers. Too manly, too vile. "Oh, it's Kira you want to talk to. Sweet little Kira who just wanted to be wanted. Loved, admired, for the first time since so long."

"Who are you?" yelled Mo. The Ifrit was mid-transformation, smoke wafting around him as his body grew slender. A pair of horns formed on his forehead. His wings spread.

With a twirl of her hand, Kira reversed Mo's transition. He fell to his knees, coughing and spluttering.

Vidar ran, Isegrim racing alongside him. He knew she had been possessed. Whatever creature it was, he had to stop it.

She stretched her arm, an invisible force yanking both of them back. Vidar yelped as he landed, smacking first on Isegrim, then to the ground.

"I know it's been a while," the deep voice said as Vidar scrambled up. Isegrim darted off, hiding behind the closest tree, whimpering. "But you're still that large, unwieldy dimwit you were so many centuries ago. Just a little furrier. I guess, inadvertently, that's my fault too."

A ghastly shade stepped out of Kira's body and grew, his features darkening and sharpening. Fiery red hair and a mischief grin. A thick silver chain coiled around his neck. A snake pendant on his bare chest. "Hello, brother."

"Loki," Vidar growled as Kira collapsed. "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing she didn't consent to."

"Liar!"

The trickster god stretched out his hand and helped Kira up. "Oh, little brother, why would I lie when the truth is a better deception?"

Vidar bared his fangs. That damned silver tongue. Forget giving him a good whack on the head; he would rip Loki to shreds, even if he ended in Helheim because of it. 

Yet as Vidar attempted to charge, his muscles didn't budge. He groaned, trying again. No luck—his paws were glued to the ground.

In a panic, he looked at Mo, who was in the same situation. What was going on?

"You have to forgive my oaf of a brother, sweetheart," Loki said to Kira. "He says nothing until his head explodes. You, humans, have this expression 'still waters run deep', but in Asgard, we say a god of Silence lashes out when provoked."

Kira shivered. Her expression one of sorrow or fear—Vidar couldn't tell.

"I could have helped you," he said, realising too late that she would only hear some pathetic whining. He was an oaf, a clumsy, helpless oaf.

"Help you did, brother," Loki said. "What marvels humans are up to these days. A box that you cannot live without, that tracks your every movement. One look on her... what-do-you-call-it... fown, and sweet Kira knew where you were. Or, in this case, where your two-wheeled vehicle was."

"I'm sorry," Kira mouthed behind Loki's back.

Mo groaned. "Wolfie, you promised to return that phone."

"I tried." Vidar barked. This was neither the time nor the place to have that discussion.

"Yeah, what an unexpected twist this morning," Loki said. "You keeping the box was such a vital part of the plan. Except, I wasn't worried. Social skills were never your strong suit." He glanced at Kira. "Go on. One last task, and I'll grant your wish—you'll be free as a bird."

Kira reached for her yellow backpack, the googly eyes turning round and round as she took out three objects. A long silver hair, a charred claw that could only belong to Reynaert, and an empty phial.

"What are you going to do?" Vidar asked as Kira laid the hair and the claw on a rock.

Loki ran his hand through his long red hair.

"Kira," Mo called to her. "Whatever this snake is making you do. You don't have to."

"He has no power over you," Loki said to Kira. "Proceed. Finish what I couldn't do last time around."

Vidar inhaled sharply. Last time?

"Oh, yes, brother. Took all my power to make you forget our brief encounter. I tried covering up the wound in your neck too, but, unfortunately, burning in Helheim for eternity left me too weak to finish the job. But nothing quite like hibernating in a human vessel to perk you right up." Loki laid his hand on Kira's shoulder and brought his face close to her ear, whispering. "We've discussed this so often. You know how it works—you help me, I help you."

She was shaking and shivering. "Haven't I done enough? I don't want to hurt him."

Loki looked down at her, dramatically pursing his lips. "So endearing, the unlikely friendship between the broken girl and her pet wolf. You pretend as though I don't have a heart." He tsked. "All I need is some blood. Who said anything about hurting my little brother? A small cut should suffice."

"And then it ends?" she asked, her voice scratchy.

"No." The corners of his mouth tugged up. "Then it begins."

Vidar exchanged a glance with Mo as Loki began to chant a rhyme. The trickster danced in circles, happy and clapping his hands.

One silver hair of the fish who drowned
The charred claw of the trickster fox bound
Draw blood of the lonely wolf and see
The prisoners of Ragnarök set free

Oh, brother, no. Not another war, not with so many humans around. There would be nothing to gain but chaos. A thousand years down under, burning, repenting for his crimes against the world, yet Loki had learnt nothing.

Kira marched up to him, carrying the knife, her eyes wet with tears. Vidar sat down on his hind legs, gnashing his teeth.

"I can tell it's you," she muttered. "Your eyes are the same." Her touch was cold as she petted his head. "Scruffy black hair. Broad shoulders, like an old Viking warrior. I would say I'm sorry, but I know you hate it when I apologise too much."

"Disarm her," Mo hissed.

Vidar lifted a paw, then pressed his head against Kira. Though he was no longer bound, there was no use in snatching the knife from her hands. Not with Loki around. Just because he was dancing like a leprechaun who had found a pot of gold didn't mean he was distracted.

Squinting her eyes, Kira ran the tip of the blade across his shoulder. She held the phial underneath.

