Cold
Somewhere off in the distance a wolf howled.
His hand shot up out of the freezing water and he clawed his way up and out of the ice spattered sea. It was snowing, and the snow was already ankle deep. He eyed the vast expanse in front of him as he climbed ashore, hoping that it would take no more than two days to get there. It would take them just as long if the winds were favorable. And judging by the flurries that swirled around him they were. The snow pulled at his boots as he began to run, he had to hurry, he had to make it home before they got there. It would be hard going, and he had already shed all the weight he could. His thick furs left behind in the glacial sea as he climbed out onto the frozen field of ice and snow, both as cold, unforgiving and desolate as the grave itself. His ship and his friends and crew sunk to the cold depths by those who now sailed for his home. He trudged on regardless, with no other thoughts besides what he had to do.
The wind and snow stung and numbed his already cold damp skin as he hurried on, only his leathers to protect him from the elements, his sword strapped to his back to protect him from other things. His sword was no use against the Cold though. Old enemies, him and the Cold. It could not stop him though, it had tried many times. It first came for him when he was but a babe in the crib, not three days born. His careless brother left the front door unlatched, and the Cold came, looking for any warmth, a flame, a spark, a life, so it could snuff it out, make everything cold, ice, brittle, lifeless. By the time his parents returned a thin layer of frost covered everything, including him. He lay in his crib crying, his skin as pale as the snow that was piled in the corners and dusted the floor. But no matter how hard it tried it could not freeze the blood in his veins, could not kill him. Some said it was a miracle, that the gods had spared an innocent child, but the gods didn’t give as many chances as he got. the Cold, cheated by his survival, continued to stalk him. It came again when he was a child, piling snow outside his door so he could not enter on a freezing night, cracking the ice open on a frozen lake under his feet when he was out on his first hunt with his father, even his roof caving in under the weight of snow in a storm when he built his first home. It came to be said that he had the blood of a frost giant running through his veins. The Cold had never claimed him though. It could not. His blood would not freeze, it would always continue to course through his veins not matter how long the Cold kept its icy grip on him. Though if his blood was as cold as what tried to kill him or as hot as Hel he did not know.
The freezing air bit at his throat as he ran on. He had to move fast as well as conserve his strength as best as he could. Showing up too tired to even swing his sword would only serve to get him killed. The wind and snow began to come down even harder as these thoughts ran through his head. Maybe this would be how it killed him. Slow and tire him just enough to show up when they were attacking and with no time for him to recover he would surely be cut down, his blood not able to freeze draining from his body and turning the pure white snow a sickening dark red. The rest of the village, with the other fighting men already lifeless at the bottom of the sea would be hacked to pieces. Screams’ echoing in his head as he slowly fades away.
Another strong gust of wind buffed him and a horrible thought struck him. What if it had given up trying to kill him and now just sought to take away everything he ever loved, taking it away in the most brutal of ways? His thoughts now turned to his son and wife, now pregnant with their second child. There would be no one to protect them and the rest of the village, it would be like lambs lead to the slaughter. He could not bear to think of such a thing and with new resolve he gritted his teeth and pushed on, moving as fast as his legs could carry him. No rest. He could not leave them defenseless, even if it meant his own death. But still the snow and wind worked against him, his muscles beginning to ache dully as he pressed on over the miles of icy wasteland in front of him. He could not stop. He would not stop. Not until he was home.
Though the snow and cold did hinder his progress they also served to dull his aches and pains allowing him to push past his usual limits, but he still had limits. After hours of sprinting, if it could still be called that at the pace he was going, his tired, sore muscles cried out for rest and his stomach growled angrily. Reluctantly he slowed to a jog and eventually to a walk. As he continued at this slower pace he gulped down air greedily. The frigid air burned his throat and aching lungs as he heaved in and out. Knowing he needed to keep his energy up he pulled out the emergency rations he always kept in his boots. He unwrapped the cured meat and ripped a piece off with his teeth, still walking as he ate. He remembered the last and only other time he had to use his emergency store.
