Valkyrie Rising

by GR Griffin

  That sword of hers did an upwards slash, tearing open both his skin and the shirt Hel had made for him. His blood splattered onto the Valkyrie's armor, and for one-second Brahms was stunned. The Valkyrie allowed a mocking smile to cross her lips, her sword arm already moving to thrust her weapon into him. Brahms just barely got out of the way, the Goddess pursuing him as the remaining humans cheered.

  He had no weapons, save for his fangs and his claws. The Valkyrie wore metal molded to her body, protecting much of her vital spots from him. He made the effort all the same, claws scratching harmlessly across her breast plate. Sometimes he'd grab at her hair, dragging her off balance long enough for him to punch the Valkyrie in the face.

  She was never more than briefly stunned, always determined as she came after him. Sometimes her sword would slash across a part of his body, more of his precious blood spilling out of him. It only made him hungry, Brahms seething as he determined he would have her blood to replace that which he had lost.

  Silmeria noted that in his memories, Brahms was not yet the powerful figure she had come to know. He was still weak, lacking many of his abilities and fighting prowess. He couldn't even teleport, forced to rely on his preternatural speed to evade the Valkyrie's attacks. But not all of them, his back getting sliced open. The Valkyrie was more than a match for him, might even be his end.

  It wasn't much of a fight. Brahms was forced to flee, the Valkyrie giving chase. They'd spend hours this way, Brahms being driven further and further through the woods. He was conscious of the time, of how the moon was close to setting. Desperation drove him to move, Brahms knowing he could not afford to be trapped outside when the sun rose. Nor could he go to one of his hideaways, not with the Valkyrie on his tail.

  There was only one option left to him, Brahms fleeing for the safety of the underworld. The Valkyrie would pursue him there, the battle maiden fearless of Nifleheim and it's demons. But there was one less thing to worry about, Brahms knowing the sun's light would never penetrate down into the underworld.

  How long had it been since he had last set foot in Nifleheim? Months? Years? Brahms did not know, nor did he care at the moment. He was too focused on surviving, on avoiding the Valkyries blade. Their fight, and the blood he was spilling would draw the attention of the nearby demons. Those demonic creatures would stay at a safe distance, waiting to finish off the loser.

  The fight would wage onwards, the two opponents supernatural beings that did not tire in the manner of mortals. Brahms did not think he was winning, but occasional he'd land a blow on the Valkyrie. Sometimes denting her armor, weakening it. He didn't know it then, but he was hurting the Valkyrie, little by little. Same as she was hurting him, her sword scratching open his skin.

  It was a shock when the armor over her back shattered open. It had finally given in to his constant pounding. The Valkyrie did not pause to assess the damage, intent on Brahms' neck. He maneuvered them so that he could slash open her back, drawing her blood for the first time. The Valkyrie screamed, staggered by the pain. Brahms was on her in an instant, taking her neck as he held her from behind.

  It was a rush, an exhilaration to taste divine blood once more. Brahms groaned and greedily drank, even as the Valkyrie screamed and flailed, trying to drive her sword behind her. It stabbed into his side, Brahms howling in pain. His distraction allowed the Valkyrie to tear free of his arms, her neck brutally savaged in the process. Only her divinity allowed her to still live, the Valkyrie staring at him, her sword arm trembling. She had known how close to death she had come, and it made her wary of Brahms.

  Even worse, she was still bleeding. Both from her neck and her back. Brahms would growl, intent on her. The Valkyrie would slash her sword at his face, Brahms throwing up his arms for protection. By the time the sword finished slashing open his skin, the Valkyrie was gone. Brahms growled, turning this way and that way, waiting for an attack that would not come. To Silmeria's shock, the Valkyrie had withdrawn from the fight.

  Brahms would not see this particular Valkyrie again. Nor would he return to Midgard any time soon. He didn't dare to, not with a divine threat of the Valkyrie safe guarding the realm. The blood he had tasted, was just barely enough to heal him from the wounds Brahms had received at her sword. He knew he would need more powerful blood before he could stand a chance against the battle maiden.

