Prologue.
1.
Livid dark clouds clustered together in the night sky, as a fierce storm cruelly enforced its domineering presence over the far outskirts of New Orleans. Torrential rain pounded down from the sky in thick sheets - its thick pregnant droplets bouncing high up off the barren waste-land floor as they connected forcibly with the ground like rapid gunfire bullets. Thunder rumbled menacingly high above the horizon, with regular bolts of lightning dramatically cracking the midnight blue sky into two as their electric shards crawled rapidly across thick clouds, like spiders that had been disturbed out of their hidden nests.
The land that lay across the large Mississippi River on the southern outskirts of the great Big Easy, was for the most part a desolate barren wasteland - devoid of the numerous buildings and human clusters that could be found in abundance just a few miles north in the heart of the great city. Very few roads ran through the semi-desert terrain that spread out like a virulent disease from the great rivers edge, and even fewer of those roads actually led to anywhere that most rational, well-balanced humans would want to venture.
But the bulking figure that currently sped along at high speed on one of those well weathered desert trails, had lost what little sanity he had possessed many years ago – along with the small amount of humanity that he had originally be born with.
Water sprayed up high off the dirt track as two large wheels of a customized Harley Davidson roadster motorcycle cut through the viscous rain, as though it was a mere illusion that filled the air around it. The notorious roar of the v-twin cylinder engines belonging to the classic bike was somewhat diminished as it competed with the load rumbling of thunder and the monotonous drumming of the storms heavy rain - but the power emitting from the feral ride still throbbed violently between the riders legs, as he threw back his helmet-free head and let out a exhilarated, euphoric laugh into the night.
Colborn lived for nights like this.
As the screaming howl of strong, bellowing winds assaulted his ears and unyielding rain battered against the scarred tough skin of his rugged face, the biker opened his beard covered mouth in a large wide smile and let the ionised water wash over his rough tongue and yellowing teeth. Anyone witnessing the sight may have claimed that the biker was attempting to cleanse his soul by letting the falling water completely wash away all of the days anger and stress – leaving behind only a purified version of his usual self.
But for Colborn, the nights storm was having the complete opposite effect on his slightly over-weight, bulky frame. He could feel the raw power of the turbulent thunder, and the fierce rapid fire of the rain hitting his skin, filling his very essence with the only human emotion that he would ever let rush through his body. The one feeling that he strived to cultivate and harvest on a near daily basis - passionate about its presence running through his veins.
i Hate. /i
The biker let the storm's hate completely submerge him in its hostile embrace as he raced along the barren wasteland – the power of the steed between his legs arousing more than just a lust for speed deep within.
Eventually, and not without some resentment, Colborn began to reign in the hurried advance of his motorised ride, as a building shaped silhouette slowly started to come into view on the desolate land's horizon. From a distance, the lone structure on the otherwise blank desert canvas would appear to the average naked eye as a run down and derelict edifice that had somehow survived from a time long ago forgotten. One which could be easily overlooked and ignored should strangers accidently find themselves lost all the way out here in the middle of nowhere.
But not to the storm-battered burly framed biker, who pointed his motorcycle in the old buildings direction, steering it off the rough dirt track and onto the even bumpier rocky desert terrain.
Rocks and sodden dirt kicked up and sprayed into the rain filled air in the wake of the motorcycles advance, as it blazed a trail across the uneven landscape being battered by the fierce storm. Only when the numerous other motorcycles lined up outside of the wooden structure came into focus, did Colborn begin to cut power to his mounts wheels - bringing the bike to an eventual stop outside of the entrance to the rain soaked building.
Slowly removing the keys from the ignition slot on his ride, Colborn lifted his face up to the raging night sky, and let the thick droplets of rain roughly fire down onto his naked face – relishing the quick sting of pain each one of the water beads inflicted onto his flesh.
Whilst most humans and animals alike tended to shy away from the more aggressive and violent tendencies of mother-nature's unpredictable will, Colborn had always rushed towards storms and hurricanes, eager to embrace the raw and dangerous power contained within them. He never felt more alive than when he was riding out in the midst of gale force winds, manically chasing the powerful cores at the centre of the natural tempests, on his two wheeled speed machine.
