New Opportunities Part 2
Jotunheim
The charred debris was the only remnant hinting at the existence of Ulfrun's hut in this desolate place. The once pristine white snow now bore the stains of ash and blood, a somber reminder of the barbarian's cherished memories. But sentimentality had no place here; it was time to focus on the forgotten treasure bestowed upon him by his grandfather. The hunter's heart resonated with the call of his long-lost possession, guiding him unerringly through the bleak landscape.
With determination in his eyes, the Olympian sprinted toward a pristine snowdrift, his claws digging into the frozen terrain. Swiftly, he uncovered his coveted prize, a small box protected by a magical lock. With a display of brute strength, he shattered the wooden barrier, revealing his lost son—a bone-black dagger adorned with sinister, demonic patterns on its hilt.
"Greetings, my boy. It's been too long. Are you prepared to witness the bloodshed of those who have wronged me?" The Olympian's voice resonated with a mix of affection and menace as he tenderly caressed the weapon. In response, the dagger transformed into a viscous black liquid, enveloping its father's body and fashioning a formidable armor. Dark silver plates embedded with precious gems and nightmarish visages adorned his form, emanating an aura of abyssal power. A black cloak, concealing his face from the world, settled atop the armor, completing the transformation. "Ah, how I've missed this," the warrior sighed in relief, savoring the grandeur of the moment. Finally, every muscle in his body found peace and security. No longer did he need to remain vigilant every waking moment; his loyal son would now attend to his enemies. "Hmm, it seems blood will be spilled sooner than anticipated," the warrior whispered, his gaze shifting toward the ominous forest.
Hidden amidst the towering trees and swirling snow, an assailant lurked. Icy spears sliced through the air, aimed at the Olympian's heart. Yet, black tendrils surged forth from his armor, as dark as the night itself, deftly deflecting the onslaught. Not a single spear found its mark. With calm and measured steps, the Olympian advanced toward the fallen projectiles, lifting one up and pointing it menacingly toward the forest. "It appears not all giants have perished!" he taunted, his words swallowed by the silence that emanated from the depths of the woods. Suddenly, the weather shifted, transforming the clear day into a brooding gloom. Gray clouds masked the sun, and a tempest of ice and snow was unleashed upon the earth. Raising his palm to catch a few frozen fragments, the Olympian jestingly inquired, "Do you happen to have herbal tea?"
The enemy, unamused by the jibe, retaliated by unleashing a horde of colossal wolves upon the barbarian. These magnificent creatures, with fur as white as winter's embrace, lunged with astonishing speed and agility, their jaws eager to rend the madman's flesh. But he proved swifter than his adversaries, leaving behind naught but a wispy trail of darkness. The wolves fell lifeless, their jaws unable to even meet in mid-air.
The once pristine expanse once blanketed in snow, now bore a sinister hue as it was stained with the dark crimson of slain wolves. The desolation weighed heavily on the creatures, their very bones trembling with the looming danger brought forth by the warrior. Trapped by both instinct and the orders of their enigmatic master, escape remained a distant dream. Haemon, with a swift swing of his bloodstained sword, severed yet another wolf's head, his voice tinged with unsettling boredom as he questioned, "Will you ever reveal yourselves?" The silence that followed only deepened his frustration. With a heavy sigh, he muttered, "We have no choice but to venture further." Clapping his hands together, he summoned a torrent of black spears, which rained down upon the forest like a merciless storm. These lethal weapons pierced through everything in their path, transforming the once magnificent woodland into a grotesque plain. Snow swirled in the air, obscuring their view, but the Olympian swiftly dispelled the obstruction with a powerful wave of his hand, causing the snowflakes to settle once more. It was time to confront the wounded, yet resilient, Jotun woman.
The fair-haired girl, her pale gray skin camouflaged by the wolf's hide she wore, gasped for breath, her hands clutching the black spear embedded in her abdomen. Her eyes, brimming with anger, locked onto the Olympian. Spitting blood, she forced a pained smile and whispered with great effort, "When did Odin manage to ensnare you?" Haemon approached cautiously, squatting down to examine the woman. Stroking his beard gently, he deftly withdrew the spear from her abdomen. "Silence, or death will be your only reprieve," he retorted coldly, pressing his hand against her grievous wound. Though she struggled to resist, her resistance was swiftly quelled by his overwhelming physical strength. From his hand emerged small tentacles that deftly stitched her torn flesh, halting the bleeding. The woman, to put it mildly, found herself bewildered by this sudden change of heart. Merely moments ago, this very person had sought to end her life, and now he displayed unexpected compassion towards her injuries. It all seemed perplexingly suspicious.
"If you seek to extract information for your father through this act, I regret to inform you that I possess no knowledge," the giantess remarked, her gaze piercing into the stranger's eyes. "I am no servant of Odin, in fact, we may be considered enemies. And as for my aid to you, it is merely a debt repaid to the woman who once inhabited these lands," explained the barbarian, concluding his treatment of the woman's wound. Realizing that no immediate danger loomed, she struggled to stand, leaning heavily on the warrior's shoulder to steady herself. He turned to her, his expression devoid of emotion, and stated matter-of-factly, "Ulfrun is likely still alive and resides within Odin's palace."