He had been young then, just recently married, his wife the most wondrous women he had ever known. He had been out hunting to bring back a catch worthy of her. Then and even now he wondered why she loved him the way she did. He always thought she was too good for him but they both cared for each other more than words could say. This is why he was determined not to come back empty handed, he had to have something for her and all of his effort. He knew then and still did now that as long as he came home Abigail would be happy. All he needed was her, and she him. He could remember her words clear as day; she said them every time he left. She had said them that day years ago when he left to hunt and three days ago when they had set sail. Her sweet voice rang in his ears “Don’t go my love, my heart aches so when you are gone, please stay. But I guess if you must go return with haste for I can’t stand when you are not near.” And he would always reply “You know that I must love, only great necessity could pull me away from your side. The sooner I am gone, the sooner I will return to you.” She would hug him tightly, and he would kiss her forehead as he hugged her back. The image of his wife and son fading into the distance as they sailed away played though his mind, hoping that was not the last image he would see of them alive. These memories and thoughts brought a tear to his eye which quickly froze to his cheek.
They also brought a new resolve. Damn his burning lungs. Damn his hunger. Damn his aching legs. He would make it home to defend his family. He quickly finished his remaining food as he relished the grueling task ahead of him. A task that he could not, would not, fail.
He finished and began to run again, the wind and snow continuing to try and slow him down. Oblivious to the thought of anything but making it home he ran on. After a few more hours the snow stopped and the sky cleared to reveal the sun beginning to set, casting a red glow across the expansive virgin white, looking almost like a sea of blood rather than a field of snow. Thankfully with all his focus and concentration on pushing his body forward he did not notice this ill omen. Soon the stars shone brightly in the night sky and a full moon lit his way.
Somewhere, a wolf howled up at the moon.
And still he continued on. Hour after hour, step after step he continued. Then as the sun was finally beginning to creep over the horizon, dark heavy clouds began to roll across the sky. Soon the light of the rising sun was snuffed out and it was like it was night once again. The wind howled menacingly across the sheet of snow and almost blew him over, snapping him out of his trance. He looked forward and dreaded the billowing black clouds in front of him. He breathed deeply as he took in this new obstacle. There was no way around it; he could only go straight though. He sighed as he reached down and retrieved the other ration of cured meat from his other boot. He quickly ate it and scooped up some snow to suck on to quench his thirst. And then he was off and running straight into what he knew was going to be the worst snow storm he would ever experience. the Cold would make nothing easy.
Soon the snow was falling heavily in big fat flakes. The wind blew hard, almost knocking him off his feet once more. Frost began to coat his hair and beard as he pressed forward, his arms held protectively over his face and eyes as he tried to squint through the haze, trying desperately to see where he was going through the wind and snow. But it was no use. The wind stung his eyes and the tears froze instantly, freezing his eyes open. He had to force them closed again. If he had been any other man he would have been frozen solid already. The snow quickly piled up around him until he could barely move. His skin turned an ugly blue, but still he tried to press forward. Forward was his only goal, his only thought. He couldn’t stop, would not allow himself to. But no man’s strength, no matter what his resolve, is endless. He soon collapsed face down in the snow which quickly covered him. I failed them was his only thought. I couldn’t make it, I failed them.
Somewhere close by he heard wolves howl. He shouldn’t have been able to hear anything through the storm around him or the snow covering him but he heard this and knew that this was the end. The wolves had come to do what the Cold could not. He heard one panting as it lopped over to where he laid, the sound of the crunching snow as it slowly circled him, sniffing, and then growling in his ear. This was it, this was truly the end. He lacked even the strength to reach for his sword. Then he felt the wolf’s jaws clamp around his wrist and felt it pull. He waited for it to rip flesh from bone but strangely, it didn’t bite or wrench. It pulled, its teeth digging into his wrist. It pulled again harder, almost as if trying to pull him up out of the snow. For some reason it seemed like the wolf wanted him to continue on.
Then there came another chorus of howls, but this time with a strange resonance, they sounded like no other wolves he had ever heard. Their cries filled his ears, filled his head, and somehow filled him with strength. His heart began to beat faster and he could feel his entire body pulsed with this new strength. Someone, something, wanted him to continue, wanted him to complete his quest, and did not want him to die out in this frozen wasteland. With this strength he stood and shrugged off the snow that had begun to cover him. Frost covered his entire body and his skin was still a sickening pale blue, but now he felt like he could run on for days. He looked around him and only saw one wolf standing in front of him, it’s head still up as it carried the soulful cries of an entire pack. It soon stopped and locked eyes with him. They stared at each other for a moment, and in that moment he could tell that nothing escaped those eyes. They stared straight through him to his very soul.
