TORBJÖRN

Chapter 9

"Now Garm howls loud before Gnipahellir, 
the fetters will burst, and the wolf run free;
Much do I know, and more can see
Of the fate of the gods, the mighty in fight.
"Poetic Edda poem Völuspá, stanza 44

A few millennia earlier

Torbjörn's ears pricked at the hum of a sword as it cut through the air, but he did not see it. Sounds from the battle, metal on metal, the grunts and screams of men silenced as the blade sliced more than halfway into his neck. Then the only noise was that of rushing blood pulsing in his ears. He stumbled as his head fell to the side and rested on his shoulder. Blood spurted and ran from the wound, staining his golden fur red, covering the grass in a crimson rain. The head looked about in disbelief not knowing it was dead until his knees buckled and his body crumpled to the ground.

The sky above him spun. He fought from being pulled down into a dizzying, sucking darkness, but it was no use. It was too powerful and his strength quickly left him. The world went black for what seemed like an instant, and when his eyes reopened, everything within his line of vision appeared bright and clear.

To his left, his body lay on the ground, flies already gathering to claim the feast of his blood. His eyes looked back at him, the unseeing stare of the dead, but Torbjörn had disconnected from the sight. To his surprise, he sucked in a deep clear breath, the heaviness in his lungs had abated, the pain of old wounds gone. He had become hale and whole, from man to spirit, made ready for his journey to the realm of Asgard.

To his right, Hávarðr, having seen what happened, tore across the field, charging the man whose sword still dripped with Torbjörn's blood. He turned and managed a few steps before Hávarðr tackled him, long claws tearing through the boiled leather armor. Within moments of hitting the ground, the enemy soldier was dead. His face contorted in shock, his mouth gaping in a silent scream.

Like Torbjörn did, the man became whole, and came to stand beside him, his battered body lying still on the ground. His face showed a look of indifference, but when he looked up, his expression changed, and contorted into one of pain and horror. The ground opened beneath his feet and he dropped into the gaping abyss, his screams silenced when the hole closed over him. Hel claimed his damned soul.

A golden light shot from the sky and descended to Midgard, to the realm of mankind. A Valkyrie. Without a sound, she landed softly on the ground, bearing a shield on one arm, sword in her other hand. An aura of light illuminated this goddess, seeming to radiate from her skin. With firm steps she stalked toward Torbjörn, and his eyes riveted to the confident sway of her hips. If ever there was a vision of female perfection, she was it. Tall and lithe, of fair skin and pale blue eyes, fine features and full lips. The generous roundness of her breasts with their dark-tipped nipples was visible through the thin linen garment she wore. And the shadow of hair at the crest of her thighs matched the fiery red curls that tumbled down her back.

She stood over him. Her lust filled eyes raked over his naked form, and she grinned when his cock began to stir.

"My first night in Valhöll will be spent buried between those ripe Valkyrian thighs," he chuckled to himself.

But what he thought would be his destiny, was not meant to be. A great sound rent the air, a sound like nothing anyone ever heard before.

From Asgard, Heimdall sounded the horn Gjallarhorn, alerting the gods that the great hound Fenrir had broken free from his chains. He and his father, Loki, leading an army of giants, headed straight for Asgard. Ragnarök, the prophesied battle between the gods and giants had begun. The beautiful Valkyrie turned from him, gripping her sword tight, before flashing into light, ascending back to the heavens. Leaving him behind.