[Location: Unknown, Midgard]
"More…" I whispered, my voice rasping, layered with something deeper—something that wasn't entirely mine. "Give me more."
The silence didn't answer.
Only the wind.
And then—distant, low—the sound of a horn.
It wasn't Draugr. The tone was different, alive, not the hollow moans of the dead. This was something else. Something worse.
The long, deep note rolled across the mountains like a death knell, echoing again and again until it seemed the very stones hummed with its call. My molten glow faltered for just a heartbeat.
"Oh… shit."
From the treeline, they emerged.
Not the slow, lumbering corpses I had grown accustomed to breaking, but men—or what was left of men, twisted by war and hunger. Raiders.
Their steps were confident, measured, deliberate. Scarred flesh peeked from beneath tattered furs and leather, every scrap of armor scavenged from fallen foes. Bone charms rattled on belts, antlers crowned their helms, and war paint streaked their hollow faces in crimson and ash. Each one carried a weapon forged from brutality—axes chipped and stained with old blood, jagged spears tipped with rust, and crude blades carved from beasts and men alike.
The leader walked at the front, an antlered helm jutting high into the mist, casting his shadow long and crooked. His beard was matted, his eyes sunken yet burning with primal fury. In his hand, he carried a weapon carved from something's rib, jagged and cruel, thrumming with the memory of screams.
These weren't mindless husks. They were predators. Hunters. Warriors who lived for the raid, who thrived in slaughter and flame. Their very presence carried weight—the stench of iron, sweat, and death, the aura of those who took what they wanted and left only ashes.
And now, their hunger was fixed on me.
The horn fell silent, but the echoes still lingered. In the suffocating stillness that followed, I realized—Draugr were never the true danger.
It was men like these.
The living.
The leader's guttural laugh rolled across the clearing, raw and jagged like a wolf tearing through a carcass.
"Meat," he rasped in the old tongue, his voice scraping against my bones. His followers answered in kind, snarling, clanging their weapons together, a rising tide of frenzy that smelled of blood and madness.
My jaw tightened. My fists itched. My chest burned with that cursed ember—the Mantra writhing under my skin, begging, pleading to be unleashed.
Not yet.
I clenched my fists until nails bit flesh. I could feel the heat crackling beneath my veins, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. If I let it surge… I wouldn't stop. I knew it.
But I also knew one thing: if I didn't fight, I'd be meat on their spit before the night was over.
"Alright…" I muttered under my breath, rolling my shoulders as the horned leader raised his rib-blade, pointing it toward me like a sentence. "Come on, then."
The first raider charged, screaming with froth on his lips, his chipped axe arcing down toward my head.
Muscle memory took over. My arm snapped up, palm catching his wrist before the edge could split my skull. A twist—bones popped. My other fist drove into his throat, the impact sending him stumbling back, gagging on crushed cartilage.
But there was no time to breathe.
Two more came from my left, blades glinting. I ducked, the first swing hissing past my cheek, the second biting into my shoulder. Pain ripped white-hot through me, blood soaking instantly.
"Gh—!" My teeth clenched as I pivoted, slamming an elbow into one's jaw. I felt bone crack. He reeled, but the other shoved his rusted spear straight for my gut.
Instinct screamed.
I caught the shaft mid-thrust, wood splintering in my grip as I twisted. My knee drove up, smashing into his ribs. He wheezed, but his eyes burned with feral hunger, spittle flying as he bit down—on my arm.
"Son of a—!" His teeth sank through flesh, tearing. Red sprayed across the snow.
Wrath surged.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to heat and hate. The pulse in my ears roared, drowning out the screams, the wind, everything. My vision edged red.
No.
I forced a breath, shoved it down, down, locking it in chains. If I gave in now, I wouldn't stop with them. I'd burn everything.
With a guttural snarl, I tore my arm free, flesh ripping under his teeth, and brought my forehead crashing into his face. Bone split. Blood spattered. He dropped like a sack of meat.
But they didn't stop coming.