He gave it a slow nod of acknowledgement and thanks and as he did it turned and ran. Somehow he knew he was meant to follow. He gave chase and could feel the wind and snow surge with rage as they both picked up. He could sense the anger as it tried to stop him but could not. With strength and speed well beyond any mortal means he ran on after the wolf, just barely visible ahead of him. The snow tugged at his feet, trying to stop him, slow him down, anything, but his new strength knew no bounds. Gone were his aching legs and muscles. Gone were his burning lungs. He sprinted through the snow as easily as if he were walking through a meadow.
For hours he chased after the wolf knowing that this strange savior would lead him to where he needed to go. And for all those hours the storm ragged on, trying everything to slow him. If he had been able to see through the blinding wind and snow and pierce the black clouds that filled the sky he would have been able to see day pass into night once more. And still he continued at the pace that would have been unbearable and broken him under normal circumstances. His strength knew no end. And as the new day arrived, having run all night, he broke through the storm to find the sun low in the sky. He squinted into the bright light of the early morning sun as it reflected off the fresh white snow.
He looked back to see a wall of dark billowing clouds receding behind him. He’d beaten the storm. He looked forward and again locked eyes with the wolf that was still standing before him. This time the wolf gave a knowing nod and then turned and began to run again. He started after it but the wolf quickly faded from his vision. He paused and then slowly walked over to where the wolf had been and knelt in the snow. A frown furrowed his brow. There were no paw prints. Then, remembering his current mission he looked up to see for the first time black smoke on the horizon. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it curl into the sky. he quickly hurried towards it, running fast, though now with whatever aid the wolf had given faded. The endless strength was gone but he was left with the strength to do what needed to be done. He quickly covered the distance to the rise that stood over the village. His home was on the outskirts of town, maybe it was ok, maybe they hadn’t gotten there yet, maybe he had made it in time, maybe his wife and child were alright.
But no. No it wasn’t. Yes they had. No he hadn’t. And no, they weren’t.
As he crested the rise he could now see that nothing was all right. Sprawled out before him like the remains of last night’s fire was his home, the village he had grown up in. All that remained was the charred husks of the buildings he once knew, sticking up out of the freshly fallen snow like the blackened bones of a giant. Somehow he still held hope though. They must be alive. They couldn’t be dead, not after what he’d been through. As the shock wore off he moved down the slope to his home, to the house he built with his own two hands, now nothing but cinders lying in the snow. Though there were no walls standing he circled around to where the front door had been and stepped through the blackened twigs that were all that was left of the door frame. He heard his boots sizzle as the frost covering them melted from the heat of the hot ash. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest with the anticipation of what he would find. He surveyed the remains and then he saw it. The black scorched husk of a body lying in what would have been a corner of the house, its arms wrapped tightly around another charred blackened body. His eyes blurred filling with tears as he slowly reached out to touch the burned corpse of his wife.
His heart stopped and he fell to his knees. If He could have physically felt anything at that moment he would have felt the hot ash burning his knees. He then threw his head back and let out a cry so terrible and pain filled no words could describe it. A giant roar of pain, morning, anger, regret, fury. All He’d done, all he’d been through, for nothing. The remains of his home shook around him and then toppled over.
And then an arrow thudded into ground next to him. He slowly turned his head to look at it and then looked behind him. He took a second look at the arrow, trying to comprehend what had just happened and then got up and turned to look at the shooter. His pain, anger, and fury welling up inside him, taking hold of him.
He slowly reached up and drew the sword from the scabbard on His back. He may have been too late to save them, but He wasn’t too late to for vengeance. Another arrow flew towards Him and He deflected it with his sword with a deft swipe. And then with a hellish, blood curtailing roar He charged his enemy. His hands gripped the sword tightly, his knuckles white, the old leather creaking.