  But there was nothing in Nifleheim but the demons. And their blood was a poor substitute for humans and Gods. Brahms thought he would forever be forced to wallow in the underworld, the man wandering the realm aimlessly. He was a predator to be feared, feeding off any demons, big or small, that drew too near. He no longer had to hide under Yggsdrasil, no longer content to wallow and wait for scavengers to draw near.

  Nifleheim is a vast realm. It would take decades for one to travel from one end to the other. Brahms felt he had nothing but time to explore, the vampire traveling the land, hoping vainly, to find something to prey on besides the demons. Something infinitely more nourishing. He had nothing but time on his hands, and that left him to think about things. He still longed for vengeance against Odin, wanting to avenge all the wrongs the God had committed. But he didn't know how, didn't stand a chance weakened as he was. Brahms needed to secure a consistent, and sustaining food source. Only then could he grow his strength, and maybe make a push to topple Odin from his throne.

  It was a terrible way to live. It was a BORING way to exist. And yet there was nothing left to him, Brahms constantly on the move. His own feeding was dwindling down the numbers of demons in the area, the creatures fleeing to other parts of Nifleheim. Brahms followed after them, determined not to give up his only sustenance. Silmeria sensed he kept hoping if he drank enough demon blood, he would eventually get strong enough to make another attempt on the Valkyrie who guarded Midgard.

  Sometimes the thought of the Valkyrie's blood was the only thing that kept him motivated. Brahms wanted to finish her, to drink down every drop of her nourishing blood. To take her power into him. He wouldn't stop once he was sated, he'd gorge himself on her blood. Other times he thought he would make the Valkyrie his prisoner, keep her on the cusp of death, drinking from her nightly.

  It was obscene how much those thoughts aroused him. But Brahms was through being ashamed, at least where an emissary of Odin's was concerned. Sometimes he dreamt of draining the Valkyrie dry, and leaving her corpse at Odin's feet. Of killing the God before Odin could recover from his shock. Dark fantasies driven by his need for vengeance filled him, sometimes providing the only brief glimpses of joy Brahms could take out of his situation.

  This was how his days passed, the same thought patterns and events repeating themselves. Silmeria began to get bored, wondering when a change would come. Brahms would feed on demons, and think his plots, reveling in his fantasies. No end seemed in sight, not until they heard a woman shrieking in pain. The first shriek, both Brahms and Silmeria thought he had imagined it. After all, Brahms had been thinking about the Valkyrie, and what he would do to the goddess.

  But the shriek sounded again, the voice near constant. She was passed the point of begging, of speaking words. She could only voice the pain through her screams. Laugher, masculine and otherworldly sounded in response to the screams. Along with a determined grunting, a twisted, pleasured sound. Silmeria felt her stomach drop, she did not want to see what was being done to the woman. Not when Silmeria was already sure she could guess.

  But Brahms was moving, drawn by the sounds. Even as he moved, he thought he recognized the woman's voice. Silmeria's dread continued to build, she wanted to turn away, to shut her eyes from whatever they were about to be shown. But Brahms wasn't looking away, his eyes wide open as he stalked through the underbrush. The screams would grow louder, the shrieking voice more familiar than ever.

  Brahms did not say anything, just moved quicker. He burst into a crowded clearing, several of the largest demons he had ever seen standing around something. The woman's voice came from the center of that group, along with the gr
unting sound of a male pleasuring himself. Almost in a trance, Brahms moved towards the group. Silmeria didn't know what the demons thought. Did they assume Brahms was like them, here to take pleasure from the victim they had in their possession? Whatever the case, the demons parted, enough for Brahms to catch sight of the

  naked woman.

  She was bound to a boulder, chains crossed all over body. Her legs had been spread, chains wound around her ankles to keep her exposed in that position. He saw the perfect profile of her face, saw the long hair that cascaded over the rock. She was screaming, writhing in pain as the large demon rutted over her. Such was his size, he was all but splitting her apart, hurting her as he took his pleasure.

