The training room was huge and cold, just empty space and hard light. Ash stood there, sword in hand, electricity crackling over his skin. His whole body felt heavy—not tired, just pressed down, like the air itself was trying to crush him.
Across from him, Valhalla looked bored.
The War God had his sword resting on one shoulder, stance loose like he wasn't even trying. His long black coat barely moved, like gravity didn't bother touching him the way it did normal people.
Ash didn't wait.
Lightning exploded under his feet as he launched forward. His sword cut through empty air.
Valhalla was gone.
Then—WHAM—something hit Ash in the ribs like a speeding truck. He went flying, skidding across the floor until his boots screeched to a stop.
"Predictable," Valhalla said, not even looking at him.
Ash spat blood. His fingers tightened around his sword. Electricity buzzed under his skin again.
"Get up," Valhalla said, finally turning to face him.
Ash attacked.
This time he didn't hold back. Lightning flashed as he moved, fast as a strike, swinging hard. Valhalla blocked—but Ash pumped electricity straight into his blade on contact.
The shock made Valhalla's arm jerk. Ash saw his chance—CRACK—his knee smashed into Valhalla's ribs, sending the War God sliding back.
Valhalla stopped. Brushed dust off his coat. Looked up.
And smiled.
"Now you're interesting," he said.
Then he vanished.
Ash barely had time to look up before Valhalla was above him, sword raised, gravity bending around him like a black hole. He dropped.
Ash threw himself sideways as the hit landed. BOOM—the ground cratered where he'd stood, metal floor twisting like paper. The shockwave blew Ash's hair back.
"You can't keep up," Valhalla smirked.
Ash didn't answer. Just pushed harder. Lightning surged as he attacked faster, sharper. Valhalla kept dodging, warping gravity to move like a ghost—until Ash finally predicted where he'd land.
SLASH—his sword cut Valhalla's sleeve, leaving a burn.
Valhalla looked at the mark. Laughed.
"Oh," he grinned. "You're learning."
Then his voice dropped. "Space Gear - Gravity Well."
The world collapsed.
Ash's knees hit the floor as gravity multiplied. His sword almost slipped. His ribs screamed. Lightning flickered out. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Like the whole planet was sitting on his chest.
Then—release.
Ash collapsed forward, gasping. His whole body shook. His sword lay a few feet away, still sparking weakly.
Valhalla stretched like he'd just taken a casual jog. "You're improving," he said, running a hand through his silver hair. "Keep at it, you might join the War Gods someday." He smirked. "Maybe replace Atlas."
From the wall, Atlas made an offended noise. "Fuck you! I'm irreplaceable!" He pushed off the wall. "If anyone's getting replaced it's Nero. Lazy bastard."
Ash's lungs burned as he forced himself back up, boots scraping against the cracked training room floor. His sword trembled in his grip, electricity sputtering weakly along the blade.
"Had enough yet?" Valhalla asked, flipping his sword lazily in one hand.
Ash moved first this time.
He feinted left—Valhalla didn't bite—then pivoted into a spinning kick aimed at the War God's ribs. Valhalla caught his ankle like he was plucking a flower, fingers digging into the tendons hard enough to make Ash grit his teeth.
Then Valhalla yanked.
Ash's body slammed into the floor back-first, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs. Before he could recover, Valhalla's boot came down toward his face—
—Ash rolled just in time, hearing the CRUNCH of reinforced flooring shattering where his head had been. He came up swinging, sword crackling to life as he aimed for Valhalla's exposed side.
The blade connected—
—and stopped dead an inch from Valhalla's ribs, suspended in midair by some invisible force.
"Gravity shield," Valhalla said conversationally, as Ash's muscles strained against the sudden weight pressing down on his sword arm. "Neat trick, right?"
Ash bared his teeth. "Cheap as hell."
He released his grip on the sword, letting the crushing gravity take it—then drove his elbow straight into Valhalla's nose.
The War God actually staggered back a step, blood dripping from his now-broken nose. For half a second, the gravity field flickered—
—Ash seized the opening, calling his sword back to his hand in a flash of lightning. He swung low, aiming for Valhalla's legs—
—only for the War God to vanish, reappearing five feet to the left.
"You're getting better at breaking my concentration," Valhalla admitted, wiping blood from his face. His nose snapped back into place with an audible pop. "But you're still thinking too small."
He raised one hand—
—and the entire room lurched.
GRAVITY WELL: PHASE TWO
Ash's knees hit the floor as the crushing weight returned tenfold. This time, it wasn't just pressing down—it was twisting, warping space itself around him. The training room walls seemed to bend inward, the lights stretching into strange, elongated shapes.
His sword clattered to the ground, the lightning around it snuffing out instantly. Ash tried to reach for it—
—only for his arm to be yanked sideways as if hooked by an invisible fishing line. His shoulder joint screamed in protest.
Across the room, Valhalla stood perfectly upright, unaffected by his own power. "Most people black out by this time," he said, walking forward casually. "You're holding on. Impressive."
Ash couldn't even lift his head to respond. Spit dripped from his mouth straight upward, defying gravity before splattering across the ceiling. His vision pulsed red at the edges.
Valhalla crouched in front of him. "Here's the lesson, kid—"
Ash headbutted him.
It was a weak, pathetic movement—barely more than a twitch—but it connected. Valhalla's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
The gravity field wavered for just an instant, long enough for Ash to move and reach for his sword only for a boot to stomp down on the blade, pinning it in place.
Ash looked up. Valhalla was laughing, his expression caught between annoyance and something almost like pride.
"Alright, Now we're done."
Ash lay on his back, staring at the ceiling through swollen eyes. Every breath felt like swallowing glass.
Atlas grinned and turned to Ash. "Seriously though, kid's got potential. Few more years, he'll be kicking your ass."
Ash forced himself up, wiping blood from his mouth. "Years?" He grabbed his sword. "Give me a few more fights."
Atlas howled with laughter. "Oh shit, he's got balls!"
Valhalla just shook his head at Ash's still-trembling hands. "Confidence won't save you if you burn out mid-fight."
Ash didn't answer. Just sheathed his sword like his arms didn't feel like jelly.
"Stubborn bastard," Valhalla muttered.
Atlas threw an arm around Valhalla's shoulder. "C'mon, let's get some food. I'm starving."
Valhalla frowned. "Didn't you just eat an hour ago?"
"Yeah? And?"
Valhalla groaned. "Man, your stomach is an actual Nexus tear."
"Bro, I burn a lot of calories, okay?" Atlas shot back. "You should try eating more. Maybe then you'll stop looking like a battle-hardened grandpa."
Valhalla gave him a deadpan look. "I'm thirty-five."
"Yeah, and you sound fifty."
Ash let out a short breath—a small, quiet laugh.
The War Gods… they were the strongest heroes. Monsters who could take down armies alone. He had seen them fight, had watched them stand at the peak. Richie had been one of them once.
And even after Richie betrayed them, after the world turned its back on Ash, they never did. They Just kept pushing him to be better.