Which is what the biker had been doing earlier that very evening, before he had felt the unmistakable call of his brethren – demanding his presence back amongst them.
i Dammed blood bond, commanding his unquestioning loyalty and compliance. Oh what he wouldn't give to be able to rip that part of his black, rotting heart out, and finally be free to rain down his own brand of havoc onto the world. /i
As if his perfidious thoughts had not only been sensed, but correctly deciphered into the disobedient desire they represented - Colborn felt a ripple of pain rush through his veins as a the presence of a commanding word took form within his mind.
i "Now!" /i
The biker's top lip curled into a snarl over rotting teeth, as he shook his head in a futile attempt to rid himself of the unwanted wave of submission that was now demanding the compliance of his muscles. He knew it was useless to fight against the all-consuming power of the blood bond - but it didn't stop him trying each time he felt the power exerting its dominance over his actions. "A futile waste of energy", the other Jarls would often remind Colborn when he would let out a tell-tale pained growl of frustration that often associated itself with his attempt to go against the will of the bond.
Not that it ever stopped him trying.
i And not that it would ever stop him trying either, until the day he either claimed his own will back, or his unnaturally long life finally came to its overdue end. /i
Another wave of discomfort coursed through his body, this time accumulating with a sharp, agonising jolt in his head - forcing an involuntary cry of distress to leave his cracked lips.
Huffing out a hot breath of resignation, the biker tucked the Harley's ignition keys into one of the many pockets adorning his well-worn leather jacket, and swung his leg over the bikes frame to come to a stand in front of the old building's entrance. Despite the constant roar of rain lashing down from sky above, garish brash music could be heard emitting from within the large wooden structure, mixed in harshly with waves of raucous laughter and boisterous shouting.
Also competing to be heard above the booming timbre of the evening's storm was the resonating electrical pulse vibrating out from the garishly bright neon sign that hung over the establishment's doorway. The bright red illumination provided by the flickering name, highlighted a tight lipped smile that formed upon Colborn's face, as he processed the familiar sounds that radiated out from Barracuda – the Clan's less than welcoming place of dwelling.
i Despite his hatred of the blood-bonds hold upon his rotting soul, the biker still always felt a sense of belonging each time he returned back to this estranged drinking establishment out in the middle of the Mississippi waste-lands. It was - he guessed - the closest thing to a home that any of the original Clan members had had in many, many years. /i
Running a large calloused hand through his soaking long black hair, the biker stepped up to the bars entrance and shoved the door open with far more force than was necessary. A gust of hot, sweat filled air instantly rushed out from inside of the bar to assault Colburn's nose, as the previously muffled music and shouting increased in volume tenfold. From his current position standing upon the establishment's threshold, the biker could see that the place was already heaving in capacity, full of gang members drunkenly enjoying their Saturday evenings merriment whilst having their fill of beer and liquor. An air of violence also twirled and danced in the atmosphere of the saloon - Colborn almost being able to taste its promise of carnage and destruction that could at any moment be unleashed by the many drunken patrons littering the room.
i It made the blood running through his veins hum slightly with engorged anticipation and excitement. /i
Slamming the entrance door behind him to regretfully cut off the raging storm outside, the biker steadily made his way into the large open-plan saloon, weaving in and out of the numerous occupied tables and chairs that littered Baracuda's floor. Though the room was only dimly lit by a few sparse light-fittings dotted here and there, Colburn confidently made his way without any hindrance to the bar situated at the centre of the lively establishment, having walked the same path countless times before. As he reached the busy serving station, the robust biker wasted no time in gruffly shoving aside another bearded man who had been stood leaning against the wooden bar and chatting animatedly to the bartender on the other side of the structure.
After quickly regaining his balance, the offended gang member whipped his body around to face his assailant, and sought to grab Colborn by the lapels of his soaked leather jacket - only to come face-to-face with fierce livid eyes that burnt bright with a fiery red hue. A deep threatening growl emitted from Colborn's throat, as the expression on the face of the drunken gang member holding onto his jacket rapidly switched from anger, to grim recognition.