The horned leader barked, and more spilled from the treeline—half a dozen at least, their eyes gleaming with the fever of the hunt.
Too many. Too fast.
My arms already burned from the cuts. My shoulder screamed every time I moved. I was bleeding, outnumbered, and alone.
And still, my voice rasped through cracked lips—
"More…"
They answered with howls.
The first swung wide. I ducked beneath, driving my fist into his ribs—only for another to slam the butt of his axe into my spine. Pain exploded down my back. I staggered, teeth grinding.
Another blade slashed across my ribs. Hot blood gushed. My breath hitched, ragged. The taste of copper filled my mouth.
They circled me, wolves around a stag. My body screamed with every motion, but something deeper—older—kept me upright. My fists clenched. My feet shifted. Every breath was war.
The leader stepped closer now, towering, rib-blade gleaming in the dim light. He said nothing this time. His eyes locked on me like I was already meat on his fire.
I spat blood onto the snow. Straightened. Raised my fists again.
"Come on, then…"
He moved first.
The rib-blade hissed through the air, fast—faster than I expected. I caught it on instinct, both hands wrapping the jagged edge. Flesh split instantly, blood pouring down my palms as bone carved into me.
Pain flared white-hot. Wrath howled in response. My body trembled under the pressure—half from the wound, half from the fire inside begging to consume him.
The leader grinned through his beard, pressing harder, the blade inching toward my throat. My knees bent, snow cracking beneath me. His strength was monstrous, his face inches from mine, spittle and heat hitting my skin.
And for a moment—I faltered. My vision blurred. My grip slipped.
ARRRRGGGHHH!
A beastly roar erupted from my throat, molten-gold veins beneath my skin flaring brighter, searing against the cold. The snow around my boots hissed and melted into blackened slush. My body surged, strength lancing through muscle and bone like fire through dry wood.
The raider leader's eyes widened for the first time, his grin faltering as I caught the rib-blade mid-press and shoved back with a guttural snarl. The jagged bone screeched against my bloody palms, carving deeper into flesh, but I didn't care. Pain was fuel. Pain was fire.
And I had plenty of both.
"HRRAAAHHH!"
I twisted, ripped the blade sideways, and headbutted him so hard the world cracked with the sound. His antlered helm dented inward with a crunch, blood spraying across my face. He staggered, stunned. I didn't hesitate. My fist crashed into his jaw, bone shattering under the force, his teeth scattering into the snow like loose dice.
The leader stumbled back, but his wolves surged forward at his barked growl.
Axes. Spears. Clubs. Teeth.
They hit me from all sides.
One blade tore into my ribs, dragging a jagged line across skin and muscle. A spear punched into my thigh, wood splintering as I wrenched it free with a scream. A club slammed into my shoulder, snapping bone—I felt it crack, felt the fire of it even as golden heat tried to stitch it back together.
Too many. Too fast.
My body burned, my vision swam, but my fists never stopped.
I ducked under a swing, shoulder-checking a raider so hard his chest caved in with a wet crunch. I caught another by the wrist, twisting until his arm snapped backward like a broken branch. His scream turned to a gurgle when I drove his own axe into his skull.
"MORE!"
I didn't even realize I was screaming the word. My throat tore with it, but the fire inside roared louder. Every strike fed it. Every wound stoked it. My hands were slick with blood—mine and theirs—but they kept moving, fists like hammers, each impact a thunderclap in the snowbound night.
A spear jabbed for my side. I twisted, too slow—steel pierced into my ribs, blood gushing. The raider snarled, twisting it deeper. My roar tore the sky. I grabbed the shaft, snapped it in half, and yanked him forward—straight into my glowing fist. His skull cracked open like rotten fruit.
The others faltered for a heartbeat, watching their kin collapse in twitching spasms at my feet. Their hesitation lasted a breath. Then the hunger returned.
They swarmed.
Steel bit into my back. Teeth sank into my shoulder. Knives carved lines into my arms and chest. My body was a canvas of wounds, each one painting me red, each one screaming for me to let go.
