I know exactly where I have to go. I can't believe I wasted two days going in the wrong direction, but it's fine, I'll manage. I just have to get past Grendel again.

Kicking open the Nazi door, I walk inside. This isn't the house with all of the decaying corpses in it, so it only smells like racism and sauerkraut. I'd loaded up before, but I was expecting a lot of travel, not fighting a big scary monster. I only made it out the last time because I was lucky, this time I have to be prepared.

If this really is Gungnir, it should be able to pierce his flesh. It's certainly no mortal weapon. As I am now The Punisher – maybe Punishette so Marvel doesn't sue, but we are criminals – I have to kill that horrifying thing. Maybe I can prevent more people from being eaten by it.

Yeah. I'm still a hero, I'll be keeping the citizens of Helheim safe! I pick up a grenade by its handle, staring at the shaft as I try to figure out how to throw it. Maybe that's not the best plan.

Setting it back down, I go through the rest of their supplies. A few more clips and some more food fill my pack to the point I'm worried I may lose some of it. There just has to be something else. Maybe a rifle? Or a bazooka! Did Nazis have bazookas?
Oh. My eyes settle on a strange device on a wall in their closet. I don't know why they had it, or maybe it just came with them like the houses, but even I know what that metallic tube attached to that backpack means. I'm grinning so wide my cheeks hurt. Elsa is gonna be so jealous!

My bag falls to the ground and I strap the new device to my back. It's heavier than I'd expected. But I'm a badass now, I can definitely manage. I step toward the stares, eager to try out the weapon before my big fight with Grendel. Beowulf, eat your heart out.

Outside, I take a few steps away from the house and point the nozzle up, over the house where the two in the trenchcoats had lived. My shoulder screams in pain, but I manage to hold it up. Jesus, I miss Skaldi, just going down the stairs already has me winded. This thing has to weigh at least a hundred pounds. As I pull the trigger, I hear the gas in the backpack shoot forward. In an instant, a massive jet of flame shoots out, stinking horribly of gasoline.

Holy shit.

I love it!

I sag onto the ground, exhausted just from hauling it down here. The pain in my shoulder isn't exactly helping. I wonder if this will work on Grendel? It's probably a mortal weapon, but it's also way fancier than anything that that term could've referred to. Plus it worked in Buffy.

I stand back up and pull the trigger again, watching as the stream of flames pours out before me, shining over the hilltops. Okay, I can stop now. A little bit of grass seems to be on fire, but it should be fine. Not like there's anyone left to worry about these houses, anyway.

The weapon falls out of my hands, as another burst of pain shoots out from my shoulder, spreading across my entire body. Why does it hurt so much?

Oh. The entire shoulder of my costume is stained a dark red. I must've reopened my injury. Poop.

I shrug the pack off of my uninjured shoulder, so I won't have to lug it back inside, and my vision goes white as the left strap digs into the bullet holes. When I manage to blink the world back into existence, I find myself on my knees. I reach my right hand out and Gungnir flies to me. It only takes a few seconds to saw through the nylon strap with the weapon's blade, and the backpack falls off, slamming onto my heel. Ow. I'm okay. But ow.

I have to look around for a bit, as apparently these Nazis didn't keep their medical supplies in the same place. Can't they all just be the same? I'd rather think of them as robots. In the second bedroom, I manage to find a box of supplies and I try to tear my shirt off, only for the chainmail to stop me.

My scream fills the room as I pull it over my head, having to peel it off my arm as I go, and toss it onto the floor. Once I clean and disinfect the wound, it still actually looks worse than it did two days ago. I'm gonna have to sew it shut, aren't I? I've done it a couple times before, but I hate it so much.

I stuff some bandages in my mouth and bite down on them as I dip the needle into the alcohol. At least they had that.

I notice the bottle of Vicodin and drop the bandages into my lap. With a beer from my bag, I take two of the pills before I replace the gag. At least my Mistresses got me used to using one. My muffled chuckle is cut off as the needle passes through my skin. Tears well up in my eyes.

I don't know if it takes me a couple minutes or a couple hours, but I manage to sew up both of the small holes, and wrap my shoulder in a new clean bandage. I close up the kit and stuff it into my already overflowing bag. It's starting to seem like I may need it.

Grabbing an oversized button-up shirt from one of the racist closets, I button it up the best I can, before finding that I missed a button, and the whole thing is lopsided. Oh, well. That hurt too much to try again.