Quickly dropping his hands away from the bikers clothing, the smaller man attempted to back up a pace or two, only to collide into another reveller who was also stood at the bar, waiting to order his next drink.
"I…I'm sorry Jarl Colborn…I did not realise it was you. Please, forgive my ignorance."
Colborn snarled and flashed his rotting teeth at the retreating gang member, before turning his attention towards the man behind the bar, who was stood watching the brief exchange with a look of somewhat bored indifference lounging upon his face.
The biker's eyes slowly bled back into their usual murky brown colour, as he nodded a terse greeting to Baracuda's manager.
"You're late Colborne - Halvar is likely to have your pink slips for missing the start of the ceremony. You know its significance!"
The burly biker huffed to himself in response to the bar manager's words, before replying in the deep tones of his harsh gravelly voice.
"I'd have the self-important fools head on a spike should he so much as look at my bike wrongly…. Jarl leader or not! Now pour me a damn beer man, before I run your head through this pathetic excuse of a bar-top."
The bar manager scowled at Colborn as he shook his head lightly in annoyance - but still moved to pour the biker his beer. The overweight man in front of him might have been the clan Jarl that he loathed the most, but he knew his place when it came to the power struggles that constantly raged within the biker gang.
Colborn was one of the clan's seven Jarls – and no one in their right mind messed with them. Certainly not if they wanted to live to tell the tale.
The manager placed a freshly poured tanker of ale down on the wooden bar-top and watched as Colborn instantly snatched it up, draining its contents whole in a few loud gulps. As the biker slammed the now empty container back down onto the wood, and roughly wiped a sleeve of his leather jacket across the froth coated beard surrounding his mouth, he jerked his head towards the rear of the room - indicating a small wooden door that was set into the wall there.
"The others all gathered in the cellar?"
"Yes, your brothers all descended into the sanctuary just over an hour ago. The woman arrived not long after." A slight condescending sneer formed on the supervisor's lips as he continued. "I imagine they await you with bated breath, Jarl Colborn."
Colborn dropped his head slightly and glowered at the bar manager through thick bushy eyebrows, as he silently admonished the insubordinate gang member for the tone of insolence that laced voice. The arrogant manager may have won Halvar's approval throughout the years for his longstanding service to the clan, but Colborn still fancied the idea of ripping the man's tongue out of his foul smelling mouth later that evening - once the impending ceremony was over of course.
Sniffing up loudly through his nostrils, Colborn spat out a large goblet of green tinged phlegm onto the wooden bar-top that separated him from the bar manager - narrowly missing the man's hand as it closed around the empty beer tanker to clear it away. The biker grinned cruelly he watched the manager pull back his lips in disgust, before he turned and began to make his way across the tavern towards the far cellar door.
As he drew closer to his destination, Colborn's eyes flicked over to the large, 1950's retro-style Juke Box that stood off to the right of Baracuda's basement entrance, propped up against the rooms back wall. The unforgiving tones of a heavy metal song blared out from wide speakers that lined the sides of the colourful machine, managing to completely fill the large saloon with its disjointed harsh rhythm.
It wasn't however the choice of song emitting out from the Juke Box that caused a menacing grin to slither across Colborn's weathered face, as he drew closer to the back of the tavern. But more so the two individuals that were currently pressed up against the machine, obscuring the view of the contraption's neon lit façade.
A young blonde haired woman, who Colborn guessed from first impressions could be no older than eighteen years in age, currently had her face forcefully squashed down against the glass covering the front of the Juke Box, by a large scarred hand that was holding her head in place. The biker could just see from the angle at which he stood that the woman's skirt had been hitched up around her waist, exposing the bare skin of her rear as a second marred hand brutally gripped onto the flesh of her right hip. The Juke box itself rocked back and forth, pitching slightly off the floor as one of the gangs many members repeatedly thrusted himself up against the crying woman's bent over form - his own leather pants and underwear scrunched down haphazardly around his hair covered ankles.
