RAGNAROK IS COMING

— Chapter One —

A Dead King

He stood still. His breathing so faint it would leave any mortal with a spinning headache. Slowly and completely silent, he reached behind him and slid out an arrow from the quiver on his back. The only sound came from the rustling of leaves and patter of small animals as they made their way through the forest floor, thick with roots. Notching the arrow, he held still, and as he took his next breath, he pulled his arm back and aimed. His hands did not shake, and he did not miss.

The arrow left the bow with a painful wisp and with unimaginable accuracy flew straight into the heart of its victim. Not a second later, Avrid darted. He ran towards his kill, faster than the eye could possibly make out and stood in front of the man. Looking him straight in the eye. The eyes of the man showed pain and frustration as if it was a botheration an arrow split through his chest. Avrid walked to the man, seconds away from collapsing and giving up; holding on by the mere force of will and pulled out the arrow.

"Wouldn't want you to die too quick, now would we?" Avrid sneered.

He screamed in agonising pain and black blood seeped from the wound, Avrid's arrows were no ordinary weapon. As if the last string that held him up had just been cut, he fell to his knees and choked something intelligible.

Avrid could not bring himself to care what he had said and instead lifted his foot and carelessly pushed him stumbled back and landed with a thud and a grunt of pain to the forest ground. Apparently, what he had said was rather important.

"I said, who. Are. You?" The man forced out the question in raspy breaths as he tried to stop the bleeding by holding the wound.

Avrid stood towering over him as he lay on the floor. He looked at him with mild curiosity. It would always amaze Avrid how people had the insistent need to ask questions before they died. They never revealed something fascinating like a secret or begged for forgiveness. They never asked for him to tell the burden of their death to their loved ones or not tell them. It was either, 'who are you?' or 'please, I'll give you anything'. A question or a proposition. Some would beg for their lives. Avrid hated those types, the ones who would sell their own wives to save their life, the kind that thought he would possibly let them go because they said, please.

He ignored the question and walked into the moonlight. It shone down, a diffuse glow, lighting a strand of the forest from pitch black to charcoal grey.

"King Herman. You have been charged for the death of Queen Kilo, daughter of Rye and husband to King Herman. You are charged for the unauthorised use of essence magic in which to control your subjects and the intent to kill the Rammaden Dwarves of Nioavellir. You have been sentenced to death by order of the Radox for your repeated crimes against two of the nine realms and the attempted murder of a True- Blood."

Avrid's voice held no emotion. Not glee nor satisfaction, it ran cold as stone to the King's ears.

King Herman blanched as he stared at the hooded figure that had driven that cursed arrow through him. The cloak his murderer wore was a jet black, thick material that looked to be leather painted the colour of the darkest nights, making the carrier melt into the shadows. It flowed gracefully as if the material had a mind of its own. As if it floated around the man who wore it. As if the man could control the cloak. He held an equally dark bow, one that stood proud and daring. Daring anyone to challenge it. The black combo included the arrow that had eaten into his flesh, leaving abnormally, retched pain in its wake.

As his attacker lifted back his hood and King Herman felt familiarity spring in the back of his head. He knew this face. Dark, auburn, messy hair fell around a sharp cut face and freckles dotted their way across his nose and cheeks. One would think he was a young man, barely past boyhood, and right they would be. But Avrid had lived his short twenty-seven years on the planet, a life to age him past the time of mother nature. Exquisite emerald green eyes bore an unrelenting gaze at King Herman. His shoulder stopped throbbing and all he could see, all that existed were those eyes. They saw his soul. And he saw it, in the reflection of endless storms and rolling seas, he saw it. He saw...

"Impossible." He breathed, "impossible, you should be dead." The glint of a blade and King Herman's throat spilt a crimson river.

"Yes. Yes, I should."

...oOo...

