The silence as the two ate and shared the scotch was awkward, at least for Damian. Brynhildr seemed to be enjoying the food and drink while occasionally making small talk with Damian. She asked about his life, friends, and interests, sounding almost motherly while doing so. Damian’s previous worry faded quickly into confusion. Why did she care about how well he was eating and if he was making sure to exercise regularly? The growing glint of fond amusement in her eyes as she continued, clued him in to the fact that she would happily do this for as long as he would let her get away with it. So, Damian pushed his questions to the side for now and focused on what was important.
“Lady Brynhildr, Earth is in a precarious position. The number of pantheons that were worshiped on this planet has led to an overabundance of monsters spewing forth from the portals. More than the system accounted for. Our population, in just three years, plummeted from eight billion to just over three billion. While we have learned of the portals, and are working to get our Inducted to them to solve the problem, the monster waves that surge at our strongholds are only increasing in intensity and frequency. We would like to hire the Einherjar to assist in securing our remaining cities, while we push to close the portals.”
Brynhildr set down her cutlery and began to speak, “I see. That is a difficult situation you find yourselves in, and we indeed would not be opposed to assisting you, but let us talk about price first. As you are still in the integration period you do not have any system-recognized currency that we would accept. However, with this summoning of yours we now find ourselves in a unique position. In leu of monetary compensation, we of the Norse Pantheon would be willing to lend our warriors, for early access to your planet so that we may claim acceptable warriors for Valhalla. We would also like your planet to host this cycles Ragnar?k.”
Damian’s confusion reached a new peak. What did she mean, ‘this cycles Ragnar?k’? Wasn’t Ragnar?k the final war that would end the gods? “I’m afraid I don’t follow?”
Brynhildr laughed, “With much of our history lost to time and the difficulty of preserving oral tradition, we are left with the most known myths of our pantheon. However, we are Gods, we are sustained on mortal belief, as long as new planets that believe in us are added to the system we shall persist. The All-Father in his wisdom believed that in order to prevent our destruction should another loss of our history occur, or no new believers are added to our ranks, we should embrace and forcefully adapt the mortal myth of Ragnar?k for our own purposes. So, we turned it from our definite end into a recuring sporting event that happens once every ten millennia. After the tenth Ragnar?k event it became a sticking point in our current believers’ minds that Ragnar?k was just recuring competition between the Gods and the Jotun. Which they would spread to any new believers that joined the wider universe.”
That was interesting, gods could alter their own myths by swaying mortal conception of them. Damian asked the next question, “What would hosting Ragnar?k entail exactly?”
Brynhildr nodded and continued, “We would work with your government and pick a location on this planet as a battlefield. In addition, we would choose two cities to host the camps of each side. One for the Jotun and one for Asgard, the days leading up to the battle would be a weeklong celebration in each camp, where tourists and fans can interact with the known members of the pantheon who will be participating. Naturally, the host cities will get a cut of any profit we make. Before you ask, no, there will be no permanent damage done to the planet, and we will not involve any of your people who do not wish to participate.”
Damian pondered for a bit, these terms weren’t bad, “That is acceptable then. As long as you agree that any warrior you take to Valhalla must be willing, no force or coercion can be used.”
“Excellent!” Brynhildr clapped her hands, “Now there is only one thing left to do. Before we seal this pact, you must prove yourself young warrior.” The Valkyrie readied her spear and shield, “Do not worry I will limit my physical abilities to match your own.”
Damian’s mind blanked at that declaration. He most certainly was not a warrior; the last time he tried to fight something head on he was impaled. “Is that really necessary?” At Brynhildr’s enthusiastic nod Damian could only sigh, “Very well. What are the rules?”
“You need only draw blood from me, and it will be considered your win. We will fight for ten minutes, if time elapses or you are rendered incapable of fighting it will be your loss.”
Damian nodded and pulled his crossbow from his inventory. He noticed Brynhildr examine the weapon in curiosity for a moment before motioning him to take his place across from her. This was going to be tough, even if Brynhildr limited her abilities to what he could handle, her experience dwarfed his. He would never win if he tried to fight her head on. His only chance at victory would require him to be patient, he would have to fend her off long enough to find an opening and land a shot. It would be so much easier if he could just hold down the trigger and win through sheer volume of shots, but that wouldn’t prove his combat prowess. Damian snapped back to attention when Brynhildr started to move.
The two circled each other slowly, one full of confidence, the other caution. Damian fired a shot to try his luck only for Brynhildr to catch it with her shield and rush toward him. She started by probing his defenses, short quick strikes at his extremities that Damian barely managed to intercept with the body of his crossbow. He tried to backpedal away to create some distance to reset himself, but the Valkyrie stuck to him like glue. Her spear came faster and stronger, leg sweeps he barely dodged, stabs to the body that if he had reacted to a second slower, he would have been impaled on.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Yet as the fight went on, he noticed something strange, Brynhildr’s patterns weren’t changing. Center, center, right shoulder, left leg to a sweep, butt of the spear to the head, attempt to impale. It was almost as if she wasn’t fighting but…...teaching? Even stranger he felt a strange reaction from his body the longer he fought. That wild surge of energy he felt when he bled on the runes of the Nocturne Buck returned. It rushed through his body and seemed to leave muscle memory in its wake. He found himself deflecting the spear instead of blocking, his dodges became tighter.
