Born of War

Chapter Four: Darkness

Thrúd walks through the great hall with purpose. Determination is written across her face with a clenched jaw. Blood stains her hair to a deep garnet and specks litter her face. Her heavy boots click across the marble and her axe scrapes sharply as she drags the weapon behind her, exhausted from hard fighting. It leaves a trail of liquid that slips down the blade- marking the extent of her victory and the bodies left in her wake.

"One more kill." The voice says in her head and it rejuvenates her slightly, bringing energy back to her tired muscles to finish this.

"One more kill." She confirms, muttering the words while eyeing her prize dangerously at the end of the room. Odin sits upon his obsidian throne in a relaxed posture that irks Thrúd to no end. The bodies of his maidens lay unmoving at his feet. Her teeth grind into each other and her pace quickens, she wants him to put up a fight. She wants him to beg for his life.

As she reaches the steps that lead to the deity, her anger is unmeasurable. Closing the remaining distance, she rears back her arm with all her might as a war cry escapes her lips. She stares into the one honey eye of her grandfather, prepared to end his life but first- she needs the satisfaction. The heavy weapon comes down and the iron edge digs deep into the volcanic rock, right beside the Allfathers head. It cracks and splits from the intrusion but Odin barely even blinks.

Thrúd keeps her grip and leans down to snarl in his face "Beg." She demands.

"I won't." He replies evenly, matching her stare. She growls in frustration and rips the battleax from dark glass; gripping the handle with both hands, she braces for the final blow.

"Then you die." The blade comes down with those words, slicing through Odin's neck. His head tumbles from his shoulders and onto the polished floor; the sound of his skull making contact resonating through the unusually silent corridor.

The goddess jerks awake as soon as her grandfather's head touches the ground, the sound echoing in her mind. Her breaths are labored and a thin layer of sweat covers her skin. She glances around her room frantically and notices the darkness that is still present in Asgard as the stars shine brightly through her window. Releasing a shuddering sigh, she swallows thickly and begins untangling her sticky legs from the silk sheets. The bear skin that typically keeps her covered during the night has found solace on the floor after hours of her endless tossing and turning. She's not displeased to find it there as she usually would be though; the nights have been cold and required the extra warmth but right now her room is burning hot.

The fireplace in the corner houses nothing but embers from a fire that died long ago- so the source of heat is unknown to her. The redhead strips from her sleeping clothes in attempts to relieve some of the intensity, leaving her in just her chest wrap and underwear. The ink that spans across her body in knots and runes glistens from perspiration against the moonlight creeping in. It makes her feel sick. She looks towards her axe propped up against the wall and her stomach churns, not helping the situation any. Feeling slightly lightheaded from the thoughts of her dream, she sits back on her bed in attempts to get the world to stop spinning. Thrúd palms at her face and rubs her eyes- "What did that dream mean?" she wonders.

Her mother always told her growing up that dreams mean things, generally, they mean what you want the most. She doesn't want Odin dead, that's ridiculous... isn't it? She shakes her head, the overwhelming need to throw up is prominent now. All of this is means nothing, it's just the product of her unconscious mind and the only reason she dreamed of killing her grandfather is because he angered her this past morning. That's it.