by Nick Harrow
Images unfolded in the smoke that drifted between Gunnar and the jötunn. Battlefields strewn with bodies, blood running in rivers through streets. Monsters crashing through buildings, ripping the world down past its foundations with fangs and talons. And Gunnar above it all, a double-headed axe clenched in his right fist, his left hand clutching the reins of a winged serpent soaring through smoky skies.
The visions stirred a dark lust in Gunnar’s belly. He’d been pushed around and abused by law and order. The world had never done Gunnar any favors, and he sure didn’t owe it any.
Joining Hyrrokkin would throw all of that aside. Gunnar could do whatever he wanted, to whoever he wanted, when he wanted. Embracing chaos would burn down the old ways and bring back a purer, more primal way of life. In a world of life-and-death struggles, there was no room for lies or deceit.
“That’s right,” Hyrrokkin promised. She stroked breasts the size of her head and pinched her nipples. Her hands glided down her blue body, dislodging sparks and puffs of smoke when they crossed one of the burning seams in her flesh. “I’m wet just thinking about the chaos a man of your talents could unleash on this worthless world.”
“I’ll pass,” Gunnar said. “The path you want me to walk doesn’t end anywhere I want to go. Try to force it on me, and I’ll kill you the same way I killed your little lap dog Corso.”
The jötunn’s screeching laughter ripped through the air again. She slapped her hands against her thighs, doubled over at the waist, and shook her horned head. When she straightened again, her smile vanished, and smoke leaked from the corners of her lips and the prongs of her antlers. “You do not understand what refusing me will cost you. Your kind think they’re so important. You believe you can save your world. You’re a fool to listen to Odin. That rock in your head will change you. It could strengthen you, true. Or you may be too weak to survive the transformation. Wouldn’t it be a waste to die trying to become a hero when there’s a better alternative right in front of you?”
A sudden spike of pain shot through Gunnar’s body like a bolt of lightning tearing from the top of his head down to the soles of his feet. It rocked him to his core and made him wonder if Hyrrokkin was right.
Odin had warned him that the hero’s path was deadly and there was no guarantee he’d reach its end. That was what Gunnar’s father had always warned him about. The world wasn’t fair, and fighting to do the right thing was as likely to end in tears as victory.
“That’s right,” Hyrrokkin confirmed. She took one more step closer to Gunnar, then stopped as if she bumped into an invisible wall. “You can keep your women if you join me. I’ll mark them so none of our people will dare to touch them. And I’ll give you more. An army of concubines with sweet mouths to suck your cock, an endless parade of fresh, hungry pussy to slake your lust. I’m not jealous. I love to share.”
Gunnar teetered on the edge of the decision. If he only had himself to worry about, there’d be no second thought. He’d fight to do the right thing, no matter the cost.
But he wasn’t alone. And if the jötunn could offer safety for Ray, Bridget, and Mimi, then her offer was better than the alternative. That was the choice his old man would want him to make: protect yourself, protect your people, forget the world.
The jötunn’s seductive words had stirred up emotions Gunnar had struggled with most of his life. The old man had always warned his son he cared too much, that he put himself at risk to help other people when there was no gain in it for him.
He still struggled to reconcile the lessons his father had instilled in him with the way he felt. Logically, his dad had always been right. Gunnar had stuck his neck out for people who didn’t deserve it. He had suffered for the help he offered.
But that was okay. Not everyone who needed help knew how to accept it. And sometimes the rewards for helping others, for upholding the good in the world when it would be easier to just let the bad win the little battles, outweighed all the pain and suffering. Sometimes, maybe most of the time, the reward for doing the right thing was knowing you’d done it.
And that was enough.
“We’re done here,” Gunnar said, disgusted at the jötunn and himself for even considering the offer. “If that’s what you think I want, we have nothing else to discuss.”
Hyrrokkin sneered as if she’d read his thoughts and thought he was a fool. She opened her mouth to spout more nonsense, but a rapid-fire trio of lightning cracks drowned out her words. The earth smoked where the lightning touched down, wholesome red flames pushing back against the unnaturally green fire that flanked the jötunn.