As the silver pierced his flesh, a burning sensation spread through his veins. Vidar didn't howl, didn't even wince, but kept close to Kira, eyeing the tree. Isegrim dashed away in a blur of white and grey. Blood trickled down and dripped into the glass flacon.

"Wolfie, do something," Mo said louder. "Your brother's mad."

Kira jerked out the blade, dropping it to the ground.

A chance.

One paw on the knife, he leapt up, his teeth going for the phial. If his blood was what Loki needed, he would make it go to waste. Let his brother come to him instead of using Kira as a pawn and shield.

She lurched, startled by his sudden action. Where the phial had been now was her arm. He couldn't stop his fangs from sinking into her skin. Her blood sweet like mead. 

He wanted more, craved more. But he couldn't—this was Kira. Even if it was too late, he had to stop. He wasn't the monster his curse wanted him to be.

He let go, backing away.

Shock filled her eyes. Red liquid oozed from the wound just below her wrist. He had drawn blood, infecting her with his curse.

"No, no, no!" His words came out as a series of short cries.

"Oh, my," Loki said, devoid of all emotion. "Hand the phial to me, sweetheart."

Kira held the flacon up, her knuckles white. She was shaking. Blood streamed down her arm, smearing her clothes.

"Think of your future, reunited with your precious brother. I can make it happen—you know I can."

Vidar shook his head. If there was one bone in Kira's body that still trusted him, she wouldn't do it. They had talked, laughed, ate, and worked together. He knew his brother. The love for books, the techy skills, and teenage snarks—that had all been Kira, not Loki.

The fate of the paranormal community, of the humans, of all of Antwerp, lay in her hand. A single phial containing the final ingredient to unleash Ragnarök once more.

"Sander was killed because he trusted the wrong people!" Kira shouted at Loki. "I won't do it. I won't make the same mistake."

She smashed the phial on the ground and stomped hard. The glass crunched under her sneakers. His blood splattered everywhere.

For a moment, the world stopped turning. There was scarcely a breath of wind. Not a ripple in the river. Neither leaf nor blade of grass stirred.

It was over; they had stopped Ragnarök.

The trickster god had stopped dancing, his serpentine eyes glaring at Kira. "You! You could have it all. The world would have adored you. You reunited with—"

Loki halted as the spilt blood lit up the grass, a phosphorescent flickering light.

"Oh, Allfather, I spoke too soon." He cackled and raised his arms.

A frigid, bone-chilling wind swept across the river. The earth rumbled and shook. Soon after, the sky lit up with lightning. Violent waves splashed onto the shore, the water disappearing in chasms splitting the ground.

From the towers of Doel oozed a green mist, circling, expanding higher and wider each second. The air smelled of rotten meat.

Out of the deepest depths emerged a dark cloud, a flock of hundreds—if not thousands—of ravenous birds. They headed straight for the city, spreading the message of impending doom. In their wake followed the shadows of demon dogs, venom dripping from their fangs and into the Schelde. The water sizzled and smoked.

"You're all so pretty," Loki cheered. "Be free and merry."

Kira grabbed Vidar's fur as a terrible boom blasted through the sky. A female voice screeched, her spirit flitting. Chains rattled. Ghastly riders on the backs of red-eyed bucks chased the ghost.

Mo, horned and winged once more, spewed fire at Loki. A mistake. The trickster swept his arms, and the flames evaporated.

Vidar pounced, his claws drawn out. Hellhounds, the Buckriders, and Mad Meg—creatures he had chased out of his territory centuries ago now back to terrorise the city once more.

"You'll pay for this," he snarled.

Vidar bumped into an invisible barrier as a coin materialised between Loki's fingers. The trickster flung the one-euro piece towards him. "Keep the change, brother. My work here is done. I have other places to be—other portals to open. The world shall bow to their new leader."

With a flair for the dramatics, Loki unleashed a smokescreen. Vidar dived in just as the fog evaporated. Soaring high in the sky was an eagle, screeching.

Another flash of lightning.

"Wolfie, what do we do?" Mo yelled.

With an open mouth, Vidar stared as the whirlwind of green mist above Doel twisted in the opposite direction.

"Run!" he barked at Mo.

"But Kira..."

"I'll take care of Kira."

The Ifrit shot past him. Vidar leapt towards Kira, aided by the changing wind. She screamed as he scooped her up, yet clamped her arms around his neck.

"I can't hold this!" she shouted. "My wrist—it hurts so much."

She had to. Gust after gust, the intensity of the storm grew. With each step forward, they were blasted a metre closer towards the still-rising river.

Leaves flew all around as trees groaned. Shrubberies were ripped from their roots. And he couldn't see the Ifrit anywhere.

"Mo!"

Suddenly, Vidar's paws were lifted from the ground. He struggled to keep Kira on his back. She shrieked; she was sliding off. Biting the collar of her shirt the only way to keep her from falling.

The wind held them in its power as they tumbled. He couldn't make it stop; the drag too strong. The Schelde raged below, yet the river was growing smaller each time. 

Allfather, what had Loki done?

Whoosh. Mo's burning shadow popped up beside him. His claws reached for Vidar's paws but found no grip. The curse of not having opposable thumbs.

"Take Kira," Vidar said between his teeth. "Fly away—save yourselves."

"I can't hear you!" Mo shouted.

Vidar couldn't let go of Kira either.

Mo toppled over, yelling over the sound of ripping. The Ifrit had a tear in his wing.

The towers of Doel approached quickly, sucking them in. There was no escape. Mo went in first. Then the darkness swallowed Vidar and Kira too.

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