  It wasn't just enough for the demon to rape the goddess. He was running his claws over one side of her body, drawing her blood. The blood's scent made any sense he had had, leave Brahms, the vampire losing rationality as he screamed. He attacked the demon on top of the Goddess, ripped him brutally out of her. The other demons reacted with surprise and anger, moving to attack Brahms. One was fool enough to try and take his place between the Goddess' legs, Brahms lurching towards him, tearing his head off in a brutal show of strength.

  It was not the hunger driving him, nor was his mindless. This was more akin to a beserker's rage, Brahms so incensed by who had been made the victim of the demons. His memories became hazy, all Silmeria could see was blood everywhere, his claws drenched in them as Brahms killed each and every one of the Goddess' tormentors.

  Brahms was left panting, breathing heavily from exertion. All the demons were dead, their heads torn off, or their bodies ripped open. His was soaked in blood, his clothing ruined by it. But he didn't care, wishing he could kill the demons again. He was still so murderous, so full of rage and indignation over what he had seen. And then the whimper of sound reach through to him, the Goddess trying to muffle her shrieks by biting down on her lip.

  Ever so slowly, Brahms turned towards her. The chains still held her prisoner, he could see the runes inscripted on the metal. The runes were words of power, stripping the Goddess of her abilities. She had been rendered into nothing more than a plaything for the demons, an outlet for their lusts and cruelty. Brahms saw now just how cruel they had truly been, one side of her once perfect body ruined by claw marks and burns.

  With her powers subdued by the chains, the Goddess hadn't been able to heal her injuries. They had scarred her, left a permanent mark of the torture she had been through. Brahms felt his own heart hurting, his murderous haze fading somewhat to sadness. He didn't know how the Goddess had come to suffer this fate, but Brahms suspected Odin had a hand in it.

  Hel was still trying not to scream, her lip bleeding from her efforts. Silmeria felt Brahms damn himself, the man feeling guilt that he wanted to taste that blood. And yet he couldn't stay away, had to go near her long enough to free the Goddess. Her frightened eyes watched his every move. She looked as though she expected more abuse from him, and Brahms could do nothing to reassure her. Not so long as her blood's scent was in his nose.

  His shaking hands reached for the chains. He could not break them. Not without more powerful blood in him. Brahms knew what he had to do, but never had he found the idea as distasteful as now. How could he feed on her, after she had been so violated and tormented by demons? But to leave her now, would only invite more of those monsters to come torture her.

  He had no choice. Brahms realized that. "Hel, I am sorry." Brahms told her, over her screams. He bent over her, trying to look nowhere but at her neck. Like the rest of her body, one side was unmarked. But the side he had so often fed from, it's scars were lost to the new ones the demons had given her. But he couldn't bring himself to feed on the perfect side, Brahms sinking his fangs into her as gently as he could.

  Hel screamed the entire time he fed. She was too far gone to enjoy the act, to out of it to be aware that it was not a demon but her once betrothed who fed on her. Her mind might be irrevocably damaged, there might be nothing that could bring the goddess back from insanity's grasp. It was a worry that kept Brahms from enjoying her blood, the vampire taking only enough from Hel to gain the strength needed to break her chains.

  She would immediately try to run from him. Brahms would easily catch her, holding her against him. Hel would break down once she realized she couldn't get away. She wept into his chest, shaking as he ran his claws through her hair in a soothing manner. Hel never once spoke, not even to curse and damn him. No amount of coaxing could calm her, Hel broken in the moment.

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  Chapter 35 : Thirty Five

  Sometimes Brahms wondered if it wouldn't have been more merciful to kill Hel. To end the torture her existence had become, to free her from the horrors Hel's mind forced her to relive. Again and again, the nightmares coming whether she was awake or not. The months following his rescue of Hel was a rough period in both their lives. The Goddess was broken, her mind and manner childlike. She was fragile, the slightest thing could set off her upset. Hel often existed in two modes, one where she was constantly screaming. The other times, she was weeping, crying endless tears. Rare was the time when she was quiet, and those times worried Brahms most of all, even as they gave him a much needed break from Hel's hysterics.

