The snowfall had placed a white blanket across what had been a bloody and gruesome battlefield. Halfdan could almost forget what lay underneath except for the body-shaped protrusions that made the snow uneven. His people had gathered on the ramparts, giving them a vantage point of what was to unfold, Sif and Freydis among them. Halfdan had wanted them to leave, to make for the tunnel to Myrkheim in case everything went awry, but neither would be persuaded.

  The einherjar had gathered in their remaining numbers, still vastly greater than the J?tnar. They had cleared a space of corpses, disturbing the snow and kicking it up, allowing it to mix with the older, red-dyed layer beneath. As a result, a rust-coloured circle could be traced, making the clear area for the fight. Holmganga demanded this. Ideally, as the word suggested, a small island off the coast would be used, but they were far from water, so the patch of red land would have to do. Once both combatants stepped inside, neither would leave until the battle was done.

  Halfdan stepped forward. Behind him stood his J?tnar, Fenrir the wolf, and his two companions. A proud gathering, but few. Ahead, he faced the host of Asgard, and the gods. More of them had come; all of them, by the look of it. Thor stood once more at the forefront, hammer in his belt. Tyr, easy to recognise with his missing hand, next to him. Heimdall as well; he had fled from Halfdan in battle, but he was still a god and stronger than most. Freyr had come; Halfdan recognised him easily after their fight in Alfheim. And next to him stood tall Freya, who gave the berserker a knowing look.

  And from that assembly walked Odin, the Alfather. His spear, second in power only to his son’s hammer, was his sole weapon. But he had so much more. He had died and hung for nine days before tearing himself away from Hel, bringing the knowledge of the runes with him. He had given one eye to drink from Mimir’s well and gain more wisdom than any other. He had learned the lore of seier to such depths that few could compare.

  But Halfdan had come closer than any other to being his equal. He had the strength of a berserker, knowledge of seier and runes, and all the powers of Loki at his disposal.

  Nobody spoke as the two immortal beings approached each other. The outcome of their duel would determine the fate of worlds, the war between Aesir and J?tnar, and more. And should something go wrong, should either side break the agreement or engage in foul play, another battle would erupt. With the forces arrayed, it would barely be less devastating than Ragnar?k itself. And though none spoke it among the forces of Asgard, the thought could be read on their faces; if pressed to defeat, would the inheritor of the deceiver unleash Ragnar?k after all and gain his vengeance? They could only trust in Odin that their king and lord would prevent this.

  “So we meet, Halfdan-Loki. Are we agreed on the conditions?” Odin’s voice rang out as cold and clear as the frost of the winter’s morning.

  “We fight until either surrenders,” came the reply. Neither wanted the other dead, after all; Halfdan wanted Odin to pledge himself to peace, and Odin wanted Halfdan incarcerated for eternity.

  “Agreed.”

  “None but the two of us may fight. Any outside interference during the holmganga, whether by weapon or spell, is forbidden.”

  “Agreed.”

  “If I win, you swear by the holiest oath to never pursue me or mine. All those pledged to me, including me, are safe from you and yours.”

  “Agreed. And if I win,” Odin retorted, “you will submit to my spells and willingly be imprisoned in a place of my choosing. Forever.”

  Halfdan exhaled. “Agreed.”

  An overbearing smile born of ancient confidence. “Excellent.” The one-eyed wanderer, his spear casually in hand as a walking staff, stepped into the circle. With a deep breath, Halfdan did the same.

  *

  The two warriors stared at each other. Now that they were both inside the area, there was no need to hurry towards the inevitable conclusion; this would inexorably reach its end soon enough.

  Finally, Odin raised his spear and hurled it with a strength his thin frame should not possess. Forged by the utmost skill of Dwarven hand, [Gungnir] flew true and with the power to pierce anything it struck. Unable to stop it entirely, Halfdan hit the oncoming javelin with his hammer, averting its course; it continued past him and impaled a J?tun standing on the ramparts. Immediately, they all shied away to avoid standing directly behind Halfdan.

  Halfdan had suspected that even [Heart of Yggdrasil] could not destroy an artefact as powerful as [Gungnir]; it had not worked on [Mj?lnir], after all. Still, he had hoped. Odin smirked and raised his hand; moments later, the spear was in his grip again, though now he held it for close combat. Halfdan gladly obliged.

