Never Again #52

Gale observed their dire predicament, realizing they were about to be encircled. Without hesitation, he understood that the newcomers were most likely hostile.

"Usually, this is the part where we stand still and ask what these fuckers want, but I reckon we'd be fucked if we let it come to that," Gale remarked, his gaze locked onto the approaching Thenn warriors. "Our chances in the open are slim. We either charge through the Thenn and make for the treeline or die in the open. It's that simple."

He assumed a determined stance, preparing for a sprint. "Try to keep up!" he concluded as he drew his iceblade and surged towards the Thenn without waiting for acknowledgment.

Tormund and Threya exchanged a significant glance before joining Gale's mad dash. His plan represented the sole logical path forward. The Thenn barred their way to the treeline, and taking any other route would spell their doom.

In the open field, Rattleshirt's hounds would soon catch up to them, making escape impossible and being surrounded by an inevitability. Their only hope lay in reaching the sanctuary of the trees.

Rattleshirt's grin grew wide, unveiling his yellowing teeth as he noticed their actions. "Rip them to shreds!" he exclaimed, making an animated gesture that sent his hounds growling and sprinting toward Gale and his group.

Styr's face drew a malicious smile as he thrust his axe into the snow. "Hold your ground. Let them come to us. We'll keep them here!" He commanded his Thenn warriors, organizing them into a formidable line, their weapons clenched tightly.

Harma remained silent but determined, sprinting with the intent to chase down the trio. On the other hand, The Weeper, unperturbed by their actions, continued his steady walk, seemingly unbothered by the impending confrontation.

Gale fixed his gaze on the Thenn warriors, focused on breaking through their ranks and reaching the treeline, where they would hopefully find an advantageous position to counter the enemy's superior numbers or a way to evade them.

As he closed the distance to the Thenn warriors, one of them bravely—or foolishly—stepped forward to confront him. The Thenn warrior raised a massive sword, swinging it down toward Gale's head in a bid to cleave it open.

Maintaining his composure, Gale raised his iceblade to block the strike, causing the Thenn's sword to freeze and shatter on impact. In one swift motion, Gale withdrew the iceblade and plunged its frigid point into his adversary's chest.

He wasted no time, using his remarkable strength and the force of his movement to retrieve the blade from the crumbling Thenn as he continued his sprint.

Styr's eyes widened in shock at the spectacle before him. He had refused to attend the recent meeting of the Free Folk tribe leaders as he deemed the very notion of sharing space with a crow without gutting him unthinkable.

Rumors of the crow's iceblade retrieved from the Lands of Always Winter had circulated, but he had dismissed them as tall tales. Witnessing it in action now, alongside the sight of the crow himself cutting down Styr's clansman with a mountainous undead bear, was nothing short of horrifying.

Nonetheless, Styr was a veteran warrior and a seasoned leader, and it would take more than that to make him falter.

"Hold the lines! He's just one man!" he bellowed, observing the stunned expressions on his warriors' faces. "I'll halt him in his tracks!"

Stepping forward, he wrested a spear from the grasp of one of his subordinates. If the crow's iceblade could freeze and shatter any weapons it touched, he only needed to go for an attack that couldn't blocked easily— a simple, quick spear thrust.

"You'll not take one more—" Styr exclaimed as he readied to lunge at Gale, only to halt midway, his words transforming into a guttural groan as an obsidian dagger lodged itself in his throat.

Having dispatched two more Thenn warriors before throwing the dagger, Gale said nothing as he sprinted past Styr, ensuring he retrieved his weapon as he moved forward.

Gorak clenched his teeth in frustration, observing their Magna's swift demise, followed by several of his Thenn clansmen as Gale and his undead bear effortlessly tore through their ranks. In a split second, he took charge.

"Disperse! Let them through!" he commanded, but the Thenn warriors hesitated.

Despite their many flaws, the Thenn were known for their ferocity and courage in battle, their culture steeped in brutal traditions like cannibalism and self-sacrifice. In their twisted sense of honor and pride, the Thenn embraced death and often found it preferable to a humiliating defeat. But Gorak was determined to minimize their losses.

"Lower your eyes! Styr, your Magnar, fell in an instant! There is no glory in perishing at the hands of this monster!" Gorak's impassioned words finally began to sway the soldiers, causing them to make way for Gale to sprint toward the tree line.

When Tormund and Threya reached the Thenn, the fighting spirit had already drained from many of them, allowing the two wildling warriors to pass through the disheartened ranks.

Gorak's eyes darkened as Tormund and Threya swiftly darted past him. The sly grin Tormund shot his way as he ran only served to stoke the fires of anger within Gorak. The thought of swinging his axe and shattering Tormund's skull was tempting, but an unease lingered in his mind, preventing him from acting on his impulses.

From the outset, he had considered Styr's decision to defy Rayder's orders and pursue the crow to be reckless, and he hadn't hidden his hesitance to collaborate with the Weeper. With Styr gone, he and his clansmen had no compelling reason to persist in this senseless conflict.

Gorak was about to issue the order for his clansmen to fall back when the sound of shuffling snow behind him brought his words to an abrupt halt. Slowly turning, he felt a chill crawl up his spine as he witnessed his fallen clansmen, including Styr, rising to their feet. Their eyes glowed with an eerie blue light.

The Thenn warriors, now nothing more than reanimated corpses, wasted no time. They emitted bone-chilling screeches as they lunged at the nearest living beings in their vicinity.

Rattleshirt, who had slowed his horse to a leisurely pace, couldn't suppress a sinister grin as he observed the Thenn locked in combat with their own undead comrades. His hounds sprinted past the chaotic scene, relentlessly chasing Gale and his group.

Harma Dogshead, who had caught up with him, appeared to share in his amusement. Her face bore a cruel smirk, and she couldn't resist commenting, "There goes our numbers advantage... aren't you going to help them?"

Rattleshirt turned his yellow-tinged eyes to her, his smirk widening. "The Thenn hate everyone, and everyone hates the Thenn, including myself," he replied with a harsh cackle. "Besides... we've no need for these fools. My raiders are on their way, and I suspect your merry band of spinless cowards are lurking about nearby..."

Harma and Rattleshirt exchanged worried glances as a lone figure rushed past them, a glinting steel scythe firmly held in his grasp. "Seem someone's getting excited," Rattleshirt commented, a furrow appearing on his brow as he recognized the Weeping Man charging toward the Thenn.

"This won't end well... let's leave while we still can," he urged, nudging his horse to hasten its pace with a light tap.

Harma's face twisted into a grimace as she observed the Weeper's zealous sprint. She knew all too well the depths of depravity and brutality the Weeping Man could descend in his blood lust.

Pausing just for a moment, she weighed her options before darting off, making her way swiftly toward the treeline, intent on getting as far away from the Weeping man as possible.

"I almost pity those Thenn fuckers..." Harma muttered as she sprinted with all her might.

...

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