“You heard him,” Ray said as she stepped through the fire. Her dark hair was bound in complex braids, and sparks danced in her icy blue eyes. “It’s time for you to go.”
“There is no place for you here,” Mimi called out, her voice trembling with emotion.
Bridget was the last to emerge. Her snow-white hair trailed flakes of frost in the air behind her, and her white eyes flashed angrily. “And there never will be.”
The three women joined Gunnar and glared at Hyrrokkin through the smoke and fire. Mimi and Ray were to his left, Bridget to his right. Their presence seemed to accelerate the transformation spreading from the Valknut. The bodyguard felt stronger with them beside him, but he also felt as if his control was slipping, his emotions raging.
“Last chance,” Hyrrokkin said. “Take my hand, Gunnar. Be my champion as you were destined to be before Odin interfered. We can be friends. Or you can die. Because my armies are already gathering. My chieftains even now search for the relics. We will find them, and we will destroy you. Make your choice. Now.”
“What you offer me is worse than nothing.” Gunnar spat the words at the jötunn’s feet. “An endless torrent of chaos without reason is pointless. No matter how powerful you think you are, no matter how great your army may be, I—no, we—will stop you. Now fuck off, Hyrrokkin. I have work to do.”
The giantess screamed defiantly, and the dark, smoky world shattered around Gunnar.
THE BODYGUARD WOKE in the guesthouse’s bed, which was a lot more crowded than he expected. Ray was curled up on his right side, her head resting on his chest. Bridget’s arm lay across Gunnar’s throat, her head on his shoulder. A big hole in Gunnar’s memory had eaten the story of how the three of them ended up in bed together. He’d have to puzzle out how much good stuff he’d missed later. What he needed now was food. A lot of it.
The women sprawled in the bed with him grumbled in their sleep as Gunnar left them. They didn’t wake up, though Bridget muttered something before rolling over. The three of them shifted, seeking the warm spot he’d left behind. That didn’t leave much room for him in that bed.
That was all right. Now that he was up, Gunnar doubted he’d be falling back to sleep soon.
There was a new energy in his step. He didn’t feel good—he felt amazing. His fingers gently probed his nose and eye socket for any signs of damage. Not even a twinge of pain remained. His injuries had miraculously healed.
Of course, he still had a rock in his head. Weirdly, it worked almost as well as his old eye had, though the world he saw through it had a strange sepia hue. When he closed his flesh-and-blood eye, the Valknut showed him a world that looked older, more primitive. The stone walls of the bunker shimmered with an overlay of thick logs. The floor was raw earth, the lights torches. Though those changes looked like they came from the past, Gunnar had a strange feeling the vision showed him a glimpse of the future.
The Valknut also gave him excellent low-light vision. Mimi had dimmed all but a handful of weak ambient lights, but Gunnar still saw as well as in bright daylight. Swirls of ethereal fog, like pale reflections of the hamingja the bodyguard had taken from the jötnar, wafted around the edges of the subterranean hideout. He wondered how many other special powers the Swiss Army eye held.
“Thanks, Odin,” Gunnar said with a chuckle. He’d have to figure out what all this meant. After he had a sandwich. Or three. He
left the guesthouse behind and headed for the main house in search of food to fill the yawning cavern of his stomach.
With no windows, it was impossible to tell what time it really was, but the dim lighting suggested it was early in the morning or very late at night. He was surprised to see lights on in the main house but also relieved he wouldn’t have to worry about waking up Mimi while he made himself a sandwich. If there wasn’t any bacon left, he’d satisfy himself with some scrambled eggs with cheese and whatever other meat he could cram between two slices of toasted bread. His stomach rumbled at the thought of the breakfast sandwich that awaited him as he opened the sliding glass doors to the kitchen.
He stepped over the threshold and immediately cursed and clamped both hands to the stabbing pain at the very top of his forehead. He’d walked right into the top edge of the door. His fingers came away clean, so at least he hadn’t split his head open again.
But he’d walked right through those doors the day before with inches to spare. Now, though, the top of his head was at least an inch higher than the door’s frame. He’d grown nearly half a foot.