Colborn inhaled deeply, drawing in the musky scent of sex that rose up from between the two figures, as he clapped a rough hand briefly onto the shoulder of the occupied male as he passed by.
"Make sure to save me some!"
No reply reached his ears over the discordant shrill of music filling the tavern, other than the continued sobs of the distressed young woman, which were being punctuated with each thrust of flesh against her own.
Colborn sneered to himself, as he reached the wooden cellar door and pulled it open.
2.
"Fire Immortals, deres blod kombinert. Fusjonert sammen, deres kraft guddommelige!"
Halvar kept his eyes steadily fixed on the ceremonial slab directly in front of him, as the words of Balder – the clans only practicing Gothi – infused the air around him with a hypnotizing power. As the tongue of their native land flowed out of his fellow Jarl's mouth, the clan leader found himself filling with an increased sense of purpose and determination. The incantation being recited reminded him of just how long they had all waited for this moment, and how important it was that this final attempt of resurrection did not fail.
i Surely this was it - this was finally the moment that their lord would return to them. Nothing could stop the resurrection this time! /i
Halvar focused his gaze intently upon the desiccated body of his lord and master, as it lay sprawled motionless on a large concrete altar situated in the middle of the spacious cellar, deep beneath the main building of Baracuda bar.
He and four of his clan brothers stood forming a loose circle around the cold grey slab, as Balder continued with his preparation of blood over in the far right side of the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Halvar could see that the clan's Gothi was hunched over a small apothecary desk as he carefully poured the contents of a small glass tumbler into that of a larger, old metal tankard. Numerous jars and test-tubes littered the surface of the well-worn wooden table, most of which contained various colourful potions and solutions of the Gothi's own making. Those assorted containers however, were currently being ignored by Balder as his attention was fixed solely on the four glass beakers of blood placed directly in front of him, and the medieval stein into which he was pouring their contents into as he chanted out loud.
"Fire Immortals, deres blod kombinert. Fusjonert sammen, deres kraft guddommelige!"
As Balder's incantation continued to resound around the room, Halvar could also feel the presence of the brooding woman, as she stood with her back leaning against the wall directly behind him. He did not need to turn and lay eyes on her to know that her face, currently shadowed beneath the dark hood of a jacket, would be fixed into a hard and unforgiving scowl as she watched the Jarls' perform their resurrection ritual. He could practically feel the hate radiating off the girl's tall frame, as it formed an almost tangible wave of power that pulsated out from the woman's core – her whole being desperate to put an end to each of the 6 brothers currently gathered in Baracuda's cellar.
Not that it bothered him of course – the disgust and loathing that he detected flowing off the woman in droves. Halvar knew without any shadow of a doubt that she would make no move to try and stop the ritual that the Jarls' were performing. Nor would she act upon the deep rooted, aggressive desire that he also knew coursed through her, to eviscerate each of the men that she currently stood watching with hardened eyes.
i Her hands were tied so to speak – figuratively, if no longer physically /i
"It is done!"
Balder's voice abruptly dragged the clan leader out of his thoughts, as each of the Jarls' quickly turned their gaze away from the shrivelled body lying on the concrete slab, to focus on their Gothi brother who turned towards them as he held out a full goblet of blood in front of his person. Halvar could see that the hands clasping the ancient container were holding it in a particularly delicate and gentle grip – providing a stark contrast of image to the hard faced, muscular man to which the hands belonged. The clan leader would have let out a hearty laugh at the sight of the seasoned biker practically tip-toing across the cellar towards them, had the seriousness of their current situation not have weighed so heavily on his being.
Just as the circle of Jarls shuffled their stance to allow Balder to take up his position at the head of the concrete altar, a loud clattering sound vibrated through the cellar, as something heavy collided into the other-side of the closed wooden door leading back up to the taverns main room.
A quick succession of muffled, yet colourful swear words diffused their way through the wooden barrier, reaching their ears just before the door was unceremoniously thrown open – giving way to a very angry looking, and very late, Colborn.
