Upon The Rising Of The Serpent

-Prologue-

All was quiet upon that bridge, where it met the sky, he sat. Mead in hand, he listened.

First came the bristling of the trees far off, then the rushing waters of the rivers. Next came slightest cracks in the stone that lay ahead of them. The feet that pommeled at the ground beneath them. At the summit of a mountain not far off, the sun kissed for the last time, fore clambering over its summit were the harbingers of the end times. The trickster at their helm.

“Nigh is the time for the serpent to rise.” He lamented as he lifted the horn to his mouth.

He blew.

-One-

Hovud met the Mistletoe spear and the two weaved and deflected. Stalemate soon arose as the trickster and the father of man persisted to smite the other. Illusions the trickster would present but to no avail as the eyes of his foe were too keen.

Gjallarhorn had been blown and it was here that the legend would start. Heimdallr recalled the words of the wise volvo long ago and with no clear victor in sight, abided by the seers' words.

He thrust himself into Baldr’s Bane and as the trickster lost control of his spear, Heimdallr severed his head from his shoulders. There rolled the head of Loki and beside it lay Hovud.

A memorial to the first deaths.

There was no Valkyrie to retrieve him, Valhalla had been opened. As the Jotun trampled over the Bifrost, cracks appeared, barely alive, Heimdallr lay there awaiting his return. Not long did he wait before the bridge crumbled, upon which he fell with the shards into Ginnungagap.

It was there he found peace, and from there that the head of Loki would await the burning of Yggdrasil.

-Two-

The champion Tyr rushed forth to meet his opponent. The two had danced about on the plains of Asgard, neither gaining on the other, had Tyr been facing a man, he surely would dominate. A dog was different, his name was Garm, guardian of Hel.

It was as the seeres had spoken to the Allfather that the two would be locked in combat.

Strike after strike the two grew more exhausted. Tyr thrusting his spear had done no more than draw slight blood from his opponent.

Garm saw an opening, he jumped forth toward his opponents neck, Tyr had been underestimated. The dog was impaled by the spear, but in his final moments, willed himself to bite at his killer. Off came the hand of the one handed champion and death followed them both.

-Three-

Upon the shores of Midgard did Tor await the trickster's son. This time he would need no Ox, for the serpent was told to rise.

Tor sat, mighty Mjolnir between his legs. He heard it first, the currents beneath giving way to his foe. Out of the waters came Jormungandr. “Welcome back old friend.” Tor spoke before releasing the dwarven gift from his grip. Aimed at the head of the serpent, it missed its mark before being recalled.

Jormungandr weaved about, covering Midgard in his venom. Upon these shores did the two dodge the other’s blows; For when Tor would release Mjolnir, Jormungandr would weave and pounce toward his foe.

Not once did either mark the other, the two were evenly matched. Only when the serpent struck at the sand did Tor gain some ground, weaving away before standing in the serpent’s mouth and holding it open. He threw Mjolnir to Ymir’s skull and recalled it, allowing for the hammer breach through the serpent’s head and shower Tor with venom.

He felt the burning in his eye as he released his grip and began to walk.

Nine paces he would step before he would fall.

-Four-

Atop the boar Gullinbursti did Freyr ride to meet the engulfed Jotun, their swords met, sparks flying in a shower of imminent demise.

Surtr, the flaming giant, born of Muspelheim attacked with great ferocity, even so, this did not phase the swift Freyr who danced closer and closer.

Freyr found that he could get no closer, as the Jotun had become defence, his attacks, now balanced, leaving little opening.

Deceived, Surtr had thrust his flaming sword only to leave himself open, Freyr in all of his swiftness, passed under Surtr’s guard and plunged his sword into the Jotun’s chest.

Gasping from exhaustion, Freyr took a knee, and in his final breath did the Flaming Jotun plunge his sword into the soil. Setting Yggdrasil ablaze and scorching his swift killer.

-Five-

Gungnir was unshackled from the Allfather’s grip before it nicked the Flaming Wolf Fenrir.

Around them, Asgard was burning, the Bifrost, still crumbling in the distance as its fragments fell into the chaotic chasm below.

Odin weaved between the wolf’s legs and retrieved his spear, thrusting and slashing its blade at the flaming fur of his foe. To little avail, as the wolf would once again bite at the Allfather. Swift he was, but the wolf drew blood from the one-eyed god. Even injured, he fought with great tenacity and was felled only when his blood had already extinguished the flames on which they fought.

In a moment of no ceremony the wolf had devoured the all seeing Odin.

-Six-

My boot had been fashioned for this very moment. The seeress foretold it, and even with my father’s preparation, he could not avoid his own death.

I launched off a nearby precipice and placed my boot upon the maw of my father’s killer.

Immobilized, Fenrir lay helpless as my sword lengthened his lips down to his tail. All but split in half, the son of Loki drew his last breath, and his fire went out.

I trudged to Ithavllir, to convene with the survivors of this cataclysm, and told them the same story that I am telling you.

They called me Vidar, Odinson, God of Vengeance.