With my bag and spear, I run back out of the house, and find that the grass outside has become a small inferno. The smoke fills my lungs, and coughing, I dart down the hill and crest the next one. Behind me, the smoke and flames show, eating away at the hill, and the bodies I'd left there. Damn. I wish I still had Skaldi, then I could put it out easily. As it is, I'm just gonna have to hope that it doesn't hurt anyone before it manages to go out on its own.

Burying my conscience like the anti-hero I am, I set back out on my journey, and head back where I came from days ago. The path I took was a little off from here. I know I could try going around, but this way I at least know what to expect.

Besides, if I can't even handle Grendel, then how am I supposed to manage breaking out of Hel? Who knows what might be waiting for me up that mountain? My gaze travels up the imposing cliffs on the horizon. It's largely obscured by fog and distance, but I can just barely manage to see it. It's probably still a full day's walk from here, but there's no time to rest.

I eat some cold sausage as I walk. It's nowhere near as good as the cooking from the other night, but it keeps me going on my trek.

The sun – for lack of a better word – is already dipping down below the horizon as the hills fall away to straight paths and lakes. If I keep going from here, then I'm going to have to fight Grendel in the dark, and that's a recipe for disaster.

I should've just taken another nap in the racist bed.

Well, what would Frank Castle do?

I sit down and pull an apple, some sausage, and a beer from my bag, before reclining against it. He would go when Grendel would least expect, when he had the advantage. Clearly, Grendel hates loud noises, and from what I know he seems to be nocturnal, so he likely has better night vision. I wish I'd brought that grenade, but I still have my phone.

I make like The Punisher and bivouac. There's not much of a camp to set up, it's pretty much just sitting on the ground, but I feel like a soldier if I talk all fancy. Or maybe Frank wouldn't talk like that. Does he even really sleep?

No, of course not. I rest my eyes, but I'm alert as ever, prepared to pounce upon any threat that would dare approach in my sleep.

Time must pass really quickly when you're completely prepared, as the sun is already up. I guess it's time.

I have a breakfast of bread and fruit, washing it down with beer and pills to kill the ache in my should, and sling the bag back onto my back, wincing as it bites into the wound. It was not a comfortable pillow, but it was better than the ground.

In less than an hour, I find a familiar lake. Pieces of my old shield and spear sit on the other side. This is the place.

On my phone, I have a few action movies. I wish I had them better memorized, but that's more of Elsa's thing. I'm just lucky I remembered that scene from Inglourious Basterds. Muting it, I go through the movies, looking for something with some good explosions.

Two minutes from this point, where it looks like they're just talking. That should give me enough time, as long as he's not too sensitive. Let's hope I'm that lucky.

I set my phone on the ground, the volume turned all the way up, and let the movie play as I creep around the lake, as quietly as I can, my spear at the ready. I manage to make it halfway around the lake before a massive boom fills the quiet morning.

The sound is joined by another, as water splashes everywhere and an imposing, dark-furred humanoid form leaps from the lake, hurtling toward my phone, carrying night with it.

With a fluid well-practiced motion, I hurl Gungnir in his direction. It sinks right into his ass, before he can attack my phone, and he turns around, baring his fangs.

"That's right, Fuckface!" I call. I finally understand why Elsa says that sort of stuff. It just feels so great. No one cares when you call them a criminal, but when you just call them a string of expletives, it seems to get under the skin. Plus you feel like a badass.

Apparently Grendel understands modern English curses, as he looks pissed. Though that could just be the spear in his rump. I pull the spear back, letting it fly into my hand, and he seems even more upset. It may have just been the spear.

His paws beat at the ground, thundering as he charges for me, darkening the space between us. I hold my spear out defensively with my right hand. If I could use both, I'd have a bit more reach, but the blade's long enough that he can still easily impale himself.

Grendel turns at the last second, pivoting on his hind legs and throwing himself past, turning in mid-air to claw at me with one of his arms. I jump back.

Into the lake.

I throw out my hand, tossing Gungnir into him as I reach out with my left and grab onto the bank, pulling myself up. It doesn't hurt like it should, but it still hurts. My arm feels tingly.

Come to think of it, I know how fast he is, I should have been able to dodge that attack easily, as heavily as he projected it. Wait. My arm doesn't hurt that much.

Shit. That Vicodin and beer I had earlier. That's a bad combination, isn't it?

Apparently, the monster didn't want to give me time to consider my own stupidity. He's already charging at me again, and I don't have a shield. Or a weapon.

