Zayzal trudged forward, the light from the village growing brighter and more inviting. With each step, the pain in his body seemed to dissipate, replaced by a glimmer of hope.
The village was quaint, with small stone and wooden houses arranged in a semi-circle around a central open area. There was a large wooden fence around it, which he assumed was there to keep out predators.
Smoke was rising from the chimneys, further fueling Zayzal’s expectations.
He could hear the sound of distant chatter carried by the harsh wind, but as he neared the village, those sounds didn’t sound so quaint.
“Hjálp! Hjálp!”
“AHHHhhhh!”
Alongside those screams, the clanking of metal soon reached his ears.
Zayzal didn’t know much about the Norwegian language, but it was clear they were in trouble.
Trudging through the ever-increasing snow, he hurried to the village entrance to check out what was going on.
The entrance gate was imposing, constructed from thick, aged timber that bore the marks of time and weathering. Iron braces reinforced its structure, and the hinges groaned softly as he pushed it open, revealing the chaos within.
As soon as he stepped through the imposing wooden gate, he halted in his tracks, eyes widening in shock as he absorbed the chaotic scene unfolding before him.
Red. Everything was red. Blood and guts filled the gravel paths. Various limbs were littered about, and the whole place was in chaos.
Children could be heard inside the houses crying, their mothers attempting to console them. Dogs were barking incessantly while wild animals rampaged about.
As Zayzal was attempting to make sense of the scene, a large cow noticed his presence and charged at him like a mad bull. It had bloodshot eyes, arrows lodged in its skin, and various puncture wounds, but it was still going strong.
“MOOOO!”
Zayzal snapped out of his reverie and stepped out of the way, narrowly dodging the cow.
The cow didn’t bother stopping as it continued to run through the snow until it disappeared beyond the trees.
“What the hell is going on?!” Zayzal exclaimed in shock.
Walking toward the source of the noise, Zayzal was determined to find out.
‘This might be the only safe place in a hundred miles. If I have to go back out into the wilderness at this time of night, who knows what’ll happen.’ With those thoughts in mind, he stomped forward, stepping over the puddles of blood whenever he could.
Trying to ignore the bodies that had seemingly imploded, he soon made his way to the back of the village, where the source of the noise was.
There he saw massively muscular men with battle axes trying to calm a horde of enraged animals like horses, cows, chickens, sheep, and goats.
At the head of the men were two people, a man and a young woman. The man was like the rest of them, holding an axe with Nordic tattoos all over his body. He had thick braided dirty blonde hair, reaching his mid-back.
Meanwhile, the young woman was just as muscular and extremely tall herself, but she was using a medium-sized wooden shield in one hand with a one-handed axe in the other. She was tall, around 6 feet (183 centimeters), and had long blonde hair with light shades of pink at the end.
Around them, there were several people with lost limbs and varying degrees of injuries, but they didn’t show an ounce of pain on their faces.
‘...Why do they look like Vikings?’ Zayzal thought, wondering for a moment if he had suddenly jumped in time machine.
The woman, sensing someone approaching, swiftly turned around. Her piercing blue gaze met Zayzal's, and for a moment, they locked.
Zayzal couldn’t help but be drawn into those intense, shining blue eyes. But, at the same time, something else caught his attention.
Two lights shone within her body, one red and the other gold. Glancing around, he noticed that all the other people only had one light, which was red.
‘Weird…’
“Hald þér í burtu!(Stay back!)" the woman shouted, interrupting his thoughts, her voice a booming command as she deftly blocked an enraged goat with her shield, knocking it away with a swift swipe of her axe. The beast tumbled and then scurried off, bleeding and bleating.
The man beside her grunted, having just felled a maddened horse that had come charging.
“Hverr er utangarðsmaðr?(Who’s the outsider?)” he yelled, not taking his eyes off another incoming creature.
“Ekkert vit, en hann er minnsti vanræði voru núna! (No idea, but he's the least of our concerns right now!)” she replied, swinging her axe to fend off a particularly vicious-looking rooster that had somehow grown in size and had talons that looked as sharp as a hawk’s.
Zayzal, however, wasn’t content to stand by. He looked around and quickly grabbed a discarded wooden spear with an iron tip from the ground.
Holding it firmly, he managed to thrust it into the side of a crazed cow, diverting its attention from a small group of children huddled together in fear.
“I’ll help!” Zayzal said in English, holding onto the faint hope that they would understand him.
The young woman glanced at him, a light of understanding in her eyes as she nodded and surprisingly replied back to him in decent English. “Don’t kill! They’re food!”
Zayzal nodded, understanding her plea. In a place like this, food was precious, and these enraged animals were still a vital part of their survival.
He quickly shifted his approach, aiming to incapacitate rather than kill, using the blunt end of the spear to strike and knock out the animals.
Suddenly, a scream pierced through the commotion.
Turning, Zayzal spotted a young girl, no older than ten, trapped against a wall by a furious ram.
Without a second thought, he lunged forward, but he was too far away to reach her in time.
However, just as the ram was about to strike, an iridescent shield materialized in front of the girl, forming a protective barrier between her and the creature.
‘Magic!’ Zayzal screamed internally, surprised by the situation while not stopping in his tracks.
