In the heart of Hel’s home lay a great hall. It had a large table that ran most of its length with benches on either side and prepared with cups and plates as if for a feast. But it held no food nor drink, and every seat along the table was empty.
The entire hall had only three occupants, a strange and mismatched trio. Seated on a throne sat a woman, whose one half resembled an enchanting woman with raven locks. That part of her face had strawberry-red lips – one of the few expressions of colour in this muted land – and a water-blue eye that shone. But the other half resembled a rotting corpse, and the ice-cold colour of her left eye held no warmth, only malice.
Currently, the ruler of the dead looked at the man standing to her right. “Quiet down, father. Your constant whining is getting on my nerves.”
“Well, daughter,” Loki replied, “if only you would listen! He has a mandate from the old one-eyed bastard himself. He wields Sindri’s hammer, somehow grossly misshapen to his needs. He is coming!”
“So? This is my domain. No mortal can threaten me,” Hel remarked dismissively. “I will unleash all the dead if need be and destroy him without lifting a finger.”
“The dead have all fled.” The observation came from the last of their company, a strikingly beautiful man, though his skin was uncomfortably pale, and his golden hair held no lustre. “Look.” Baldr gestured towards the empty hall.
Hel raised her face as if seeing her surroundings for the first time. “Huh, so they have. Why?”
“Because of his coming!” Loki spoke with gritted teeth. “This berserker has survived J?tunheim and Myrkheim. J?tnar, trolls, all those perfidious little inventions the Dwarves made, all of it! And he’s coming here!”
“Then all is well,” Hel said placidly. “No need to even get up. He’ll come to us. I already gave you my own blade for your protection.” She glanced at the vicious blade in Loki’s belt. “It’ll pierce even the strongest mail. Not that you’ll need it. Who would dare challenge Hel in her own home?”
“If that is the extent of your concern regarding our impending doom, so be it. I assume you won’t need me present,” Loki argued. “I’ll take my leave.”
“Nobody leaves Hel except by my allowance,” came the cold response from its ruler. The half-rotting woman sent her father an icy stare, enough to make the trickster swallow and remain standing. “I’m not some simpleton that dances on your string. Should blood make me amenable to your demands? You never spent a moment being my father.”
“In my defence, I was tied up for the last thousand years or so.”
“Enough,” Baldr interjected. “We all have our grievances.” He looked at Loki, the man responsible for his death. “But we also want the same thing. Ragnar?k. Surely, we can negotiate with this warrior who comes to your doorstep? I can be quite convincing when I must.”
“Good luck with that,” Loki spat. “He’s accompanied by a little witch with her own sorcerous powers. Together, they convinced my best follower to abandon me. More likely they’ll turn you to their purpose!”
“Your only follower, to be precise,” Hel pointed out.
“Still one more than you ever had,” he retorted.
“Gods, this family,” Baldr muttered.
“Don’t. Invoke. Those. Self-righteous. Bastards.” Hel gave him a piercing glare before her features softened. “We are all family here, of sorts. You and I are practically cousins, dear Baldr.”
“Daughter dearest, if you could keep the same thought in your head more than two moments,” Loki began to say.
“Why? What thought? What’s going on?”
“One head, two minds,” moaned the deceiver. “I should have sought refuge with J?rmungandr. Not much of a conversationalist, wetter living conditions, but at least he understands –”
The doors in the far end of the hall opened. Another trio entered, also odd in its composition, but united in purpose and resolve.
*
Seated on her throne and flanked by unwilling attendants, Hel let her gaze fall upon the intruders across the hall, nothing but furniture between them. “Approach and kneel,” she commanded, her voice ringing out cold and clear like a crisp winter’s morning.
A bird’s croaking reached Halfdan; strange in a land of death, yet he knew what manner of avian creature had come and why. Confidence and strength surged through him. He took a step forward to reach the great table that filled the hall. With one hand, he seized it and tossed it aside, sending benches flying.
The middle of the hall now cleared, he walked straight up, followed by his own attendants. “I kneel before none,” the berserker declared. “But my quarrel is with him.” He pointed at the deceiver. “Hand him over, and there’ll be no need for violence.”
