In appearance, the Destroyer resembled a set of knight's full plate armor from ancient history, though its form was far more alien. It was forged from segmented, bright silver scales of Uru that seemed to pulse with a life of their own, despite being entirely hollow.
Odin raised Gungnir, the tip of the spear lightly brushing the armor's breastplate. As glowing, ethereal symbols flickered across the silver surface, he spoke with a tone of finality. "The authority of the sentinel has been bound to your soul. Awaken it."
"Destroyer?" Emrys called out, testing the tether.
The dormant shell flared to life. Golden energy bled from the seams between the plates, and a blinding, incinerating light erupted from the mask's visor.
"Advance." "Cease." "Secure the perimeter."
The armor responded with mechanical fluidness. Emrys watched the flickering symbols on its surface. "Were those symbols the 'Runes'?"
To a man of the Imperium, the metal was merely a conduit; the true prize was the runic script. In the myths of this world, Odin had gained this wisdom by hanging himself from the World Tree—sacrificing an eye for a glimpse into the fundamental code of the universe. It was the source of the "Rune King" legends, a power that seemingly defied the laws of physics.
"Heh... it seems you do not know everything, boy," Odin said, his gaze turning pensive. "Believe me, this power is not a gift. It is a curse—an imprint of the World Tree upon every soul of Aesir blood."
"A curse?" Emrys frowned. If the Runes were a curse, then the entity that bestowed them—the World Tree itself—was not a benevolent source of life, but a cosmic parasite.
Seeing the shift in Emrys's expression, Odin smiled. "Do not say it aloud. Some truths are better left in the silence of the vault."
Emrys's mouth twitched. Looking at the old man's half-smile, he realized he had been led down a garden path.
"It's too late to reconsider," Odin said, stroking his beard like an old fox. "The armor is yours. Whether you use it to research the script or melt it down into scrap, I no longer have the right to interfere."
"You led me to this realization on purpose," Emrys said, his voice flat. "You wanted me to know the truth about the Tree."
"I have said nothing," Odin feigned ignorance, though his eye twinkled. "I simply wish for the future of Asgard to be in capable hands. What truth could a simple old man possibly hide?"
Emrys gritted his teeth, nearly laughing at the old King's audacity. "And if I do know? What then?"
"Then you understand that the destruction of Asgard is a mercy," Odin said softly. Relief and a strange sense of liberation flickered in his eye.
"Tell me, Allfather—how many times has your realm been destroyed?"
"More than I care to count."
Emrys finally grasped the depth of the King's gambit. Odin wasn't just letting Ragnarok happen; he was fueling it. The World Tree used the cycle of death and rebirth to feed its own cosmic hunger, keeping the Asgardians as its eternal puppets.
By allowing Asgard to be truly destroyed and the survivors to flee to Earth, Odin was severing the tether. The "New Asgard" would be a mortal race—freed from the divine cycle, freed from the curse of the Tree.
And Thor would finally be a man, not a cog in a cosmic machine.
"You've calculated this for eons," Emrys sighed. "But a single suit of armor is a small price for me to play the role of Asgard's protector against whatever is coming."
"What else do you desire?" Odin asked, sensing that the deal was nearing its completion.
Emrys's eyes gleamed with a sudden, sharp ambition. "I have a weapon—a blade. It houses... entities. Daemons, if you will. I need a way to bind them—to suppress their influence over the wielder's mind while retaining their full destructive potential. I want the power, without the corruption."
"'Daemons' ?" Odin's brow furrowed. "You refer to Dimensional Parasites? Entities of the Great Beyond?"
"Close enough," Emrys prevaricated. "The weapon is volatile. I'm sure you wouldn't want the future Guardian of your people to fall to madness because of a rebellious spirit in his sword."
Odin's eyelids twitched. He sensed that the "daemons" Emrys spoke of were far more ancient and malevolent than any local entity.
"If it is a minor entity, I could bind it myself," the Allfather said slowly. "But if it is a power of the multiversal scale, I cannot help you. However..."
"However?"
"I have an old friend," Odin sighed, sensing the trap Emrys was laying. "He specializes in the binding of cosmic horrors. If anyone can chain your 'daemons,' it is he."
"Excellent!" Emrys's demeanor shifted instantly. He clapped Odin on the shoulder with a grin that was entirely too wide. "Do not worry, Allfather. As the future sentinel of the Nine Realms, I shall stand with Asgard until the very end!"
Odin's veins throbbed at his temple. He felt as though he had just invited a shark into his reflecting pool. "You truly are a shameless bastard, Merlin Emrys."