I run to the side, calling my spear to me, ripping it out of his shoulder as it soars back. The pain stops him in his tracks, and he snarls at me, spit showering the ground between us. His eyes burn with an angry red light as they meet mine, his teeth reflecting the mid-day sun.

"Nice puppy," I try, holding out my left hand as high as it goes, managing to bring it just above my belly.

He roars and leaps into the air, far above my head. I barely manage to roll out of the way before he lands with a thud, his weight shaking the ground beneath us. I jab at him with my spear as I try to keep my distance.

He swipes at it, knocking it out of my grip. It flies back as he lunges, stabbing into his shoulder. He's almost as beat up as I am now.

As the weapon returns, I dash forward, jabbing at his face. I don't know how smart Grendel might be, but he definitely wasn't expecting that. He only manages to pull away at the last second, and my blade leaves a long gash across his neck and chest.

One of his paws drags the spear down to the ground, yanking it out of my grip as he charges forward, pinning me to the ground and sinking his teeth into my already injured shoulder.

I scream over Bruce Willis's scream from my phone, a few yards away. I don't recall summoning it back, but the spear is back in my hand, and digging into the thick muscles of his torso. I push up on the spear, trying to shove this monster off of me, but his jaws stay firmly clasped on my shoulder.

I pull the spear out again, feeling his body press closer against mine, as he pulls back on my flesh, trying to tear it off. The spear sinks in again. Hopefully somewhere near his heart.

I'm not that lucky. A paw flies at my head, leaving a series of red-hot stings on my cheek.

Wait! I've got it. With some effort, I draw my gun with my left hand and fire off to the side. His teeth finally release me as he jumps in shock, landing right back down on me. I pull the trigger twice more and he dives into the water, the splash drenching me as I try to pull myself back to my feet.

I take the chance to look at my shoulder and immediately regret it. I'm still in one piece – somewhat – but I'm going to have to treat it soon, and I don't think he's going to give me the chance.

I hate being right. His form rockets out of the water, hurtling toward me. I don't have the energy to run.

Gungnir's blade dips for a moment as I bring it up, but I manage to set it right, bracing it against the ground, so that he impales himself as he lands, only managing to scratch at my chest. I miss my chainmail.

He swipes at the air as I step back, trying to pull himself toward me. His teeth gnash, my own blood spilling forth from his jaws as water drips off of him. With my right hand, I raise up one of my guns and begin to empty the clip into his open mouth.

Whimpering, he tries to run away, but he's impaled himself further on my weapon as he's driven the handle further into the ground. He only manages to rotate himself halfway, his feet kicking pitifully at the ground as he tries to escape.

What am I doing?

I walk around, dropping my weapons and holding my hands up as I meet the terrified black gaze of this creature, the previous anger all but gone. "You just want a quiet life, don't you?"

He whimpers, pawing at the magical weapon holding him in place.

"If I let you go, do you promise to do the same?"

His eyes meet mine, a strange intelligence behind the fearsome lights.

"I'm sorry." I hold my hand out and the weapon snaps free of him, prompting a pitiful mewl of pain as it flies to me. "I don't want to fight you anymore." I let the spear fall to the ground. "This isn't who I am. I'm not The Punisher."

He doesn't seem interested in discussing comics and morality with me, as he bolts back for his lake. It's high school all over again. As I stare out, I can see his dark form going deeper and deeper into the water until it disappears to the back of the lake.

Rather than tempt a third round, I grab my phone and guns and walk as far as I can as the adrenaline leaves me and the pain in my shoulder begins to grow overwhelming. Just out of sight of the lake, I collapse on the side of the trail, leaning against a tree as I fish out the medical supplies from my bag.

I've been trying to avoid checking out my injury again, but I can't avoid it at this point. The hamburger meat that passes for my shoulder brings bile up in my throat, but I manage to hold it down.

I bite down on more bandages as I pour alcohol over the wound. Holy f – Darn, that hurts. There aren't any antibiotics in the bag, unfortunately, and there's a good chance I'm going to need them, but for now I just bandage up the wound the best I can and inspect the cuts on my chest. They're not bad, but this shirt is ruined. I pull it off, leaving me in only a sports bra, with a slight cut at its bottom, as I rub alcohol on the slashes.

When I'm done, I pull out my phone and put it in selfie mode. The cuts on my cheek are deeper than I was expecting, I can see the muscle, but there's not a lot I can do. I clean them, and bandage all of my cuts, and have some more of the German food. I'm going to need to hurry up if I don't want to risk fighting monsters with a fever and an infection. Climbing that mountain is going to be fun.