Hel glanced at Loki by her side as if considering the proposal. “While I would be pleased to see him gone, he does have a purpose for me to fulfil. And despite our family squabbles, he is my father and my guest. You, however, are none of those things. All the same, I invite you to stay permanently.”
The ruler of the dead raised a hand to point at Halfdan. In response, he felt a tightening of the chest, his face lost its last semblance of colour, and he struggled to remain standing.
Sif released a scream, discordant and filled with galdr. It broke the spell; with a triumphant smile, Halfdan straightened his back and raised his hammer in defiance. “Sól,” he hissed through closed teeth, and his weapon burst into fire.
“We’ll do it the hard way,” Hel sneered, standing up, and battle began.
*
Loki wasted no time. Dagger drawn, he vanished and appeared in front of Freydis, his former priestess, so close that her spear could not strike him, but his blade threatened her. However, despite her gift being absent, she knew how to fight, and she brought up her weapon as a staff to parry his strike. Quickly, she followed up by pushing him back, retreating herself to assume a proper combat stance, spear point lowered.
*
Sif ran to the side where the table had smashed into the benches, destroying the latter. She etched a mark into the wood with her knife and spoke a word. The legs and plates of the furniture tore themselves away and assembled into a human-like shape.
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“You know Dwarven runes!” Baldr exclaimed in surprise, staring at the wooden guardian animated by her magic. “Wait, I don’t seek to fight! Surrender –”
“Too bad,” Sif mumbled, and her creature attacked the dead god, who held no weapons and suddenly found himself wrestling with a wooden abomination. Meanwhile, she turned towards Halfdan and Hel.
*
With a great leap, the berserker cleared the distance between himself and the lady of Hel, landing on the stairs that led to her throne. He struck a blow that would pulverise a mountain, but the rotting woman was swift enough to evade, throwing herself to the side. Instead, his hammer struck the throne, causing it to rift.
“My chair!” Hel screamed, and she raked Halfdan with her claws. “Stop ruining my home!”
Her nails found his Dwarven mail and accomplished nothing. With a cruel smile, he struck again, aiming to make the right side of her face as ugly as the left. She stepped back, avoiding his blow once more, and spat in his face. Not only out of contempt; the foul liquid hit his cheek and began to burn like venom.
Blinking, Halfdan spent his last Seeds on [Berserker's Rage] and then [Enemy to Sorcery]. His cheek burned, but it would take more than spittle to drive him back. With a roar, he attacked once again.
*
“Why so eager to die?” Loki spoke in taunt. “The curse will take you soon enough!”
“You first,” came the hissed reply. Freydis lunged out, and her spear struck against Loki’s face, but even the Dwarven-forged edge did not draw blood.
“I took precautions before giving you that spear,” Loki smirked, twirling his dagger between his fingers. “You won’t find me so easy to scratch with that.”
Changing strategy, Freydis lunged again, twisting her spear around to strike him across the face with the blunt end. She did not break skin, but it left a red mark. “If I can’t make you bleed, I’ll make you bruise,” she retorted. “Until your skull breaks!”
*
Ghostly chains shot out from Hel’s sleeves to wrap themselves around the berserker. They seized him, forced him on his knees, and she stared at him with intense malice. “You will kneel!”
Steel or iron could not hold Halfdan; as he felt the ethereal chains upon him, he called on [Enemy to Sorcery] with all its power, and Hel’s magic disappeared.
“Impossible!” she screeched. “How dare a mortal defy me?”
Halfdan let his hammer answer, jumping forward to smash her face in. But with terrifying force, she reached out and grabbed the head of his weapon, holding it back. Fire engulfed her hands, burning both living and rotting flesh, which she ignored.
A strange sound slung its way around the chamber in between the clash of weapons and noise from combatants. A song that spoke of summer and fields in bloom, apples growing ripe on the branch, and bright, warm nights.
Halfdan’s grimace, as he stood locked in a contest of strength, turned to a smile as Sif’s galdr made him stronger. He wrested his weapon away, only to immediately swing it before Hel could recover, and his blow struck her stomach to send her flying backwards through the hall, landing amidst the broken table.