“Fuck, I really don’t want to get new clothes,” he groaned. Even in the apocalypse when clothes were free for the taking, Gunnar doubted he’d be able to find anything in his size. Shit just kept getting weirder. “I’ll worry about that after I eat.”
“You awake?” he called out as he ducked his head and entered the kitchen.
No answer.
The lights Gunnar had seen came from the dining room, and he left the kitchen to investigate. It wouldn’t be the first time Mimi had ended the night passed out in a chair with an empty bottle of tequila next to her. But there was no sign of his friend in the dining room, either. Maybe she’d slept upstairs again and had forgotten to turn off the light. The bodyguard held his breath and stood motionless, listening for any sounds of life elsewhere in the house.
He caught faint snatches of what could have been talking coming from the direction of the bedrooms. Gunnar slipped back into the kitchen, grabbed one of the big chef knives from the wooden block on the counter, then padded down the hallway on the balls of his bare feet. He belatedly realized he should’ve put on some clothes before searching for intruders, then shrugged the worry off. He’d have bigger concerns than dangling balls if there really was someone in there.
The voice came again, clearer now that Gunnar was closer to the source. The speaker sounded like Mimi, but there was a strange tension in her voice that broke and twisted the words into alien forms.
The bodyguard followed the sounds. They didn’t come from the bedrooms but the bathroom at the end of the hall. The door was slightly ajar, the interior dark. If Mimi was in there, she hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on.
Gunnar stopped just outside the bathroom door and strained his ears to make sense of the sounds coming from within. Mimi kept repeating the same two syllables over and over again, the sounds almost overlapping in the rush to leave her mouth.
“Comingcomingcoming,” she rasped. “Comingcomingcoming...”
There was a desperate, urgent tone to the word that brought to mind images of Mimi’s naked body sprawled beneath him, one leg hooked around his, her fingers raking down his back.
No, that wasn’t right. Mimi didn’t sound like she was having fun in there at all.
“Mimi,” Gunnar called. “I’m coming in.”
No response.
Gunnar held the knife cocked back by his right hip, ready to lunge forward if a threat presented itself. He pushed the door open with his left foot, his eyes straining against the darkness to make out anything within. The bodyguard couldn’t see a damned thing, but the rich, coppery scent of fresh blood sent a jolt of adrenaline shooting through his system. He shoved his left hand into the room, found the switch beside the door, and flipped the light on.
Mimi stood in front of the mirror, her right hand clutching the edge of the sink, her left hand smearing blood across its glass. “Comingcomingcoming,” she groaned. “Comingcomingcoming.”
The bodyguard scanned the small room and found no one else. He held the knife behind his back to get it out of the way. The last thing he wanted to worry about was accidentally stabbing Mimi.
“Wake up,” he called out, but she didn’t stir. She adjusted her weight, scrawling another series of bloody lines and squiggles across the glass.
Gunnar couldn’t help but watch, his eyes wide when he saw the message she’d written, over and over, in blood from the torn tip of her index finger.
We’re coming.
Mimi’s eyes jolted open. She stared at Gunnar’s reflection with slitted pupils, and a wicked smile spread across her features. “I’ll see you soon, loverboy,” she said in Hyrrokkin’s voice.
Chapter 12
THE LIGHTS DIED, PLUNGING the bunker into utter darkness. Gunnar took a step back and raised his fists, ready to defend himself if Hyrrokkin had hijacked his friend’s body for a surprise attack. As much of a pain in the ass as that would be, it wasn’t even the biggest worry he had.
If the power was off, that meant Hyrrokkin’s jötnar were nearby, maybe already in the house. With no power, the security monitors were blind. The elevator wouldn’t work, either. The jötnar had trapped Gunnar and his people like rats in a cave.
A row of red LEDs hidden in the baseboards sprang to life with an electrical snap. A short digital whoop followed the red lights, and a robotic female voice announced, “Emergency backup batteries online. Generator fuel levels are at maximum.”
“Gunnar?” Mimi asked in her own voice. She pressed the fingertips of her left hand against her forehead. “What are you doing in the bathroom with me? What happened to the power? And where are your clothes?”