Halvar's eyes narrowed of their own accord, as they focused on the dishevelled form of his tardy brother – quickly taking in the appearance his sodden clothes and dirt laced leather boots, as the Jarl began to shuffle ungracefully into the basement room.
i The damn idiot had clearly been out on his bike indulging in the nights storm again, instead of staying close to the clans haunt, like he had instructed the insufferable fool to do /i
As he closed his eyes briefly to try and rein in his frustration and anger at the actions of the unpredictable Jarl, Halvar could feel the woman behind him tense – all of her muscles having gone rigid the second that Colborn had flung open the cellar's wooden door.
i At least the overweight buffoon was effective at something! /i
Halvar's eyes remained closed, as he spoke to his brother with an agitated sigh.
"Good of you to finally grace us with your presence, Jarl Colburn."
His eyes opened and fixed with simmering anger onto the burly biker - who was currently in the process of shoving himself brusquely between two of his brethren circled around the stone altar.
"Decided that the return of our great Lord was something that was worth your precious time after all?!"
Colborn's attention fixed onto the desiccated body lying on the concrete slab in front of them all, refusing to grace the clan leader with the courtesy of looking at him when he responded.
"Don't get your damn girly panties into a twist Halvar! I'm here now aren't I?!"
Halvar could feel the anger that swirled aggressively within his body begin to push itself up, causing his neck and cheeks to flush slightly with a hint of colour. That however, was the only physical sign he would allow to betray the distaste that he felt towards the insubordinate biker he had to call brother. The clan leader knew that now was not the time for resuming their age long squabble about respect and obedience.
i This night – this glorious, magnificent night – belonged to their Lord and Master. And nothing could be allowed to distract from that fact! /i
As he quickly shook his head to dismiss the matter until a later time, Halvar noticed Colborn's attention flick over to the woman still stood leaning silently against the wall behind him. A cruel and malicious smirk pulled at the bikers lips, as he gave the girl a quick once over with sin filled eyes, before speaking to her.
"Miss me, sweetheart?!"
A few of the other Jarl's let out throaty laugh's in response to their brother's taunt, causing the leer on Colborn's face to widen even further as his eyes remained on the tense woman.
"Enough!"
Halvar's voice rose to a level just loud enough to ensure finality of his command could not be mistaken, as he felt the ancient power of the blood-bond suddenly flare up within him.
"We have wasted enough time over the ages waiting for this moment. There will be no further delay!"
Each of the Jarl's quickly cowed their heads, the smiles instantly wiping clean off their faces - a move that signalled complete submission to the clan leader's authority. Even Colborn's eyes left the woman, and dropped to fix upon a point somewhere on the cold ground beneath him – the assertive will of the blood-bond far too powerful to be denied by any of them.
Pausing for a split-second to ensure that each of his brethren was once again focused, Halvar's eyes fixed back upon Balder, as he spoke to the Gothi.
"Brother, please…. continue."
The Gothi nodded his head curtly, before bringing the blood filled tankard in his hands to rest just above the withered lips of the body lay in front of them all. Clearing his throat quietly, the Jarl let his eyes slowly close and encouraged the final words of the ancient incantation to flow out from within him.
"Med dette blodet fornyer vi essensen, omfavner det nå og reiser seg igjen blant oss!"
Halvar watched as Balder opened his eyes once more, and slowly – carefully – removed one hand from around the metal container, using it to gently prise open the dry and arid mouth of their desiccated lord.
Complete silence filled the room, as all seven Jarls that surrounded the altar stood completely still and unmoving - waiting with baited breath for any sign that the administered blood would have the desired effect on their lord.
As his eyes swept searchingly up-and-down over the body on the altar, a small part of Halvar's mind registered that even the woman behind him seemed to have held onto the last breath she had taken – watching and listening almost as intently as his male brethren.
Thirty seconds passed….
Sixty…..
As their wait approached that of the two minute mark, the silence in the room began to falter, as a few of the Jarls started to become restless. Halvar saw anxious looks appearing on more than one of his men's faces, as the absolute stillness of the body in front of them continued.