  He drew on all his skills available outside of his rage. [Wielder of Weapons], [Twice the Blow], and [Deeper the Strike] made his attack into a perfect angle. [Strength of Body] made it deadly, [Swifter Than Them] made it fast.

  Yet the raven god was quicker. He simply leaned back, and the hammer flew past him harmlessly. An instant counter with the spear, and it tore Halfdan’s mail apart before doing the same to his flesh, overcoming [Scorn the Steel].

  Neither injury nor pain mattered to Halfdan. Odin was not here to kill him, but weaken and wound him. It would take far more to stop a berserker. Again and again, he struck, but each time, the one-eyed god evaded with ease and struck back, causing another gash.

  Gritting his teeth, Halfdan made another swing. Halfway through, he used [Friend to Shadow] and appeared behind Odin, completing the attack. The raven god turned on his heel and parried with his spear, absorbing the full force of the blow without flinching. “You think that you possess any power that could surprise me? I created berserkers, and I watched Loki for centuries. I know everything about you.” A smile to torment was accompanied by [Gungnir] swiftly slashing across Halfdan’s chest.

  The berserker stepped back and employed his [Seier] to dull the edge of his enemy’s weapon.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  But he faced someone even greater in the mysteries of magic. Odin shook his head while the spell turned to naught. “That will not avail you.”

  Down on one knee, Halfdan scratched a rune into the frozen ground with his nail and spoke a word, drawing on [Master of Runes]. It glowed, and power crept from the earth into him, lending its strength to him. Once again, he struck, and Odin parried.

  As the weapons clashed, the one-eyed wanderer was forced one step back, clenching his jaw in effort. “You think there’s anything you can do?” Odin stomped one foot into the ground, and the rune empowering Halfdan faded out. “You but followed the path I blazed, like a bird lured by fate’s call.” His voice turned menacing. “Where were you when I felled Ymir and carved the worlds from his corpse? When I breathed life into the first of your people?”

  Although the sound of his voice grated in Halfdan’s ears, he could not deny the truth. He was outmatched. In weaponry, they might be equal, but Odin was swifter. With runes and seier, the old scoundrel held the advantage. Halfdan only had one move to make, and he needed to do it, or it might seem like he was holding back. Aware of the similarity with his fight against Odin’s son, he went for his final option. Eagerly answering his call, [Berserker's Rage] filled him.

  As the fylgja’s spirit took over him, Halfdan’s strength increased many times, fuelled further by [Unyielding Fury]. His eyes glowed red, filled with lust for violence and murder. The mountains themselves would break under the swing of his hammer, and the smirk disappeared from Odin’s face.

  When he attacked, he came so close that simply evasion was not possible. Instead, Odin stepped into the swing, raising his spear like a staff to parry against the haft of the hammer. This avoided the full force of Halfdan’s blow, focused in the head of the weapon. All the same, the sheer power tore Odin’s spear from his hands.

  Rather than break the momentum of his attack, Halfdan continued the swing, turning around himself to complete a circle and smash the hammer against Odin’s chest. He crushed every bone in the god’s ribcage and sent him flying a dozen yards, landing outside the circle.

  Wheezing for breath, Odin struggled to get back on his feet; already, Halfdan ran forward to finish the task. Gritting his teeth, Odin disappeared.

  Halfdan halted, seeing his enemy gone. His murderous sight fell on the horde watching the duel, sending a tremor of unease through them; they understood what it meant when a berserker entered his rage, and if Thor or anybody else intervened to stop him, the duel was forfeit.

  Odin appeared again, right behind Halfdan, placing his hands on the berserker’s head. Swiftly, he mumbled spells, but before they could complete, Halfdan used the blunt end of his hammer’s haft to smash against Odin’s injured chest. With an anguished scream, the raven god stumbled backwards.

  [Heart of Yggdrasil] came swinging in what could even be a killing blow; in Halfdan’s rage, he did not fight until his enemy surrendered, but until they died. Odin vanished once more, sparing his life, and the hammer continued through air. The lack of an obstacle, momentum carrying him through, confused the berserker and forced him to take a step and secure his footing; meanwhile, Odin appeared in the opposite end of the circle, [Gungnir] in his hand. He threw the javelin, and this time, Halfdan did not parry; the berserker state did not care for defensive manoeuvres.