I staggered, knees buckling, my breath coming in ragged snarls. The world tilted, blurred. Their jeers and howls filled my ears, but underneath, the fire whispered, urged—
Burn them.Burn them all.
I clenched my teeth, spit blood onto the snow, and raised my fists again.
"COME ON!"
I moved. Not graceful, not precise—raw instinct and rage. My fists broke ribs, shattered jaws, caved skulls. My knees drove into stomachs until they ruptured. My elbows split brows to bone. My head crashed into faces until I was blind with blood.
But they weren't falling fast enough. For every one that dropped, two more pressed in, their frenzy bottomless.
I was drowning in them.
The leader rejoined, helm cracked, beard soaked in blood, rib-blade raised high. He lunged, faster this time, the jagged edge slashing across my chest. Flesh split. Hot blood gushed. I gasped, staggered back—straight into another raider's arms.
They grabbed me, held me, tried to pin me down.
I thrashed, roared, felt my wrath flare so hot the man's skin blistered just from touching me. He screamed, let go—but more piled on. Three. Four. Five. Their weight bore me down into the snow, weapons hacking into my flesh as I hit the ground.
Knives sank into my side. Clubs pounded my skull. Axes tore chunks from my back.
I was going to die here.
The thought cut through the fire, cold and sharp. My body convulsed, vision flickering, ears ringing. The world tilted sideways, blood filling my mouth.
No.
Not here.Not like this.
The fire inside snapped its chains.
Golden cracks blazed across my skin, molten light erupting in pulses that seared the raiders where they touched me. Flesh sizzled. Screams tore the night as they stumbled back, clutching blistered hands, smoking furs.
I rose.
Slowly. Painfully.
Every muscle screamed, every wound bled, but the fire lifted me. My breath came in ragged snarls, golden steam pouring from my lips. My veins glowed like rivers of lava beneath my skin.
The raiders froze. For the first time—their frenzy broke.
Fear.
They felt it.
I lunged.
My fists shattered weapons, bones, bodies. A swing of my arm sent one raider flying into a tree with a crunch loud enough to echo. My kick broke another's spine backward. My roar deafened the clearing, rattling the trees as if the world itself recoiled.
Blood painted the snow black. Corpses fell in twitching heaps. My hands moved faster than thought, guided by instinct older than memory. Each strike was ruin. Each breath was wrath.
But every heartbeat, the fire grew hotter. Every second, my control slipped further.
I wasn't me anymore.
The last raider standing was the leader. His rib-blade trembled in his grip now, his eyes wide beneath his ruined helm. He snarled, forced a roar, and charged, swinging the jagged bone down with both hands.
I didn't dodge.
I caught it.
The blade split deeper into my palms, blood hissing against glowing skin. But I didn't let go.
I pulled.
His body lurched forward into my fist.
The crack was deafening. His face collapsed inward, his helm crunching like paper, his body crumpling bonelessly to the ground.
Silence.
Only the wind remained.
I stood in the carnage, chest heaving, blood dripping from every wound, steam rising from my skin. My vision swam, red and gold bleeding into the snow around me. My body trembled, my breath ragged.
I'd survived. Barely.
But as I staggered forward, knees buckling, I knew—I couldn't keep doing this. Every fight left me closer to losing myself.
Closer to becoming wrath.
My legs gave out. I collapsed into the snow, gasping, staring up at the dark sky. Stars wheeled above, uncaring. My blood spread beneath me, staining white into black.
Somewhere in the distance—movement.
Not raiders. Not Draugr.
Something heavier. Older.
A thunk.
I turned my head weakly, vision blurring. There, half-buried in the snow, something gleamed.
A weapon.
An axe.
Its edge shimmered with frost, its handle engraved with runes that glowed faintly in the moonlight. Power radiated from it, ancient and cold, like the breath of winter itself.
Leviathan Axe?
Is Kratos... here?
That was the last thought in my mind as darkness claimed me.
***
Advance chapter available on my P account.
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