  Brahms often had to remind himself that Hel had a right to be hysterical. She had been tortured most cruelly, a victim of both physical and sexual abuse that had left long lasting scars on both her mind and body. He needed to be patient with her. Caring. But many days when the stress got to be too much, he thought about killing her. It shamed him to think that way, but never as much as the fact that he hungered for a relief from the burdens Hel placed upon him.

  In saving the Goddess, he had bound them together all the more tightly. Hel was linked to him, her very fate, her very existence dependent on Brahms. She needed his protection, needed his patience and care. She was incapable of caring for herself. If let alone she would have surely ended up right back in a similar situation with a different set of demons.

  Hel was not just a broken shell of her former self. It was as though she had been transformed. She no longer was capable of using her abilities, neither to protect herself or to care for herself. Brahms had given up his tattered, blood stained shirt to her, not wanting the Goddess to go around nude for any longer than necessary. Sometimes he thought it good she couldn't call up her ether. And all because he had a feeling Hel would have turned that divine energy on him just as easily as she could have used it on demons.

  Sometimes he thought Hel could not tell him apart from the very demons that had hounded her. She was as scared of Brahms as of anyone else in the underworld. He supposed he couldn't blame her. He had fed off her. Even worse, he continued to do so, all the while telling himself it was merely payment for his protection. But the truth was Brahms was addicted to Hel's blood, to the very divinity that had allowed her to withstand the torture that had ruined one half of her body.

  She often tried to run from him. When her attempts to flee became more cunning, the Goddess waiting until Brahms had settled down to rest, it gave him hope that something of the old Hel still existed inside her. It might be buried deep, lost amidst the horrors she had been through. Brahms did not know the full extent of her tortures, or the reason why she had been chained down in Nifleheim in the first place. He didn't even know how long she had been imprisoned, though Brahms' fear was that it had been a long time indeed.

  There was no answers coming from Hel. Not at this time. Maybe they would never come. But some days she didn't scream quite as much as Hel normally did, giving Brahms hope. It might be a false hope, but he held onto it all the same.

  He continued his journey through the underworld, hunting demons with Hel his reluctant companion. At first he was merely intent on killing any and all he could get his hands on, wanting to make them suffer for what had been done to Hel. He certainly didn't need to feed, not with Hel existing as his steady food source. But Brahms wasn't satisfied with this
kind of lifestyle. He didn't want to stay in the underworld, didn't want to just aimlessly wander as he built up his power reserves by drinking Hel's blood on a daily basis.

  The demon hunting was serving a purpose, though Brahms did not realize it then. Silmeria though did, the former Valkyrie noting Brahms was becoming better at killing. He no longer had to call on the parasite within him, no longer had to go mindless with anger. He was quicker, more efficient, and his skill was increasing by leaps and bounds. At this rate, the underworld would end up empty, Brahms succeeding in killing off the demons quicker than they could reproduce.

  For a long time he continued this way, killing demons indiscriminately. There was no one to protect them from Brahms, no God or Goddess for them to pray to. The demons were the unwanted dregs of creation, cruel beings who thrived on evil and others' suffering. That incident with Hel was just one example of the depravity they were capable of, and Brahms often shuddered as he thought what the demons could be capable of if someone were to organize them into a cohesive group.

  He'd nearly claw his own face off when Brahms realized that HE could take advantage of the demons that remained in the underworld. He'd have to stop killing them, or at the very least stop killing most of them. Some of the more powerful demons simply couldn't be tolerated to still exist. But the lesser ones? Brahms thought he could bully them into following him. Into making

  him their leader.

  It wasn't a simple plan to enact. He would have to get together with a group of them long enough to impress upon them the benefits of following his rule. But he thought it was possible, after all he had seen the demons unite to take turns torturing Hel. The same could be done now, Brahms making a deal with them. Their loyalty, such as it was, in exchange for their lives.