The Hel Experience

-10 Years Left Until Ragnarok- Loki's Workshop

I think I heard a deceased guard whisper this part of the story to me about 100 years ago. At first, I had thought his fading apparition to be, if I remember correctly, young and beautiful, until I noticed the bloody stump- once an arm- that hung at his side. His mouth had been sewn shut, which meant that he had been a liar in his life time, and his eyes hid far back in his skull, which warned me of the sins he had committed when living.

I hadn't been able to look at him the entire time, for even people like me can be scared out of perfection. I did listen though, because he knew how to finish a story that I only knew the beginning of.

My father had already told me that, when he had arrived back at the palace, he dropped off the horse and found his way to his workshop in the evening. I still remember it to be a dark place, filled with the smell of oil and burnt metal. There were always the sounds of melting and hissing gold and silver in the background, but never any louder than the time before that. Also, due to the terrible lighting, it was almost impossible not to knock over something and get a following lecture. Still, he loved that place. The thick, polluted air. The suffocating darkness and terrifying machines and automatons.

He threw his thick coat off of his shoulders and let it hit the ground. Steam floating off of boiling substances curled through the air like smoke playing on the dark background. He ignored it, though, and walked over to the rotting desk in the corner of the room.

There, on the ground in front of Fenrir's feet, lay a hand in a pool of hardening blood. The fur and metal skin of his invention were stained with drops, but its eyes of glass didn't look any less exited to see his owner than usual. The mechanical wolf raised its gigantic head and barked at the ceiling.

Loki didn't know how to react. He had no idea what happened that night and, if left to me, never will.

But Tyr did. The Asgardian guard described a dark evening. Jormungard passed by, its windows reflecting light onto the path leading to the workshop.

It had been dark and cold and his house had been far, so Tyr saw no other choice than to stop by and hope the owner was friendly. If worse were to come to worst, he could just knock the guy unconscious, then take advantage of the warmth of the building for as long as possible.

So he walked up to the door. When he knocked, there was no answer.

At least there wouldn't have to be any violence, he thought.

Once inside he searched for a light or a candle, but neither of them were anywhere to be found. There seemed to be plenty of little contraptions around, but he doubted any of them would be of any use, so he just made sure he wouldn't lose sight of the door and started looking around out of curiosity.

Pieces of paper with drawings he couldn't see properly. Small creations that made weird sounds or shot bullets that just barely missed him. Larger machines with robot-like features. One of them even spoke to him, warning him to get out of there. Others just babbled, and others turned out to be small models of a train.

After a while he bumped into a desk. Wood slammed into his leg and threw him off balance.

He fought back a curse through clenched lips and closed eyes. When he opened his eyes, he saw the moonlight reflect in the glass of Fenrir's eyes. Yes, the wolf's reaction was late- his guard dog function was designed to be more destructive than quick- but Tyr received his punishment just the same.

I've been told that the sound of unbelievable pain was heard throughout the entire city that night.

The man wrapped his other hand tightly around his forearm to cut the circulation, but time was cut short with the wolf opening his mouth once more. Almost automatically, Tyr rolled over the floor until he was within arm's reach of a few inventions pressed roughly against the wall- the moon reflecting from their metal. One of them seemed to have the vague form of a small, rusty gun...

Jaws crashed into the ground. A loud creak echoed through the room.

"Please!" Tyr yelled. To be completely honest, I like that part of the story a bit. The big, fierce warrior surrendering to the creation of man like some cowardly child. He even described the feeling of cold sweat stinging his skin and his shaking fingers, as he desperately searched his dead imagination for an excuse.

Now, my dear, this is the important part. This is where the gears started turning in Fenrir's mechanical brain. Codes rattled through his thoughts, protocols that Loki had programmed into him, and translated into action. Words became numbers, numbers became orders.

When Tyr screamed, "Odin made me do it!", Fenrir froze where he stood- his mouth still opened wide with unnaturally green saliva still dripping from his silver fangs.

Odin made me do it. His brain considered the many parts: made me do it. Code 4530. And, forced guilt. Code 2354. And, Odin. Name code 1243. Name code 1243 protocol code 2354. Action 9837. Which roughly translates into revenge.