When the energy reached his eyes, Damian found her movements easier to track. He met her next center thrust with the body of his crossbow, but this time he put his body behind it and shoved. Brynhildr only stumbled back two steps before resetting, but he didn’t miss the slight smile on her face. Damian crouched and as the wild energy seemed to instruct him, he began to stalk around Brynhildr as if she were prey. His eyes were now able to perceive the bunching of her muscles before she would move. His ears could make out the slightest shift in her weight as she prepared to lunge. Before she could he would send a crossbow bolt at the place she intended to put her foot causing her to hastily pull back her leg and reset.
Damian had never felt so alive as he did at this moment. His muscles sang with the joy of exertion and his blood rushed alongside that wild energy that rampaged in his body, turning the slightest fatigue into a distant memory. He didn’t know when it happened, and looking back he would swear this is where all his problems started, he found himself sprinting at Brynhildr his crossbow tossed into his inventory and his knife, the Sanguine Ember, in hand. A wild, feral grin near splitting his face in two.
He noted the surprise and delight in the Valkyries eyes and prepared for her next strike. He saw her gaze dip down toward his legs as the muscles in her arm coiled, ready to strike with the speed of a viper. He tracked it in almost slow motion as her arm lashed out toward his leg, and he sprung. He tossed the knife with an accuracy he normally wouldn’t be able to achieve, as it lodged itself in the shaft of her spear, causing it to dip lower than intended due to the unexpected force, At the same time he leapt, planting the very same foot she aimed her on the body of her spear and stomping the other onto her raising shield. With a fluid movement he drew his crossbow and aimed it between the Valkyrie’s startled eyes.
Damian, still grinning like mad, panted out, “That….is…...my win, shield maiden.”
Brynhildr stared for a moment longer before breaking into a large grin of her own, “INDEED! That was wonderful young warrior, reckless for sure, but wonderful all the same! That is a feet worthy of any of the crazy bastards that call the halls of Valhalla home. They will surely toast your victory once they hear of it later.”
Damian snorted, “You were holding back. If you were even remotely serious that stunt would have found me impaled.”
“Perhaps,” Brynhildr allowed, “but I still maintain that you won the spar, and as such, there is only one last test to prove yourself.”
“What? You said I only needed to defeat you?” Damian questioned
“No, I said you must prove yourself. You have proven you can fight like a warrior, now you must prove you can match one in drinking capacity!”
She clapped her hands and from the mead hall behind her emerged two people. The First was another Valkyrie bringing out two drinking horns, and next to her was a behemoth of a man. He stood at a terrifying ten feet tall and was about half as wide at the shoulders. The man wore a simple tunic that did nothing to hide the enormous muscles he sported, or it would have, were the man not covered in a thick coat of fur. The large man was covered in a beautiful coat of pitch-black fur; his hands ended in sharp but well-maintained claws. He had the head of a wolf with glowing yellow eyes.
He opened his maw wide in a guffaw, exposing his sharp, glinting fangs. “Haha, that was a wonderful fight, I will sing your praises later young friend! All of Valhalla will hear of the daring man who stood upon the fierce Brynhildr!” The wolfman’s voice was low and raspy, but full of enthusiasm and mirth that was at odds with his fearsome appearance. Damian couldn’t help but get the impression of a husky the more he looked at the man.
Brynhildr rolled her eyes at the man, “Ever the jokester, úlfhéenar.” She turned back to Damian, “úlfhéenar will be your opponent for the drinking challenge, I will let him discuss the specifics with you.”
“You can call me Ulf,” the large man said, “we will play a traditional drinking game. While normally a team game, the Drinking and Insult game is a favorite of mine. We will take turns drinking, draining our horns as quickly as we can and then give a riddle, insult, or perform a ballad. The goal is to remain witty and articulate, so the first one unable to be understood or pass out will be declared the loser. As a curtesy I will allow you to choose the alcohol we will drink.” Ulf’s face was smug, he clearly expected to win.
Damian pondered for a moment and had an idea. He turned to the Valkyrie that brought out the drinking horns and made a request, “May I try the strongest alcohol you serve so I can see what I might be in for?”
The Valkyrie smiled and nodded and ran back into the hall briefly before returning with a mug in hand. She handed it over and Damian drained it in a single swig. He considered the drink as it went down and had to hide his devious smile to not give his game away. The drink was exactly what he expected, weak. Certainly, better than anything made during the Viking age on Earth, but compared to the brews made from centuries worth of experience and desire to get drunk as quickly as possible? It was nothing. And wouldn’t luck have it that they were in the remnants of a city with a plethora of distilleries that had a decent stock of good old Tennessee Moonshine. He just had to confirm one thing first.
Drawing on what little acting skill he had he coughed out, as if the drink was stronger than he expected, “You…. cough…. drink this?”
Ulf smirked at the small human before him and boasted, “Of course! I only drink the best after all!”
Damian let his smirk show, “Well then I have the perfect drink for us to use, my large friend.” This poor wolf was going down hard, Damian almost felt sorry for the guy.