A new spell came over Him, that of revenge, a burning furnace of rage, hate, and pain filling Him with bottomless energy. He would kill them all, the two that now stood before Him stood no chance. The unexpected roar and charge staggered the bowman and the next shot he was lining up went wide. The bearded man next to him quickly drew his sword. The bowman, realizing he didn’t have time for another shot, dropped the bow and did the same. But He was on them in a flash. Before either could react He swiped his sword down and cut the bearded man’s legs out from under him. The bearded man let out a piercing scream that was quickly cut off as He brought His sword down on the bearded man’s head. Dark red blood spraying across His sword and hands along with bits of skull and brain, bearing His teeth at his now dead enemy. He wrenched the sword free quickly to block a downward cut from the bowman. He leaned forward and head-butted the bowman turning his nose into fleshy pulp and sending him sprawling. Before the bowman could get up He flipped the sword around and buried it in his chest. The bowman gasped soundlessly as He watched his eyes glaze over and the blood leak out of him. He smiled down at His grisly work, His white teeth specked with blood, knowing even more was to come. He pulled His sword from the dead man and walked to the stairs that were carved into the cliff side that would lead Him down to the docks where more of his quarry surely awaited. Still with pale blue skin and frost caked hair, along with the recent spattering of blood, He looked like a demon straight out of the blizzard, come to deliver the reckoning these ruthless invaders deserved for slaughtering the innocent townsfolk. With the level of chance His enemies stood against Him now a demon would have been preferred, a demon might have shown some mercy.
A familiar salty wind greeted Him as He began to descend the stairs to the docks. He could see the rest of the invaders busying themselves loading their stolen cargo onto their long ship. He could see 15 in all. They lined the narrow docks, some standing idly by while others loaded the plunder. None of them took any notice as He slowly stalked over to them. Blood dripped from his sword onto the cold stone underfoot. The closest man, a short stocky fellow with a Barrel of a stomach, was leaning against some crates a short distance from some of the others who were crowded in a circle throwing bones, coins exchanging hands with every throw. Barrel finally became aware of His presence as He approached. “Bout time you two got back, told you there was nothing left up there” Barrel said without turning as He stalked even closer. “we’re almost done loading up, we would have left…”the rest came out in a choking sputter, terror now plastered across his face as he came face to face with Him.
Barrel, frozen with fear at the sight of His blue tinged ice and blood covered body finally screamed, altering his friends, right before he was cut in half. He brought His sword around with all His might and cleaved right though Barrel, smashing the crates on the other side of him. Barrel toppled to the ground in a mess of blood guts and splinters. Still not quite satisfied He began to stomp on the dead man’s head over and over, a sickening and satisfying crunch and spray of blood with each blow. Then with His chest heaving He glared with malice and rage out at the rest of the group daring them to make a move. They stood there frozen in shock and complete and utter terror. It was completely silent, a calm before the storm.
The silence was shattered as He charged them with His sword over His head, a terrible roar exploding from His jaws. It came crashing down onto the nearest man’s head, splitting it in two, the fear on his bisected face now frozen there forever . With that the other six men quickly snapped to their senses. Two men, who looked like twins, one with a scar across his forehead, drew their swords. Another man with a big flat broken nose grabbed his axe and the bald man beside him grabbed the mace he had at his belt. The last two, one bare chested, the other heavily muscled, drew their swords as well.
The scarred twin was the first to attack and slashed at His waist as He backed up to a comfortable distance, Scarred’s sword only cutting air. Luckily the path was only wide enough for three men abreast so they couldn’t all come at Him at once. Still, they could have over run Him with their numbers if they had any idea what they were doing, but as it stood they were afraid and He had them severely out matched even under normal circumstances. They were clearly untrained and lacking any discipline, just the longest survivors of years of battle, marauding, and pillaging. His training and His need for vengeance, burning within Him like the fires of Hel made this a very one sided battle.
The twins, both looking half-starved, all sinew and bone, came at Him first. Unscarred cut down towards His right arm, He rolled His shoulder back to avoid the cut. Unscarred’s sword slammed down into the stone path and He punched Unscarred in the face who fell back, dropping his sword.Then Scarred came at Him with another cut from above, He brought His sword up just in time for the bone jarring impact of steel on steel, the sound ringing through His bones, the blow almost driving Him down onto one knee. While He was distracted the Baldman with the mace, big, muscular, and barrel chested, tried to smash His ribs. Baldman was slow and deliberate with his swing, trying for the killing blow, so He saw it coming and easily took the step back needed to avoid the lumbering attack and disengage from Scarred. Not connecting and expecting to threw Baldman off balance who fell sideways into Scarred. With a clear opening He chopped deep into Baldman’s back and then pulled the sword across. With metal grating against bone Baldman collapsed on top of Scarred. He ripped His sword free from Baldman and then brought it crashing down onto Scarred neck, cutting his throat open and just barely leaving his head attached.