  The spear skewered him, yet it did not make him break his stride. He thundered forward, and as if inspired by his enemy, he threw his own hammer. The unexpected move caught Odin by surprise, and for good reason; the weapon was not balanced for this, and it flew awkwardly, striking its target with the haft rather than the head. But it disrupted Odin’s spells, giving Halfdan time to reach him and follow the hammer up by throwing a punch as well. His fist broke every bone in Odin’s face, and once more, the god fell flat on his back. This time, he did not bother getting up, but simply vanished where he lay.

  Growling, Halfdan turned his head in every direction. There were plenty to kill, but his instincts honed in on the threat that attacked him, and even in mindless rage, he understood that his prey had escaped, not died.

  A javelin piercing his stomach told him of the direction to look. This time, Halfdan grabbed the spear, pulled it from his body, tearing chunks of flesh with it, and returned the favour. Odin’s eyes widened as his own weapon flew true, impaling him.

  Despite his injuries, and though he had no berserker state to help him, Odin remained standing – and fighting. As Halfdan rushed towards him, he disappeared again, and when he returned, he pulled his spear out of himself and threw it aside. Raising both hands while muttering incantations, Odin returned to his primary advantage. In an instant, a storm was summoned. Howling gales picked up the snow from the ground, clouds added more, and a blizzard came against Halfdan. The ferocity of the winds slowed his run, and for all his rage, his steps became staggered as he struggled to move forward.

  His slow movements made Halfdan an easy target. Odin ceased his spell, but as the storm died down, he quickly took advantage of the final moments before it disappeared. Holding out his hand, his spear materialised in his grip, and as Halfdan finally came close, it was easy for Odin to impale the berserker. He raised his spear and the man embedded upon it like a banner in the air.

  His legs flailing, Halfdan was stuck; he only had one option available. Gripping the haft of the spear with both hands, he pulled his body forward, sliding down the weapon. He had dropped his hammer to do this, so instead, he got himself close and punched Odin in the face again, renewing the destruction.

  With the shriek of a bird, Odin vanished once more, and Halfdan fell to the ground. His hands fumbled around until they could grasp his hammer, and he got up, ignoring the spear through his chest. He had been impaled several times now, and his body was a bloodied mess; still he remained standing, full of fury and will to fight on.

  The weapon currently skewering him disappeared, and he whipped his head around until he saw his enemy. Too late; the javelin was thrown, striking him again. At this point, there might be more of his blood outside than inside his body; still, he persevered. He ran forward, hammer ready to deal a deathly blow.

  Odin swiftly raised his hands, repeating his spell from before. Blistering winds responded to the call, slowing Halfdan down. Gritting his teeth, his pace lessened until he was struggling to place one foot ahead of the other. When he finally came close enough to swing, Odin easily evaded. It disrupted his sorcery, but the one-eyed god was ready to follow up. As one spell died down, another began, and his hands clamped down on Halfdan’s head.

  The berserker still raged, and he raised his weapon for another strike, but slowly, too slowly; the sorcerous winds made his movements sluggish. And even as they faded, Halfdan still moved as if in water. His arms felt heavy, too heavy to lift. The hammer too difficult to swing. It fell from his hands, landing behind him. His eyes were full of anger, but his body lacked the same power of will. As the blood seeped from his wounds, so did his fury, soothed by Odin’s spell.

  On his knees now, Halfdan struggled, trying to seize his rage and keep it, to defy his enemy and all sorcery, but in vain. The master of magic across the nine realms had him in his grasp. On and on he chanted, dismantling Halfdan’s ability until at last, it succumbed to Odin’s efforts. Halfdan’s rage ended.

  As it did, he collapsed. His wounds were countless, many of them life-threatening. Fumbling, he dug out a small pebble that he had inscribed with runes before the battle, and he clutched it between his fingers, absorbing its healing powers.

  “Well prepared,” Odin acknowledged. Despite his calm demeanour, he swayed slightly, leaning against his spear for support. He seemed as if the lightest blow could knock him down; unfortunately, even that was beyond Halfdan. [Mend Your Wounds] was hard at work, aided by the rune token, but he had no strength left. He was defeated. “Do you yield, or must I make an example of you?” Staring down at him, Odin looked ready to make good on his threat, despite his weakened state.

  Halfdan spat blood along with words he had never spoken before. “I yield.”