Avrid stared disdainfully at the corpse that lay pallid on the frosty soil. It looked unseeingly past him, Avrid blew out a long breath. The icy blanket of air turned his breath to a misty cloud, reminding him how cold it was. He was rather satisfied with how the night turned out. The King was becoming rather an annoyance in terms of finding him and coupled with the never-ending number of curses and charms that protected the King was a huge thorn in his side; not that he expected an easy catch.

He had been aiming high when he took it upon himself to take this particular case. It was stupid and careless to run into the forest and follow the King. He knew, he knew that Herman had dark wolves roaming the plains loyal to him. The foul beasts had sunk their teeth right into his shoulder and left somewhat of a parting gift: a deep wound that was rather annoying. Killing them, however, was the bigger pain. They had this nasty habit of playing possum.

He blamed it on the Æsir. Of course, they had the best timing, deciding to only now get involved with the Herman problem and muddling their sticky hands in his business. He had a plan, had everything laid out and perfect. After finally locating the King to the Álfheimr abandoned city forest, an old place of dead trees and plants and said to be riddled with the breath of hundreds of dead men. The Light Elves weren't particularly fond of the never-ending decay, they feared the dark animals that roamed the plains. He had the King thinking he was nothing but an embassy from the 'Legion of Rebels'. He got a right giggle out of that one. The King trusted him and it could have been as simple as slitting his throat in his sleep. But now the kitchen maid was dead, and the Asgardians would become suspicious that the king had 'disappeared'.

It was best to just burn the evidence. Flinging off his cloak, he arranged it over the body of King Herman haphazardly and went in search of a nice stick. The man was dead, he should at least get a nice stick. On second thought, he grimaced and picked any random stick, the King wasn't exactly the most honourable man in the world. He committed countless murders, broke laws and executed unspoken crimes.

He ran his index finger along the side of the wood lighting it in flame, he tossed it at the black bunch. It immediately caught fire, the flames licking their way across the body. Content the fire wouldn't catch on the dead bark surrounding it, Avrid leaned down and plucked his bow from the ground. He raised his arm and snapped it down in a quick motion, flipping the weapon back in on its self. It was a neat little contraption, making carrying his bow efficiently easy, he turned and started walking aimlessly, wanting to just relieve his nose from the smell of burning flesh that seemed to have invaded every molecule in the air. The wind ruffled the thin material of his tunic and the cold nipped at the vulnerable flesh on his shoulder.

He turned his head to look at the wound and sighed, "Stupid, basterding mongrels." He cursed under his breath. He lifted the material from his shoulder, trying to un-stick the blood from it. It wouldn't do good for the wound to close with the material still attached, the thought of having to rectify that sent a shudder down his back. The beast had dug its fangs right in, leaving his shoulder a bloody fleshy mess.

A loud shriek pierced through the night air.

"Mutts" Avrid whispered under his breath.

"Unnatural. Useless. Hideous. Mutts." He hissed to himself. The forest had gotten denser, the charcoal black trees seemingly trying to cover the black cover of the sky, shutting out the pale silver of the moon and plunging him into darkness.

"Ah yes, and now we have entered the dark pit of our adventure. Nothing but endless..." He snapped a low branch off its tree and examined it, "tree carcass." He said and tossed the branch behind him.

Avrid lifted his head to the sky and silently called to his brother. He closed his eyes and breathed out, clutching at the familiar green thread in his mind and tugged it. Within seconds he heard a familiar whistle. Smiling, he raised his arm high and no sooner had he done so, did he spot the zooming black Night Fury zipping towards him with a speed so unnatural, it would seem impossible. He began to run backwards, avoiding protruding roots and, as the Night Fury zoomed past him, he clutched its large paw.

As swift as a monkey on a tree, he slithered up the large body of the dragon. Toothless made an instant beeline for the inky sky above them. When they were soaring in the cloudless sky he gurgled in frustration and flipped his head to the side, slapping Avrid with his fin.

"Yeah, yeah I know. I'm sorry bud. But you couldn't have come with me." Avrid conceded as he rubbed his face.

"Come on, let's go home."

...oOo...