All of this allowed Unscared to recover and retrieve his sword, now coming at Him with a few quick strikes. He dodged them and spun out of the way, allowing Himself to regroup and He caught the next blow on his sword. He then batted Unscarred’s sword away leaving him exposed and quickly cut in a wide low arc, cutting open Unscarred’s stomach, his guts spilling out onto the stone. Unscarred tried desperately in vain to hold himself together as he slowly died.
With the twins and Bald Man now dead or dying No Shirt, Muscles, and Broken Nose looked at Him hesitantly as they slowly and cautiously circled Him. He watched with an angry snarl plastered to His face as they got closer. When No Shirt began to edge around Him and when his back was to the water He struck. Before No Shirt knew what hit him He kicked him square in the chest. No Shirt flew off the edge of the dock and into the freezing water. To His left Broken Nose quickly came at Him with his axe, trying to split His face in half. He just managed to get His sword up in time to catch it but the curved axe blade slide forward, bringing the axe a hairs breath from His head before His sword stopped it. The force of the blow drove Him down onto His knees as Muscles came at Him. He managed to push the axe away just enough to roll out from under the attack, Muscle’s sword crashing down onto the stone where He had just been. He turned and stood as Broken Nose came at Him with his axe again but this time He easily parried the slow clumsy strikes. Hitting the next blow away He then brought his sword down and cut off Broken Nose’s arm, the arm falling to the ground with the axe still in its grasp. He turned in time to catch a blow from Muscles that slide Him sideways. He caught another before ducking a high cross cut, cutting Muscles across his thighs as He ducked. Muscles collapsed onto his knees and looked up just in time to see His sword crashing into his face.
Broken Nose managed to find a sword in the commotion and now charged Him, hoping to return the favor of his missing arm. He simply brought his sword up and let Broken Nose impale himself. Broken Nose looked down confused at the sword in his chest before He drove it all the rest of the way in to the hilt. Broken Nose sword clattered onto the stone and He watched as his eyes tried to focus and then went lifeless. He smiled and let Broken Nose’ body slide off His sword before continuing down the docks, leaving the masterpiece of blood and carnage He had created behind Him. All of them dead, their blood now plastered to His skin and slowly soaking into the cold stone. These men were dead, but He knew there were still more that needed to die. He could see them scurrying like ants to get their stolen cargo onto the ship, no doubt having seen Him strike their comrades down, hearing their screams and His roar and wishing to avoid the same fate. As He got closer one man began to shout and five others quickly came to his aid. If they only knew the six of them wouldn’t be nearly enough to take Him down.
Just as hesitantly as the other men they drew their weapons as He calmly walked towards them. Though He had no wounds Himself He looked like He had just waded through a pool of blood. It was dried to his skin and dripping from Him in equal parts. Not knowing if it was His or their friends or a mixture of the two was not the most comforting thought as they slowly, nervously began to circle Him. One, a short man to His right, was visibly shaking, his sword wobbling back and forth. Another with one ear swallowed hard, sweat across his brow even in the freezing air. He waited for them to make the first move wondering who would strike first. The heavily scarred man with battle axe? One ear? Shorty? The man with his hair in a long braid? Two swords? Red hat?
He waited, His muscled taut and ready for action, He was a wolf ready to strike. Scars was the first to strike, coming from the left with a mighty roar. With his axe raised high Scars charged and cut downwards, He easily turned the blow away with His sword and then stabbed Scars through the chest. As He did that Red Hat came in and slashed Him across the back with his knife leaving a long shallow gash from shoulder to shoulder. He growled from the pain and quickly turned before Red Hat could strike again, His teeth bared, Scars dropping to the ground behind Him. He lashed out with His sword, swinging in a wide arc to stop the others from closing in and attacking but Red Hat was ready for it. Red Hat avoided the sweeping cut and then came back in and slashed Him again across the chest. This only served to annoy Him. He let out a roar of anger and cut off Hats arm at the elbow before he knew what happened.Red Hat screamed, as much from the pain as the surprise at seeing his arm fall. His screams were quickly silenced as He cut out his throat with the tip of his sword.
