Chapter 9: Reality-Bending Ride
The emerald chains didn’t bind—they consumed. They weren’t physical links, but living strands of Amora’s will, woven from the inside of his veins out. Thor felt them coiling around his bones, a searing, sensual cage that amplified every heartbeat, every twitch of muscle, directly back to her.
Jotunheim’s howling desolation lay a hundred feet below the jagged ice-plateau she had conjured as their platform. The dimensional scar—a weeping, vertical gash of raw violet energy that spat crystalline shards and unnatural cold—throbbed before them. It was a wrongness in the world. But the greater wrongness was inside him.
“The anchor point,” Amora shouted over the shrieking dimensional wind. Her hair lashed like golden fire. “It’s rejecting the stabilisation runes. It needs a primal surge. Now, Thor!”
“And how do you propose that?” he roared back, Mjolnir heavy in his hand, the usual comforting connection to the storm no