“In reverse order: wherever Ray put them after my shower, I don’t know, I needed a sandwich.” Gunnar grabbed Mimi by the hand and pulled her down the hall. “Tell me you’ve got weapons stashed around this place. Company’s on its way.”
“Shit,” Mimi snarled and charged past Gunnar, her loose Judas Priest T-shirt swirling above her black panties.
The bodyguard followed her to the kitchen where she ripped open the door to the pantry, reached inside, and banged her fist against the wall. A panel in the ceiling opened, and a cargo net unrolled from the space Mimi had just revealed. It stopped a few inches short of the floor, revealing a pair of shotguns and two bandoliers of shells. “My bosses were big fans of the right to bear arms.”
Ray burst into the kitchen through the sliding glass door with Bridget hot on her heels. “What the hell is happening?” Ray asked.
“Trouble,” Mimi answered. “Get back to the guesthouse. The bathroom door is reinforced. Stay there until we clean the shit off the fan.”
“No,” Bridget said. “You need us.”
Gunnar turned to order them to safety, but his breath caught in his throat. The dots of light on their foreheads shone like miniature suns. Mimi’s golden glow ignited, seemingly in response to the pink and violet emitted by Bridget. “What the hell—”
A loud crash from the elevator cut Gunnar’s question short. There was no more time for talking. The wolves were at the door.
He pinched the carabiner that clamped the shotgun to the netting and gave the weapon a quick once over. It was a Mossberg 590A1 with a pistol grip and ambidextrous stock. The three-dot tritium sights were functional, even in these shitty lighting conditions, but he doubted he’d need them at this range. An ammo carrier on the weapon’s buttstock held six shells, while a second attached to the Picatinny rail carried another half dozen. He was familiar with this make and knew it held eight rounds in the tube, plus one in the chamber. There were four groups of eight shells on the bandolier, and he hoped it would be enough as he slung it over his shoulder.
“Get them guns they can handle,” he growled to Mimi and took off through the sliding glass door. “Meet me at the elevator.”
The squeal of tearing metal raised Gunnar’s hackles. These assholes had broken
into his lodge and come after his people. He’d paint the walls with their blood before this was over.
Gunnar stopped at the edge of the house, glanced around the corner, and gritted his teeth at what he saw. A skeletal jötunn squeezed through the shredded doors of the elevator. The thing slithered forward on a serpent’s tail, vestigial legs dangling from where the hips should have been. A pair of ruler-straight horns emerged from the tattered skin of the creature’s forehead, their tips glinting in the red light.
The creature roared and slithered forward, its long tail smashing into the walls on either side of the narrow hall leading away from the elevator. The thing’s only weapons were the long, bony spines that extended from its hands. Given its reach and the strength of the last jötunn Gunnar had encountered, that was more than enough to turn the lodge into a slaughterhouse.
The sight of the creature spurred Gunnar to action. He didn’t care how many allies were coming down the elevator shaft behind it. He didn’t care that it was so tall it had to hunch forward to keep from scraping its head against the ceiling. All that mattered was that a spawn of chaos was in his house. He stormed ahead, raised the weapon to his shoulder, and bellowed a challenge.
“Óðinn á yðr alla!” Gunnar’s roar rebounded from the walls with unearthly force, drowning out another electric whoop from the alarm. He closed to within twenty feet of the monstrosity and squeezed the Mossberg’s trigger. The muzzle flash replaced the red tinge from the emergency LEDs with an orange-white flare. The jötunn screamed as double-aught buck slammed into its chest with devastating effect.
Blood spurted from an ugly crater in the right side of the creature’s torso. For one beautiful moment, the bodyguard thought he’d finished the damned thing with a heart shot. Then the beast screamed and flung itself at Gunnar, arms outstretched to strip the flesh from his bones.
In the split second before the creature could pounce on him, the bodyguard cycled his weapon and fired again. The shotgun’s heavy load punched through the jötunn’s guts and blasted its left kidney out its back. Blood gushed from the terrible wound, but it wasn’t enough to stop the maniacal beast’s assault. The creature’s body slammed into Gunnar and rocked him back on his heels, pinning the shotgun against his chest.