With almost no time to spare He turned and blocked another strike from One Ear who He’d turned his back on. Using the force of the strike He skirted over towards the edge of the circle of men that had enclosed Him. He plowed into Braid with His shoulder to knock him off balance, then He grabbed his vest and turned him to block a thrust from One Ear whose sword pushed through Braids chest. Braid screamed a bloody mist as the sword was driven into his chest even further as He pushed him further onto it and then threw him to the side, One Ear’s sword going with him. He turned back to One Ear to finish him off but caught a glint out of the corner of His eye. He leaned back and Shorty’s sword slashed Him across the face from forehead to chin. The blow would have cut His head in half if He hadn’t seen it in time. He staggered back, blood covering His face, not able to see out of one eye. Though weather it was because of all the blood or because His eye was cut He didn’t know.
The remaining men now seeing Him falter, if only for a second, gain some confidence, maybe He was just a man after all. But this confidence was quickly shattered as He roared and lashed out in another wide arc with His sword to keep them from swarming Him. He then charged Shorty and attacked him with a series of quick strikes. But Shorty was fast and nimble and dodged them but then slipped on the blood of one of his dead comrades leaving him unbalanced and unable to defend himself from the next attack. With all His strength He brought his sword crashing down, cutting Shorty almost in half from the shoulder down. He kicked Shorty’s now lifeless body off His sword and into One Ear, who collapsed onto the dock under the dead weight.
He then turned to quickly parry two strikes from Two Swords. He struck back with another powerful downwards cut but Two Swords crossed his swords and caught it between them. He continues to press forward with all His weight and power, His teeth bared, Two Swords gritting with the exertion as he tried to hold his ground but was slowly pushed back. As they fought for control they locked eyes and in His Two Swords could see all the hate, rage, pain and anger that filled Him and knew in that instant that he was going to die, that he stood no chance of winning, and that there would be no escape. With that realization Two Sword’s strength left him and both swords fell to the ground, His sword thudded into Two Swords shoulder as he gave up, then He pulled His sword back and drove it through Two Swords stomach all the way to the hilt. From a distance it might have looked like they were embracing.Two Swords looked over His shoulder at the ice flecked ocean. ‘Not such a bad place to die.’ And with that thought the sword was ripped from his guts and he collapsed, no different from the other lifeless bodies that surrounded Him. He turned and surveyed the battle ground. One Ear had finally managed to disentangle himself from Shorty’s body, He stalked towards One Ear, teeth bared, chest heaving, breath misting in the cold air, covered in blood. One Ear, with the realization that he was the last of the six men that stood against this monster, froze in complete terror. And then with one last blood curdling roar He swung his sword with all his might and before One Ear even knew what had happened his head slid off his neck and onto the ground. The body stood erect for a moment longer before falling forward, blood spilling from the neck.
He quickly surveyed the carnage around Him, searching for any challengers, but all there was was another group of bloody mangled bodies. Then His eyes came to rest on the long boat, filled with the remaining invaders, slowly pulling away from the dock. His jaw clenched and He gripped His sword tightly. ‘No, they cannot get away. Not after what they did.’ He then sheathed His sword on his back and started walking towards the ship. It began to pick up speed and so did He, the oars frantically churning the water, His legs pumping faster. The two men rowing were trying their hardest to get away as He chased after them, another man panicking as He tried to unfurl the sails. He began to run every bit as fast as He had the night before in the storm, slowly closing the gap between him and the ship. Then, just as the ship was pulling away and He ran out of dock to run on He leapt off the edge of the dock with a roar.
He flew through the air. Reaching back He unsheathed his sword as He landed on the deck of the boat. He tucked and rolled and came up with a snarl across his face in a crouch a few feet away from the man unfurling the sail. The man dropped the ropes in his hands and the sail came crashing down, Sails now unsheathing his sword and charging with a frightened scream. Sails cut down and then came back with a sideways cut. He dodged both and parried the next few strikes before breaking Sails’ guard with a strike of His own and cut deep into Sails’ chest. He wrenched his sword free and went to move through the sail to finish of the last two men but caught a shadow on the sail and ducked as a sword cut through the canvas where His head used to be. He ducked under the sail and came up with a punch cracking the man’s head back. Punched staggered away with his sword still caught in the sails. He then caught sight of the man that was still behind the oars and before the man could even drop them He was on him hacking and slashing him to pieces. Chunks of flesh, blood, and splinters of both wood and bone started flying. Blood sprayed across His face, mixing with the red that was already dried there. Then as He stood over the bloody pulp that was once another human being, chest heaving, He turned His deathly gaze on the last man, who was now cowering in the stern of the boat. He stepped over the tangled remains of the mangled body and splintered wood and slowly stalked over to the terrified man, a savage grin across His face. The man stared in horror as the blood soaked demon came closer to him, his eyes frantically searching for anything that would aid him, no matter how useless it would be. Just some way out, no matter how unlikely. Just anything so he wouldn’t have to face the terror before him. Then, without thinking, he jumped over the side of the boat, preferring to freeze to death in the icy waters rather than face death Himself and suffer whatever gruesome fate it deemed fit.
