Valkyrie Rising

by GR Griffin

  "I should have known you'd be trouble." Continued Odin. "I should have known you wouldn't be content to simply lay down and die. But I never expected you to be a danger to others!"

  Brahms didn't understand what Odin was saying, couldn't make sense of any of it as he lay there burning. Pain was prevalent, and there was no escaping, Brahms not understanding why the sun was hurting him. He scrabbled at the floor, trying to pull himself forward. If he could just crawl out of the sun's reach, maybe he wouldn't hurt as much. But he was at war with himself, the instinct to survive fighting against his wish to die.

  Odin stopped before him, actually kicking Brahms in the face. Brahms felt his lip split, tasting blood. The slightest of sounds escaped him, a growl so low Brahms wondered if Odin had heard it.

  "I'm not just going to kill you." Odin said conversationally. 'I want you to understand exactly why you had to die."

  "Because....I'm a monster..." Brahms said tonelessly. " A monster who almost killed Hel!"

  "You're an abomination Brahms! One that cannot be suffered to live!" Odin agreed. "I don't know what I created in introducing the parasite into your blood, but it's clear that whatever you are, it is a mistake."

  "Parasite?" Brahms was confused, and even more so when Odin let out a mean snicker of sound.

  "You never thought to question the hows and whys of your sudden illness? The loss of your strength, the weakening of your systems?"

  "It's the same sickness father had..." Brahms began, only to be cut off by Odin's laugh.

  "Don't you get it? Are you too stupid to realize what I've done?" Odin's face was healing, but the blood still remained, staining his skin. "That very illness that took our father from us? Was introduced by my hand!"

  "What?" Brahms went still, even as his skin screamed in pain.

  "You know as well as I do that very little can kill a God. The most dangerous being the will and determination of another deity." Odin smirked, gathering energy in the palm of his hands. "And there was no one as determined as I to see our father dead. It was practically child's play to come up with father's downfall, to engineer the parasite that would be his ruin." Odin thrust his hands downwards, energy slamming into Brahms' back. "That same parasite is IN you now, brother dear!"

  "What?! When?" Brahms managed to grit out around the pain, Odin pouring destructive ether into him.

  "Does it really matter?" Odin asked. "You're about to die now. And it'll be a much more satisfying death, to have you die directly by my hands, then this waiting game I have played with your body." Odin laughed again. "To think I wasted weeks on you. But I'm impressed...you had more strength, more life to you than father ever had, to have lasted this long. Ah but no matter. You die now. Good-bye brother..."

  "You're no brother of mine!" Brahms snarled, grabbing Odin by the ankles. He jerked back, knocking Odin off balance. "No real brother could ever do what you did! To me, or to father!" He was still weak, but he was crawling forward, ready to use his new claws to tear open Odin. But the silver haired God screamed, throwing energy at Brahms, knocking him through the hole in the wall.

  Brahms landed outside the castle, exposed completely to the sun. In an instant he caught on fire, even the skin beneath his clothing searing with flames. Brahms screamed, his clothing bursting with flames, disintegrating from the heat. Even his hair was on fire, flames signing down to his scalp. And still he tried to attack Odin, getting a back hand to the face for his efforts.

  Brahms slammed into a tree, Odin stalking towards him determinedly. His face was an ugly scowl, eyes blazing with anger. It matched the ether in his hands, Odin flinging it at Brahms who barely dodged it. The tree exploded, destroyed by the attack, showering pieces down on both men. Silmeria could feel the immense pain Brahms was experiencing, the way his skin burnt to blackened husks. She felt like screaming, and yet Brahms held back his voice, concentrating on attacking Odin. His only wish in the moment was to take the God down, to kill him for all the wrongs he had committed. Only then would Brahms allow himself to lay down and die.

  The fight was quick and brutal, Brahms constantly on the defensive. Even with his new speed, the man found it difficult to get in close to Odin. Not with the God constantly flinging his energy around. Explosions occurred all around them, the other Gods and einherjar appearing. They didn't know what to make of the creature that battled with their King, Brahms unrecognizable in the moment due to the damage from the fires.

