The fevered pitch of battle surrounds me. I bathe in its every sensation, feel the rage and pain wash over my skin and into every pore of my body. Being in my shadow form only amplifies the ambience of the environment around me, until the cacophony of war threatens to drive me mad. I gladly bathe in all its sensations, each of my senses engaged, drinking them in until I am nearly overwhelmed with what I am participating in.
My eyes take in the sights; see the mangled and dismembered bodies that surround me, blood seeping from mortal wounds.
My ears hear the clanging sound of metal striking metal, the shouts and screams of those fighting, the barely audible moans of the dead. They hear the song my Belderiver sings as it slices through air and flesh alike.
Through my nostrils comes a pungent smell; a mixture of dirt from the battlefield and blood from the dead saturates my mind, fueling my bloodlust.
The very same mixture rests upon my tongue, and I find the taste of death oddly sweet. I drink it in greedily, as a drunkard does a flagon of wine, the sensations only fueling me further.
My face feels sticky. Although I cannot see it without the aid of a mirror, I know my countenance bears a thin film of liquid. If I were to stop and touch my cheek, I would pull my glove away only to find it coated with the same mixture of dirt and blood that currently fills my lungs and weighs heavily within my mouth.
The battle around me appears to be winding down, so I allow my shadow form to lapse briefly. Once it does, I feel the fury of the battle around me slowly return to its normal, albeit fevered, pitch, and my senses relax under the reduced stimulation. As I allow my humanity to return, I inhale deeply as I await the influx of guilt for the slaughter I have wrought. When none appears, I am relieved. After all, Melvin would be displeased –if not outright furious- if I were to begin to show regret for following his orders.
After all, my life exists only to serve him. He has raised me as a father would a son, and it is only right that I obey him. Otherwise, what reason do I truly have for being alive?
After a brief rest, I decide to wade back into battle. I don my shadow form and charge through the ranks of the Aesir, slaughtering any foe that is foolish enough to get in my way. The dwarves serving the Aesir I do not bother with; killing them is like squashing a bug, so easy there is no glory in their deaths. I knock them aside as though they are the ineffective bombs they carry, slaying their axe-wielding comrades as they cross me.
I leap rapidly toward my intended target; the towering barbarian warrior who looms before me. The barbarians are formidable fighters for the Aesir, as formidable as the Unicorn Knights who serve Queen Elfaria, but they are still no match for my Belderiver. It slices through his armor and into his body like cutting through a leaf, and with an agonized cry, he falls. The fight over, I pause in my shadow form, allowing myself to drink in the glory of this latest victory.
"I will face him!" The female voice behind me jars me from my mental revelry. It is a mixture of determination and inexperience to my ears, and I feel a frown cross my lips.
Great, another damned Valkyrie. I think to myself. I have killed far more than my share of them over the course of this battle, yet very few of them gave me any real challenge. I hear her footsteps draw near as she approaches me. But perhaps she will provide a bit of sport before I cut her pathetic life short.
I relax my shadow form before turning to her. I can see she wields a spear topped with a blue jewel similar to the red one that tips my Belderiver. As I look more closely, beyond her defiant pose, I can see the slight tremble that accents the arm holding the spear aloft. I smirk inwardly, this fight will be too easy.
As I turn to face her fully, she springs at me, her outstretched arm aiming her spear to strike me. Easily, I parry her attack with my weapon, and the force of my blow against hers knocks her away. She lands in a heap several feet away, and I spring after her. Before she can regain her footing, I have her pinned, the tip of my Belderiver pointed directly at her heart. She cannot move now without impaling herself on my blade, and I see her freeze beneath it. All I have to do is move it a few inches more, and this so-called "fight" will be over with…
…..Then I happen to look into her eyes.
My gaze locks with hers, and I emit a gasp that I try to stifle. I draw my blade away from her bosom slightly, as I am captured by the blue eyes that I find myself staring into. Although they gaze upon me with defiance and anger now, I am certain they are the same eyes of the maiden I happened to spy upon in Odin's palace previously. I stare at her, briefly mesmerized by what I am seeing. She, who is called "Odin's Witch", appears nothing like the rumors spoken amongst the Vanir troops. A strange sensation fills my chest, the likes of which I have never felt before.
"Kill me now...How long do you intend to keep me pinned down?" The odd sensation quickly fades upon hearing her defiant words. Out of the corner of my eye, I see another barbarian warrior –or perhaps the same one I faced only moments ago?- approaching rapidly. I spin away from her and my blade runs him through before he can take another step toward me.
I keep my back turned to her, though I can hear her begin to gather herself. I feel this battle has run its course, though why my mind has changed now, after I willfully slew so many enemies, I do not know. Perhaps it is to protect her, perhaps it is to save my own skin. Or maybe…maybe there is another reason, one whose true meaning eludes me.
"Go on." I finally say to her, my voice rough. "Run away. This battle is over. Any more deaths will just be a waste." Briefly, I turn back toward her, allowing myself one more glimpse of her loveliness before I retreat.
Yet as I leave her, I know that, no matter how fast I run or where I run to, those eyes will never leave my mind. As though they have burned through the darkness of my tortured soul, shed a minuscule ray of light upon my torment. I know that I shall keep the memory of those eyes, of that warrior, safe within whatever I have that passes for a heart.