From the depths of the ocean to the furthest reaches of space, this collection of short stories will take you on a thrilling ride through a world of monsters, kaijus and cosmic beings. Brace yourself for heart-pumping action, heart-wrenching drama a...
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In the winter of 1894, a group of Norwegian soldiers embarked on an expedition deep into the heart of a wild, ancient forest. Their mission was to apprehend a dangerous band of outlaws that had plagued the neighboring villages with their diabolical deeds. The villagers had eagerly shared the outlaws' dubious reputation but fretfully concocted nightmarish tales of monstrous dwellers within the hallowed woods they called home. The soldiers had scoffed at these local legends, believing themselves immune to the superstitions of old wives and simple folk.
By the dim light of their campfire, Sergeant Halvorsen steadied his trembling hand on his cup of coffee. A chill crept through his bones that he swore could not be driven away by the heat of the flames.
"By Odin's beard, these woods have teeth," he muttered begrudgingly. "Evil things hide behind every branch and bough."
Private Elefsen, the youngest and most eager among the group, glanced nervously around their makeshift encampment. "The tales the villagers shared, sir... You don't think there's any truth to their wretched words?"
The sergeant fixed his icy blue eyes on the young man. "Fear can make men see shadows where there are none. And simpleminded folk, such as these villagers, are easily mislead by their own imaginations."
Their discussion was interrupted when Eiriksson, a grizzled soldier with a wild and scornful grin, emerged from the shadowed folds of the forest. He threw a bundle of damp wood beside the fire, sending tendrils of acrid mist wafting towards the heavens.
"The villagers live their lives around fireside stories and fever dreams," Eiriksson jeered. "We should concern ourselves with the capture of these outlaws that hide within the forest, not the musings of old men and babes." He spat contemptuously.
As the soldiers settled into their shared watch, an unnatural silence crept upon the camp. The owl's hoots, the rustle of leaves, and the wind's shifting songs all ceased. The forest had closed around them, a tomb of twisted bark and gnarled roots.
In the watch's deepest, darkest hour, the silence was shattered by a bloodcurdling scream, laced with pain and mortal terror. The soldiers sprang to their feet, hearts pounding to the rhythm of the frenzied battle cry.
Into the camp stumbled a disheveled, dying man, a face torn by sorrow and fear. Elefsen gasped, "It's Lars, from the advance party. What happened to the others?"
Before he could answer, two colossal, malformed figures emerged behind him, their forms sculpted from the very heart of the forest. Their gnarled limbs, wrought with twisted wood and branches, were like the worst nightmares of children brought to monstrous life. They loomed above the soldiers, their fierce gaze piercing through the darkness.
While the primal terror took root in their hearts, the band fought valiantly against these unnatural beasts. Perhaps their valiant struggles to protect comrades against the nightmares of the north would echo in the halls of their ancestors.