  Eventually they would end up near Bifrost, Brahms trying to dive into the water Iving for some relief from the fires that ate at him. But Odin would not allow it, his ether attacks barreling into Brahms back. Brahms would be knocked around, dropping to his knees on top of the rainbow bridge. Odin stalked towards him, exuding confidence. He knew as well as Brahms did, that Odin would not be the loser this day.

  "And now it ends." Odin promised, smirking as he grew his most powerful ball of ether yet. Brahms knew there would be no coming back from this new attack, no more chances should it hit him. But he wasn't at peace with that realization, Brahms wanting Odin to die.

  Staggering upright, Brahms managed a twisted smile at his brother. "Not yet it doesn't!"

  Odin's smirk turned into a scowl. "Die fool!" The attack was released, but Brahms was already tipping backwards, falling off the bridge. He'd miss the waters, hit instead the sky that stood between Asagrd and Midgard. Brahms would feel the coolness of clouds brushing his damaged skin, almost laughing at their wispy caress. He'd fall, plummet downwards, past Midgard, and into a third realm.

  Naked, and still on fire, he'd land in the underworld. The land of demons, Nifleheim. It was dark here, the sun could not reach the underworld, no matter the time of day. Brahms hit the ground hard, a loud explosion of sound heralding his arrival. It sent many of the demons scattering. Brahms did not have the luxury of laying there stunned. Not when he knew Odin would soon come after him.

  Silmeria watched as the still flaming vampire crawled on hands and knees. His pain was great, his palms split and bleeding, his feet torn open. He was losing the precious blood he had stolen from Hel, might even die before he could find a safe place to recover in. Brahms would crawl like this for what felt like hours, always pushing himself to move, knowing if he stopped Odin or the demons would prey upon him.

  His eyes were struggling to keep open, Brahms' vision blurring. He'd almost not realize where he was, not until he felt the blessed relief of water beneath his damaged hands. Gasping in relief, he threw himself face first into the cooling waters, allow them to put out the sun's flames. But the waters couldn't heal the damage done to him, not to his body, and not to his soul.

  Brahms might have let himself drown, if not for his purpose. He refused to let himself die before he saw Odin dead, before he avenged his father, himself, even Hel. It took more effort than he would have liked, but Brahms broke the surface of the waters. It was only then that he realized it must be the waters Hvergelmir, the very spring that had spouted up at the roots of the great tree, Yggsdrasil.

  He began to swim the length of the spring, traveling a few miles before he came upon Yggsdrasil's base. It's roots were twisting about, ends sinking into the soil of the land. They formed many dark crevasses, some large enough for a person to fit inside. Even one as massive in size as Brahms.

  He heard screams, the demons were dying. Many more than a natural predator could account for. Brahms felt certain the sounds heralded Odin's arrival, and knew he did not have time nor the ability to last against the God. He did the only thing he could do, Brahms choosing to hide under the roots of Yggsdrasil. He wasn't pleased with this action, but knew there was no honor in going to face Odin now. In his current condition, Brahms would merely die, too weakened by his injuries and the sun to be an effective match against Odin.

  Silmeria knew as much as Brahms had, that the man needed blood. Needed it to revitalize himself. But he had no way of knowing when and if he could force himself to feed on someone again. Not with the memories of Hel's panic
and pain so strong in his mind. And yet even as he was repulsed, a part of him stirred, anticipating his next feeding. It only heightened his disgust, Brahms crawling deeper into the darkness.

  The memory would begin to fall apart. Darkness was everywhere, Brahms sleeping under the roots of Yggsdrasil. How many days and nights passed like this? Silmeria did not know. Brahms was simply too injured, too in pain to even want to rouse himself. It hurt to move, his skin charred. But beneath that black ruin, cracks appeared. His skin was trying to heal itself, trying to peal back the ruined husk and give birth to new flesh.

  It hurt. Silmeria's mind reeled at the agony Brahms was going through. Some days he wanted to die, to forget his vengeance, and let his existence end. Other days he was angry, knowing what was happening to him was all Odin's fault. The anger made him want to live, but mostly he just wanted the pain to stop.