Unsurprisingly, Colborn was the first to break rank.
"What the fuck Balder! I thought you said it would work this time?!"
The burly Jarl's face twisted into anger, as the words left his mouth and he flashed an accusing gaze in Balder's direction.
"It….It should have worked. This was definitely…definitely the key to breaking our Lord's imprisonment. I've followed the instructions that were written on the Tome to the letter", the Gothi stammered, his eyes growing wider in puzzlement as the seconds continued to tick by without any change to the desiccated body they surrounded. "The goblet that had wet the lips of Hel. The energy of nature's wrath. The blood of the first-born Immortals."
Balder turned his head quickly to lock eyes with Halvar, his expression one of nervous confusion.
"I swear to you Halvar, all the pieces of the puzzle are present and correct. It should have worked!"
The clan leader barely had time to open his mouth to formulate a reply, before Colborn's gravelly voice filled the room.
"But what if they weren't?!"
All eyes locked on to the bearded biker, as he broke the group's formation and slowly began to stalk towards the woman stood at the back of the room.
"What if the little bitch here has deceived us? Made us think that she was fulfilling her purpose, when she was in fact cooking up a scheme to make our plight fail?!"
Halvar watched varying expressions of anger develop on his brother's faces, as they processed what Colborn had insinuated. A few others moved to join the hot-headed Jarl, as he stalked slowly towards the woman, who, Halvar noted, seemed to be pressing her back up against the unyielding wall with increasing force. The clan leader could not see what expression was currently on her face thanks to the hood that she wore pulled down low. But he could practically smell the fear that was now radiating off her in thick, palpable waves.
"Ohhh little girl – by the time I am through with you, you will be begging for me to end your life!"
Colborn's eyes bled into fierce orbs of swirling reds and black, as he drew nearer to the cowering woman.
Halvar let out a long, frustrated sigh.
"Colborn, by the God's! Get your sorry excuse for a Jarl's ass back in formation! There is no way that she could have betrayed us, and you know it! She is….."
The clan leader's admonishing was cut short by Balder, who suddenly let out a choked cry of surprise.
"Halvar….look!"
Every set of eyes in the room quickly turned to where the Gothi was pointing - his outstretched hand shaking slightly in the flickering candle light that illuminated the cellar.
The arms of the desiccated corpse that had been lying motionless on the concrete altar, were slowly moving upwards - as the figure brought them towards what remained of its shrivelled face. Halvar's eyes quickly widened in anticipation, as he watched the dehydrated muscles covering the bones on his lord's hands slowly start to increase in mass, beginning to flesh out a little as they moved.
i It had worked. After all these years, the damn Gothi had finally done it! /i
All seven Jarl's quickly crowded back around the stone slab and fixed their gaze upon the face of their Lord, which was now covered by the body's own hands.
Halvar drew in a deep breath as he cleared his throat and almost whispered out the words that had gathered expectantly in his mouth.
"My Lord? Can you hear me?"
A strange noise began to softly emit from beneth the body's hands - one which Halvar best likened to that of bubbles being blown rapidly into water. He chanced a quick glance up from his Lord to the observe the faces of the other Jarl's gathereed around - all of whom had a mixture of anticipation and what appeared to be worry painted onto their features.
Dropping his eyes back down to the altar, Halvar made to repeat his initial question.
"My Lord? Can…."
The clan leader was abruptly cut off by the sudden jolt upwards of the shrivelled bodies torso, as its fleshing out hands flew away from its face and gripped tightly onto either side of the concrete altar. Before any of the occupents in the room had time to react to the movement, the dried lips on the body's face parted wide, and emited a deep and very loud hollar into the basement.
"RAAAAARH!"
Halvar barely had chance to register the expressions on his surrounding brethern's faces mirroring his own in wide-eyed shock, before each one of them was vehemently pulled to the ground into a kneeling position - forced there by the unmistakable oppression of the blood-bond that thrived within their bodies.
Their lord, had returned.