“Enough, you little twerp!” she screamed, still on the ground, and she pointed at the skáld, who fell to the ground, clutching her chest.
Watching the life drain from Sif, Halfdan felt overpowering fury fill him. [A Beserker’s Rage], stronger than it had ever been, took over. Thoughts disappeared, and only the instinct of a bear protecting its cub remained. Step by step, the berserker walked towards Hel, smashing everything in his path with his flaming hammer.
*
The ruler of the dead rose to stand, her spell still draining the life from Sif, though her attention was back on the berserker. She smirked seeing his rampage, smashing what remained of table and benches into powder. As he came close enough to strike a blow against her, she caught his hammer as before, creating another contest of strength, though this time, he did not have the skáld’s song to empower him.
Instead, he had his rage.
All of his abilities flowed together. From [Unbridled Fury] to [Strength of Body], with [Pain to Power] granting further fuel to [A Beserker’s Rage], Halfdan could move mountains and was a match for lesser gods. Holding onto his hammer with only one hand, he curled the other into a fist and punched the lady of Hel to break every bone in her face, and she soared through the air to crash against a pillar.
The spell on her broken, Sif gasped for breath. The noise attracted the berserker, blinded by rage, who turned towards her.
*
Freydis made another attack with her spear, using it as a staff, but Loki proved too nimble, and she struck only air. Once again, he vanished, this time returning right behind her, his dagger poised to stab her neck. But already, Freydis was moving, and the moment he appeared, her staff smashed into his stomach, knocking the wind from him. His assault interrupted, he staggered backwards while she turned on her heel, striking again to whip her spear across his face.
“I know all your tricks,” she sneered, following up with several more attacks to put him on the defensive.
“True – I waste my time with you,” Loki replied in the same tone, and he vanished once again.
But this time, Freydis’ attack found only air behind her. Her eyes widened in shock as she realised the reason. “Halfdan, behind you!”
*
The berserker’s eyes were bloodshot, and his face had the same colour. All living creatures were his enemies with no purpose but to die by his hand, thereby fuelling his power even further. He heard the sound of fighting, and it was bliss. He belonged to battle, was born for this. All in sight would die.
His gaze was locked on a timid creature, lying on the ground, but still moving, still alive, offending the berserker with its weakness. He would destroy. He would strike his hammer until blood and bone could not be separated and nothing lived to challenge him. He would kill.
Swiftly, for his fury allowed no sloth, no temperance, the berserker advanced towards the whimpering shape. He raised his hammer, wreathed in the same fire that filled his spirit.
A shout came from behind, unintelligible, but catching the warrior’s attention all the same.
Appearing from nowhere, making a cowardly strike at the warrior’s back, Loki stabbed his dagger as he also retreated a step, delighted malice painted on his face.
The berserker turned, and rather than in his back, he took the blade in his heart, piercing mail and steel.
Eyes flaring with fury, the injury meant nothing to him – yet. He dealt a blow with his hammer, throwing every ounce of strength into the weapon, fuelled by the agony of a fatal wound. It struck his enemy in the same place, crushing ribcage and collapsing Loki’s chest. Berserker’s might and ancient artefact, it proved too powerful.
Thrown to the ground by the force of the blow, the deceiver gasped for breath that would never come. With an astonished look, Loki died, immortal no longer.
“No!” An agonised scream came from Hel, who crawled to her father’s corpse.
As for the berserker, his rage still endured; he had enemies to kill and death to defy. He turned back towards the little shape that looked at him through tears.
He stepped forward, hammer raised and ready, when a sound reached him. Not the din of battle nor the rattle of death. It was a song, made from a melody to calm the mind and soothe the spirit. The words spoke of companionship, of honour and duty, a father’s affection and a daughter’s love.
The colour faded from Halfdan’s eyes and face. He blinked, as if waking from stupor. He found himself in a hall, surrounded by destruction. The world had so little colour. He looked in front of him and saw blue behind a curtain of tears. He looked around and saw green next to a spear.
He looked down and saw red, filling his chest. His strength spent, fled like the lifeblood flowing from his injury, Halfdan fell to the ground, mortally wounded.