  The pain wasn't just of the body. His mind was tortured, Brahms remembering what he had done to Hel. Even worse, he remembered how good it had felt to feed off her. How exquisite the taste of her blood had been to him. He cursed himself, hating himself for what he did, and the fact that he wanted to drink from her again. Not even the scare he had had, the thought that he had killed Hel, was enough to let him forget the experience of her blood.

  His body continued to try to heal itself, but it had reached it's limits. He needed to feed, to gain more blood to replenish his strength. The idea was both distasteful and intriguing, Brahms feeling his fangs elongate in his mouth. At times he was drooling, just from the mere idea of feeding. On anyone and anything. And all the while he stayed buried under Yggsdrasil roots, unwilling to leave the safety of the crevasse.

  Eternity seemed to stretch onwards. Neither Brahms nor Silmeria could tell how long he stayed there. Pain, hunger, and guilt were the only constants in his life. It was a terrible way to exist, and Silmeria thought she herself would go insane from just the memories of Brahms' torture. How had he lived through it all? How had he managed to remain sane? A lesser man, God or not, would have given up and died, let Yggsdrasil be his grave. And yet Brahms held on, even if all he could do was lay there in the dark.

  Then one day, sound intruded in on his awareness. It was different from the howls of the demons. It was near to him, close enough he thought he could reach out and catch that which made the sound. It was more than just sound once Brahms became aware that something was approaching him. He could smell things, smell the dirt on it's skin, sense the depravity of it's intentions.

  It was a demon, but one of the little ones. A small scavenger creature that had no chance of taking down one of the larger demons. It was forced to prey on others of it's kind, though more often than not it attacked the wounded, the dying. And it had found Brahms' hiding spot. It's eyes gleamed a sickly yellow, malevolent awareness shining in the darkness. It knew Brahms was there, and it sensed his pain.

  Except for the sound of it's claws scrabbling over the hardened roots of Yggsdrasil, the demon made no sound. Not even a betraying growl, for that would alert others to the prey it had found. But the demon was excited, staring at Brahms as it began to crawl into the crevasse. Brahms was a feast, one that would sate it's hunger for days. The little demon grinned, maliciously excited as it inched towards Brahms.

  The vampire just lay there, as though he would accept the end fate had brought him. The demon was cautious, moving so slow it was torture just waiting for it's approach. But after minutes of enduring this waiting game, it was within reach of Brahms. Silmeria had thought Brahms would give in to death at last, but the desire to live, to survive was stronger than any suicidal impulse he may have had.

  Body screaming in pain, muscles protesting the movement, Brahms lashed out with his arm. The demon shrieked in surprise, the vampire's hand around it's throat. It fought him though, scratching claws over skin that had not healed. Brahms let out a low roar, but it was fury not pain that he expressed. Silmeria sensed him sneering, thinking death by this pitiful demon would be a pathetic end indeed. And something he could not allow.

  With a jerk of an arm whose nerves were on fire, Brahms brought the demon close enough to bite. His hand was crushing the demon's throat, but it had screamed enough to rouse all of Nifleheim. Other demons would come, other scavengers. Brahms would feed on them all, his healing continuing until the burnt skin flaked off completely.

  It wasn't enough. The blood of the demons he fed off of, was nowhere near as strong or as pure as Hel's had been. He needed a better food source, needed the life and vitality of a God. He wanted Odin's blood, but knew in this condition he would not have it. Would not have any God's blood, Brahms too weak to feed off anything but scavenger demons.

  He continued to stay under the tree's roots. Occasionally another foolish demon would appear, heedless of the warnings that had spread through out Nifleheim about the monster under the tree. Mainly it was hunger driving the scavengers to him, the little demons desperate for a meal. Desperate to the point they would risk their own lives on the hope they could kill the monster before he killed them.

  Was he gaining any power from these feedings? Neither Brahms nor Silmeria thought so. The little demons were no great sustenance, their blood doing nothing more than prolonging Brahms' life. He spent much of that time in a dream like state, often thinking about Hel, dreaming of her blood. Some days he'd remember those final minutes with Odin, the seconds where the God had revealed what he had done to Brahms.