"Cursed be it all! I should have anticipated this. Sooner or later, the old man would seek to reclaim what is rightfully his," the giantess seethed, her hand clenched in anger, only to release it quickly due to the searing pain in her abdomen. "What do you mean?" the warrior inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Ulfrun possesses knowledge of the hidden whereabouts of Ymir's heart. Legend has it that with it, the inferno of Muspelheim can be quelled. Odin will stop at nothing to slay his sworn adversary, Surtur, whose destiny is to lay waste to the realm of the Aesir," the giantess revealed, her concern etched upon her face as she clung tightly to the warrior's shoulder. "Another reason for me to harbor disdain for prophecies," Haemon muttered, lifting the now-weakened woman into his arms. Locking his gaze with hers, he queried, "You know the whereabouts of Mimir, don't you?"
She stared at him in surprise, her eyes widening, and quickly nodded in response. "No, but I know those who do," she replied. The Olympian let out a heavy, irritated sigh and, without warning, swung her over his shoulder, summoning his crimson abyss steed. "You'll show the way to your acquaintances. I hope you can handle riding a horse!" he smirked, seating the girl in front of him. She immediately objected, "Can't I sit behind?" Ignoring her words, Haemon paid no attention, calmly settling in behind her and pulling her close. Leaning towards her ear, he asked coldly, "Which direction?"
"Towards that mountain and then to the yellow temple beneath it," she revealed, pointing her finger at a colossal mountain in the distance. Her teeth were gritted so hard they seemed on the verge of cracking. Nodding, the Olympian kicked the horse's flank, urging it to gallop towards the mountain with all its might. The woman quickly realized why he didn't allow her to sit behind. The horse possessed monstrous speed, and she simply wouldn't be able to hold on properly. Only the barbarian's strong grip prevented her from falling off.
"So, who are you, and what are you doing here?" Haemon's eyes focused on the road as he posed his question. His powerful hands held onto the giantess tightly, along with the horse's mane. "My name is Skadi, and I am the mistress of hunting and winter. I am a friend of Ulfurun, whom I secretly visit once a year. And yes, there are other surviving giants besides Loki's family. But I won't tell you about them," Skadi pressed closer to the barbarian as the wind grew stronger. Fear of falling off the horse gripped her, as it raced at lightning speed.
"Understand! And you can call me Haemon," the barbarian nodded understandingly and urged the horse forward. He wanted to reach their destination as soon as possible to release the huntress peacefully. Any touch to her body caused unimaginable pain. She was like a living block of ice, slowly freezing the warrior's flesh. If anyone else were in his place, they would have likely lost their limbs to frostbite long ago.
It appeared that Skadi had spent her life only among other giants, as there was no other way to explain her calm reaction to his touch. Or perhaps, she craved it in order to eliminate the Olympian by freezing him to death. The horse also felt the chilling pain, but fortunately, the abyss of fire in its heart prevented it from stiffening. Skadi, lacking education, mistook the Olympian for a Vanir with a strange name. Unbeknownst to her, she was facing a lord from an entirely different world. As they journeyed towards the mountain, both of them preferred silence over conversation, conserving their strength for the challenges that lay ahead.
Asgard
In the vast, opulent hall adorned with gleaming gold and a myriad of illustrious trophies, a perpetual feast of legendary warriors unfolded under the watchful gaze of the one-eyed king. Seated upon his majestic horned throne, he tightly gripped his mighty spear, a weapon capable of piercing even the most impenetrable armor. His single eye, woven as if from the very fabric of the stars, impartially surveyed the daily routine playing out in his sacred domain. His ravens had long informed him of his beloved son's reckless escapade, a near-catastrophe that threatened to derail his carefully laid plans. And now, that foolhardy redhead raced towards the hall, battered and bruised from his clash with the world serpent, his sworn nemesis. In the midst of this scene, a solitary figure gently caressed the wolf resting at his feet, lost in contemplation.
The colossal doors of the hall thundered open, admitting the wounded thunderer into the chamber. Thor's countenance twisted with anger and discontent, his desire to throttle the two serpents who had humiliated him on the same day palpable. "May Loki be rendered barren!" the Aesir muttered cruelly to himself, snatching the drink from a hapless soul who sought nothing but a sip. Downing it in a single gulp, he strode purposefully towards his father, preparing to deliver the unwelcome news. Along his path to the throne, his two sons rushed to meet him—Magni and Modi, towering figures who rivaled their father in strength and stature. Some might even argue that they surpassed him, but such perceptions were mere illusions. Before they could utter a word, Thor bellowed at them, striking both on the head. "Not now!"
"Son, there is no need for you to speak. I am already aware of everything!" The All-Father's voice dripped with contempt as he raised his hand to silence his son. The giant killer's eyes bulged with fury, poised to unleash a retort, but he swiftly restrained himself. "Then, Father, you must already be acquainted with a stranger named Haimon," he said disdainfully, his hand involuntarily caressing Mjolnir, attempting to quell the brewing rage. Gradually, his electric blue eyes returned to their normal hue, a sign that the tempest within him was subsiding. "Indeed, I have been apprised of this intriguing young man. Who would have thought that my mighty Thor could be wounded by some pitiful Olympian who does not even belong to the twelve rulers of the mountain? Hm, this complicates matters. I shall have to revise my plans accordingly. Now, go tend to your wounds and instruct Valkyrie to commence the interrogation, if necessary. We must extract information from her as swiftly as possible!" Stroking his beard in contemplation, the king issued his command to his son, gesturing for him to depart with haste.
With a silent nod, Thor made his way to his chambers, his mind filled with muttered words. "Zeus, have you unraveled my intentions?" Odin mused, his gaze fixed pensively upon the ceiling.
In the depths of the First Circle, Hel found herself plagued by a nagging sense of unease as she meticulously examined the documents before her. The dimly lit chamber echoed with her whispered self-doubt, "Why does an unsettling notion gnaw at my core? Something is amiss."