Baldur Odinson:The light of Asgard

Chapter 23: A Fight Against the Horde

The entire marketplace erupted into chaos.

One moment, Baldur was standing there, cracking his knuckles, and the next, nearly every bounty hunter, mercenary, and warlord had turned their weapons toward him. He barely needed to look to know what was coming. Plasma rifles hummed to life, blades of pure energy ignited in the hands of trained killers, and a few more cunning individuals reached for something heavier—gravity disruptors, suppression grenades, weapons designed to take down people like him.

He had made himself interesting.

And in a place like this, interesting meant one thing.

Someone was about to get paid a fortune to kill him.

Baldur had seen it before. The moment someone proved they weren't just another disposable fighter, the entire underworld wanted a piece of them. This wasn't just about the Kree he had smashed through a building or the brawl that followed. It was about what he represented. An Asgardian, alone in a place like this, unafraid, unchallenged. That wasn't normal. The people here understood power better than most, and when they saw someone like him—someone they didn't understand, someone who might disrupt the balance—they didn't just sit back and wait.

They hunted.

The first plasma shot rang out.

Baldur blurred to the side, golden energy trailing behind him, the bolt burning past where he had stood an instant ago. Before the bounty hunter could fire again, Baldur was in front of him, grabbing the rifle by the barrel and crushing it with one hand. The mercenary barely had time to gasp before Baldur sent him flying with a casual backhand, his body smashing through a market stall.

The fight was on.

More mercenaries surged forward, each trying to be the one to claim the kill. Baldur grinned.

This was going to be fun.

A reptilian warlord wielding twin plasma daggers lunged at him from the side. Baldur sidestepped smoothly, watching as the daggers sliced through empty air. The reptilian was fast, faster than most of the fighters he had dealt with so far, but not fast enough. Baldur caught the next strike mid-air, twisting the alien's wrist and sending him crashing face-first into the ground.

The attack didn't stop. Another bounty hunter, this one massive and armored from head to toe, slammed a gauntleted fist toward him. Baldur leaned back, the blow passing inches from his face, before he brought his own fist upward, striking the bounty hunter square in the chest. The impact sent the armored brute hurtling backward, crashing into a line of energy stalls, sparks and flames bursting into the air.

Above him, a squad of snipers positioned on the upper levels of the market had taken aim, their rifles locked onto him. Baldur saw the glint of their scopes and sighed. Without looking, he raised a single hand, golden energy pulsing outward in a controlled wave. The electromagnetic burst overloaded their weapons instantly, sending sparks flying from their scopes and power cells. They cursed and scrambled for cover, but it was too late—Baldur had already moved.

A shockwave blasted outward as he launched himself upward, appearing in front of the first sniper before the man could blink. Baldur grabbed him by the collar, hurling him across the rooftop before spinning mid-air to kick another gunman in the chest, sending him tumbling over the railing. The rest of the snipers scattered.

Below, the chaos continued to grow. The marketplace had devolved into an all-out war, with factions that had once been allies now fighting over the right to claim the bounty. Warlords barked orders, bounty hunters turned on each other, and even the merchants had started arming themselves, eager to defend their stalls or take advantage of the carnage.

And watching it all was Rylos the Butcher.

The warlord hadn't moved since Baldur had wrecked his men. Instead, he stood at the center of the chaos, watching Baldur fight with a look of deep amusement. He had seen powerful warriors before—he had fought Kree warlords, Skrull assassins, and even Celestial-enhanced beings. But this was different.

This wasn't just power.

This was control.

Every step Baldur took was calculated. Every attack was perfectly placed, efficient, without wasted movement. He wasn't just relying on brute force—he was fighting like someone who had spent years refining their craft. And that made him dangerous.

Rylos grinned, finally drawing his weapon from his back. A massive, curved blade, the edges humming with void-forged metal, an alloy designed to wound even gods. He stepped forward, cutting through the battlefield like a force of nature, his men parting for him.

Baldur had just sent another bounty hunter crashing through a pile of crates when he felt the shift in the air. He turned, golden eyes locking onto Rylos just as the warlord launched himself forward.

For the first time in the fight, Baldur had to block.

Their weapons met in a collision that sent shockwaves through the market. The sheer force cracked the ground beneath them, and several nearby stalls exploded from the impact. Rylos' blade pressed against Baldur's golden construct, dark energy crackling against radiant light. The warlord grinned.

"You're strong," he said, voice a low growl. "Good."

Then he pressed harder, and the real fight began.

Rylos moved with a speed that shouldn't have been possible for someone his size. His strikes were relentless, unpredictable, shifting mid-swing to catch Baldur off-guard. His blade wasn't just a weapon—it was an extension of himself, adjusting to every movement, shifting its energy field to counter Baldur's own.

But Baldur adapted.

The first few strikes forced him on the defensive, but he was learning. He stopped relying on direct force and started redirecting, letting Rylos' momentum work against him. When the warlord went for a downward slash, Baldur sidestepped at the last second, twisting to deliver a perfectly placed strike to his ribs.

The impact sent Rylos skidding backward, but he didn't fall. Instead, he laughed.

"Now that," he wiped the blood from his lip, "was the best hit I've taken in years."

Baldur exhaled. "You're still standing."

Rylos' grin widened. "So are you."

They both knew it.

This fight wasn't over.

Before they could charge again, a loud, piercing alarm rang through the marketplace. Baldur glanced upward, eyes narrowing as he saw what had arrived. Through the translucent shielding above the station, he could see them—dozens of warships, battle-hardened and marked with sigils of various factions. And leading them? A Leviathan-class dreadnought, the unmistakable command ship of the Iron Fangs.

Rylos chuckled, lowering his blade slightly.

"Seems you've really made an impression, Asgardian."

Baldur exhaled, shaking out his wrists. "Yeah. I tend to do that."

The station was no longer just a marketplace. It was now a battlefield. And every bounty hunter, mercenary, and warlord here had just made a decision.

Kill the Asgardian, and claim a fortune.

Baldur cracked his neck, golden energy flaring around him once more.

They had no idea what they were about to face.