  He wasn't any closer to understanding just what had been done to him. But he remembered that Odin had said a parasite had been introduced into Brahms body. One that would suck out his strength and vitality, have him waste away till he was nothing. The parasite was always hungry, always demanding more from it's host body. And yet blood could stave off it's destructive qualities. Do more than that, the blood actually restoring health to the afflicted. Brahms didn't know why though, had no concept then of a symbiotic relationship between the parasite and it's host.

  The meaningless days continued, the demons broaching his hole lessening with every kill Brahms did. The time between meals was growing, Brahms starting to starve once more. Whenever the hunger grew to that point, that was when Brahms thought of Hel the most. Remembering how it had felt to tear into her throat, her warm blood gushing into his eager mouth. Even as shame assaulted him, he yearned to repeat the experience. Sometimes, remembering the Goddess' struggles AROUSED him. And that left Brahms disgusted.

  And yet he couldn't stop lusting for her blood. For everything that rich, revitalizing liquid could give him. To the point he thought he smelled her sweet perfume, heard the rustle of her clothing, heard her voice calling out to him. And then with a jolt, he realized it was no delusion. Hel WAS here, somehow, miraculously in the underworld. He knew he shouldn't go to her, but he found himself crawling, dragging himself forward on his hands and knees.

  Dirt covered him, but could not hide his nakedness. Brahms did not care, did not even take note that his new skin had changed. It was a much darker shade than it had ever been, as though the sun had left a permanent reminder of it's caress upon him. It would be a long time coming before Brahms took notice of all the changes that had been wrought in him, his hair not yet grown back after being burnt off.

  He hardly looked like himself at all, Silmeria catching sight of his reflection in the waters of the spring Hvergelmir. He was naked and bald, and still recovering from his brush with the sun. And yet she could still shades of the man he would become, Brahms still looking impressive even with all the dirt covering him. He looked feral, hungry, like some wild creature from when Creation had first came into existence.

  The underworld is a dimly lit land, a place where the sun cannot reach. It was still brighter than the hole he had spent an eternity in, Brahms blinking his eyes rapidly in an attempt to adjust to the difference in light. And then Hel's voice came, the Goddess calling his name. It sounded as though she was looking for him, the Goddess' voice a breathless appeal for the vampire to show himself.


  Silmeria instantly suspected a trap. She wanted to warn Brahms, to order him not to go to Hel. But this wasn't a dream she could control, Silmeria helpless to do anything but watch as Brahms made a potentially foolish choice. She felt the eagerness in him, the great lust, and the even greater hunger. He had no caution in him, was beyond being wary. He just wanted, and wanted now. Not even the small voice protesting in the back of his mind, could stop him from seeking Hel out.

  She's feel the shock of the cool water, Brahms having waded into the spring. He didn't even try to disguise his movements, splashing about loudly as he began to swim to the other side. Hel called for him again, and Silmeria was on edge, regardless of the fact she knew Brahms would somehow survive the encounter. But Silmeria suspected it was a trap of Odin's, the God using Hel as the means to lure Brahms to his death.

  Brahms reached the other side of the spring, wading out of the water. The water cascaded down his body, taking much of the dirt with it. Silmeria felt heat rise up in her, the girl embarrassed to see Brahms' body so clearly. She was relieved that he wasn't often looking at his reflection, though she saw more than enough of it to reaffirm her opinion that he had a magnificent body.

  As embarrassed as she was, as distracting a sight as Brahms' reflection was, Silmeria never lost her uneasy feeling. She kept her own senses attuned, trying to extend her awareness past Brahms. He was too consumed with getting to Hel to even notice if others were watching. There were demons present, lurking in the shadows, trying to assess Brahms' threat. He didn't fear them, and neither did Silmeria, the girl more wary of Odin's potential sneak attack.

  Brahms stalked through the underworld, using his senses to track Hel. He was determined that nothing and no one would stop him, and when one of the demons approached him, Brahms did not hesitate. The demon's head was torn off, it's body as massive as Brahms, crumpling. Brahms did not even deign to drink it's blood, not when a far tastier treat awaited him.