The shipped slowly continued out across the water and He watched as the man struggled to stay afloat before slowly succumbing to the icy grip of the freezing waters and sinking below the surface. He watched that spot as it slowly faded from view, making sure the man never surfaced.
Then, He took a long deep breath, the cold air burning his raw throat. Burning. Feeling. He could feel again. Feeling. The sharp stabbing burns of the cuts across his body. He arched his back with the pain of the long gash across it then gasped as he felt the wound across his chest. He gritted his teeth from the pain, which did nothing for the cut across his face. He felt the painfully tight grip he had on his sword and slowly opened his fists, the sword falling to the deck. He gazed down at his hands and was horrified to see that they were covered in blood, his whole body covered in blood.
He began to shake. How could he have done this? So much blood. It was all over his body. He couldn’t stand the unclean feeling that began to creep over him, something telling him he would never feel clean again. He began to search for a bucket, for something to help get all the blood off of him, but recoiled as he came upon the pulpy mess of a corpse that lay near him. He couldn’t remember the details but he was sure that he was the cause of this horrific carnage. How could he have done such a thing? He quickly turned and heaved over the side of the boat, the taste of bile filling his mouth, heaving uncontrollably. Gods. What had he done? After regaining control of himself he quickly went over to the body, if it could still be called that, and lifted what he could and tossed it over the side of the boat, trying to get rid of what he had done, not able to look at it, horrified at what he was capable of. He threw the remaining chunks and limbs over with the rest of it and returned to the search for a bucket. He found one and began to pull up buckets of water from the sea to wash away the layer of blood that covered him. Even with the salt setting his wounds on fire he washed and scrubbed it all away, his skin raw from the effort. He then washed the blood from the deck and tossed the other body overboard.
As he surveyed the vast sea around him, still feeling unclean, he felt the aches and pains of his muscled creep upon him. With their work finally done they cried out for rest. He gritted his teeth and suppressed a scream that tried to escape from him. He then slowly fell backwards and collapsed onto the deck, grunting as the air was driven from his lungs. Now unable to move he lay there looking up at the blue, cloudless sky. Then he felt it. A chilling realization slowly crept up his body. A freezing cold from head to toe that chilled him to the marrow. This was what it wanted, this is what it wanted him to feel. Cold.
Tears began to stream down his face as he remembered that all he loved, all he had, all he knew in the world, was gone. Gone forever. He screamed. A scream that shattered the calm silence of the empty sea for miles. He began to shake from the cold that he now felt. The cold of His frozen heart. Frozen because of the realization of what he had lost and of what he had done to avenge it. He hated himself for it. He would never forgive himself. Because he didn’t regret any of it.
And although it could not, would not, take his life as he lay there motionless, the Cold had finally won. It had broken Him. With the numbness that the Cold brought dulling his aches and pains, his eyes slowly drifted closed and he was dead to the world. Regretting nothing. Lamenting everything. The wind swirled around the ship as it pushed it along, and somewhere off in the distance, a wolf howled.
He surveyed the room from his corner table. It was a busy afternoon in The Wolf’s Tavern, but he could still spot the man watching him from the bar across the room. The man soon got up and made his way across the room, taking the seat across from him at the table, two other men coming to stand at his sides. The man, the leader, a tall thin dark skinned man, they were all dark skinned this far south, cleared his throat. “Northman, you seem to be the type of person who gets things done, am I correct?” The Northman frowned down at his drink. Drinking to forget? He drained the mug and flashed a devious smile at the men in front of him, the scar across his face tightening. “I’ve never left anything unfinished.”