Actually, this was the root of all the chaos.
That stone monument — which should have never existed there — was not part of the world of Midgard. It was not a relic of the Norse gods, nor an artifact recorded in any human mythology.
The monument was an alien object.
It was thrown there.
Not physically, but dropped from a higher floor of the Tower, in a brutal way — tearing through dimensional boundaries, wounding the structure of space, then letting it fall randomly onto floor 42.
A deliberate mistake.
Or rather — a deception.
The purpose was clear: to fool the eyes of the Tower itself.
Because the one behind all of this was no ordinary being.
It was Cthulhu — a resident of the upper floors of the Tower. A cosmic existence that had long grown bored of its own world.
So it sought entertainment.
And its choice fell upon the world of the Vikings — a world defined by seas, warfare, blood, and ancient gods. A perfect stage for a primordial sea creature like itself.
Moreover — its followers were already there.
The Deep Ones were not merely sea monsters. They were devout worshippers of Cthulhu as their god.
That was the key to the ritual.
Cthulhu could manifest on this floor.
It sounded simple.
But in reality — it wasn't.
It took almost a full year for Cthulhu to trace the location of the monument after it had been scattered randomly by the Tower.
Its final resting place.
And when it was finally confirmed —
Stone Island.
Even worse, the island was located very close to Jörmungandr, the sleeping World Serpent.
A coincidence?
No.
It was far too absurd to be called coincidence — unless there was another hand at work deliberately clearing the path. The presence of Jörmungandr, even while sealed, created an immense cosmic pressure. That pressure weakened reality, making it easier for Cthulhu to pierce through the boundary.
But this was where the problem appeared.
The Tower had rules.
One of them: A ruler may not invade a floor already governed by another ruler.
However—
Floors 41 through 50… had no ruler.
And so Cthulhu intended to become the first.
It would plant its existence in Midgard, claim floor 42 as its dominion, and from there — slowly creep upward and downward, expanding its influence.
The plan was almost perfect.
Almost.
Because the Tower made one fatal miscalculation.
Jun.
A wild variable.
Something unrecorded in anyone's calculations — including Cthulhu's.
On the upper floors, in a realm filled with whispers and formless darkness, Cthulhu observed.
Its eyes — or whatever could be called eyes — narrowed. Its consciousness trembled, not in fear, but in irritation.
A low growl echoed within that cosmic void — faint, muted, yet overflowing with malice.
Not anger.
But interest.
Because for Cthulhu, when a game no longer followed the script…
That only meant the game had become far more interesting.
...
Jun, standing on the front line, had already pushed his body far beyond normal limits.
Every swing of his sword cleaved through, every step shattered the formations of the Deep Ones — yet their numbers did not decrease. The sea seemed to give birth to more of them every second. The giant tentacles kept regenerating, and the path toward the stone monument grew narrower.
He tried to pull Ragnar and the Viking warriors back, but the flow of battle did not allow it.
Too chaotic.
Even with Demonic Qi raging wildly around him, Jun knew one thing clearly —
He would not be able to hold all of this off alone.
Then…
Something rang out from the sky.
A voice, clear and echoing, like the song of a bird yet carrying authority, pierced through the roar of battle.
"O brave warrior from distant lands."
Jun instinctively lifted his gaze.
The grey sky, once drowned in mist, now split open with golden light. Clouds slowly turned, parting as a beam descended straight onto the battlefield.
"Your resolve has been witnessed by us."
The light grew brighter.
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of iron, blood — and something sacred.
The scent of war.
"Allow us to fight at your side."
In an instant, a great silhouette emerged from within the light.
A ship.
But not a sea-ship.
The vessel floated through the air, its body carved from dark wood etched with glowing runes. Its sails billowed without wind, and along its hull hung war-shields battered by countless battles.
At the bow of the ship stood warriors.
Their eyes shone with a fire no living human possessed. Their bodies were firm, scarred — yet free from exhaustion.
Einherjar.
The warriors of Valhalla.
The ship dropped an anchor of light, and one by one the warriors leapt down onto the battlefield, landing with thunderous impact that shook the ground.
"For Odin!"
"For Valhalla!"
Their cries echoed, slicing through the howls of the Deep Ones.
Ragnar's eyes widened.
"…The warriors of Valhalla," he murmured, his voice nearly swallowed by battle. There was reverence — even for a Viking king, this was not a sight one witnessed lightly.
Ingrid, still standing at the cliffside, finally opened her eyes fully. Her wings of light stabilized, shining bright.
"My request was heard," she said softly. "The gods have sent reinforcements."
Jun stood still for a moment, his sword still drenched in black-green blood.
He did not cheer. He did not gasp in awe.
Only one thing changed in his eyes.
The pressure eased.
He tightened his grip on his sword again.
"In that case," he said quietly, his voice nearly lost in the roar of battle, "let's end this before that monument breaks."
Around him, the Einherjar advanced alongside the Vikings, forming a new defensive line.
And for the first time since the battle began — the tide of war shifted.
...
Jun watched everything from the corner of his eye while continuing to move.
'This is the strangest war I've been in since I started doing this,' he thought.
Too sudden. Too dense.
It had only been about three days since he arrived on this floor. At first, his objective was simple — prevent Jörmungandr's seal from being destroyed. A troublesome task, but still reasonable.
Then everything collapsed.
Jun pressed his fingers briefly against his temple, as if trying to ease the pressure pounding in his head.
There was something behind all of this — something clearly intent on cornering him, pushing him to the brink. As if this floor itself were piling challenge upon challenge, without giving him time to fully grasp even one.
'Whatever,' he finally thought.
He lifted his gaze back to the battlefield.
What mattered now — the tide had changed.
And that was no illusion.
The warriors of Valhalla moved like a storm. With Njord's blessing, they strode upon the sea as if it were solid ground — waves rising beneath their feet yet never swallowing them. Axes and spears swung, tearing through the Deep Ones in the thousands. Every strike carried not only strength, but the will of the gods.
The roars of the sea-spawn began to lose rhythm. Their formations shattered.
And amidst the chaos, one presence remained.
A colossal shadow upon the sea.
Massive tentacles rose into the air, smashing water and land with force that shook the island. Its body slowly emerged from beneath the surface, revealing its true form — an enormous kraken, its skin marked by faintly pulsing black lines, as if channeling something far deeper.
Jun narrowed his eyes.
"…Kraken?" he murmured softly.