The ram slammed into the barrier with full force, the shield vibrating from the impact but holding firm. The creature staggered back, momentarily dazed, giving Zayzal the window he needed to intervene.
He kicked the ram away, sending it tumbling, before grabbing the child and escorting her to where the adults were.
Once the girl was safe, he turned to see the young woman, her eyes glowing in the same golden hue as the mysterious light within her. The ethereal shield faded as she gave him a nod of acknowledgment.
“You strong, huh? Good. You’ll be useful.” She said, but Zayzal wasn’t paying attention to her words.
Instead, he was staring at her with his mouth agape, only to quickly adapt and return to normal. “How… How’d you do that?” He asked.
“Hm?” The young woman raised an eyebrow before replying with a painful smile, “...When light came down. Went through agonizing pain. Then, when I awoke… magic.”
When Zayzal opened his mouth to ask questions, the woman turned around and ran to the next animal in order to help out another injured person. “Talk later! Deal with this now!”
Looking around, Zayzal agreed.
‘I just hope wild beasts don’t surround this place after smelling all this blood.’ Zayzal thought but pushed that to the back of his mind for now.
With every passing moment, the chaos seemed to amplify.
Zayzal, adapting quickly to his surroundings, found himself immersed in the challenge.
Using the spear's blunt end, he tactically approached each rampaging creature, always careful to preserve their lives.
He felt a strange synergy with the young woman, their actions often mirroring each other's, working in tandem even without any direct communication.
As the evening deepened, the white blanket of snow that had been steadily falling began to intensify, and the furious winds picked up.
Suddenly, a particularly aggressive boar, bigger and stronger than the rest, charged towards the village's center. Its eyes, wild with rage, fixed onto a group of elders who were trying to rescue an injured child.
Before Zayzal could react, the young woman stepped forward. Taking a deep breath, she clenched her fists, and with a focused effort, the ethereal shield materialized, stretching wide enough to protect the entire group.
The boar crashed into it, the collision creating a thunderous sound that echoed throughout the village. It tried to push through, but the shield held firm. The woman, though clearly strained, maintained the barrier.
Using this momentary distraction, Zayzal sprinted forward and, with all his might, landed a powerful blow to the side of the boar's head. The creature crumpled to the ground, momentarily stunned but alive.
It was at this moment, with the snow falling around them and the furious winds howling, that the tide began to turn. One by one, with teamwork and determination, they subdued the frenzied animals.
Hours seemed to pass, but finally, the once noisy village square grew silent, save for the wind.
Exhausted villagers and wounded animals alike rested where they fell, the snow beginning to cover them like a soft blanket. The village had sustained damages, but its people had endured.
The man with the axe, who looked a lot like the young woman, approached Zayzal, extending a hand. “Sigurd Eriksson. Þökk.” he rumbled, his voice deep and filled with emotion.
Zayzal shook Sigurd's hand, feeling his massive bear-like strength. He didn’t need to understand his words to know the man was expressing his gratitude.
“Zayzal El-Athanasios. I just did what I should.” He smiled, not bothered by this extra work.
While he was shaking Sigurd’s hand, he felt a presence inside his burly body and could concentrate more on the pulsating red orb inside of him. Connected to that, many shining lights, less vibrant than the red orb yet still discernible, were several that seemed to form a pathway of sorts.
“Sera Sigurdsdottir.” The young woman introduced herself and shook Zayzal’s hand.
Sera's grasp was firm and warm. Despite the harsh conditions and the toll the battle had taken on her, her eyes still sparkled with determination and strength. “We are in your debt,” she said, exhaustion evident in her voice. Her English, while accented, was clear, better than when she was in battle.
“We'll need to quickly secure the village and tend to the wounded," Zayzal replied, sensing that their troubles were far from over.
Sigurd nodded in agreement, and a call to action spread amongst the villagers. People began to rise, assisting one another, clearing the streets of debris, and helping the fallen animals find shelter.
As the injured were taken to one of the larger huts, which Zayzal assumed to be a makeshift medical bay, he and Sera worked together to mend a portion of the broken fence.
Despite her evident fatigue, Sera’s movements were swift and precise. The bond between the villagers was palpable – their unity had been forged in the fires of adversity.
In the midst of the repairs, a chilling howl echoed through the night.
Sera’s eyes widened in alarm. “Wargs…” she whispered.
Zayzal looked up, trying to discern where the sound was coming from. The darkness was almost absolute, with only a few torches illuminating the snowy village, but the howls were getting louder and more distinct, suggesting a pack was approaching.
Suddenly, a sentry from atop a nearby watchtower shouted, his voice filled with panic. “Ólög! Frá norðri!(Beasts! From the north!)”
Peering through the darkness, Zayzal could barely make out shadows moving swiftly in the distance, their eyes gleaming ominously. The pack of wild, monstrous wolves was closing in on the village, drawn by the scent of blood.
Sigurd, clenching his battle-axe, barked out orders, rallying the villagers. "Til veggjanna! Verjið þorpið! (To the walls! Protect the village!)"
Children and the elderly were hurriedly ushered to the safety of the central buildings while the able-bodied villagers took up weapons, ranging from swords to simple farm tools. The village, having just overcome one crisis, was now facing another.
Sera stood beside Zayzal, shield and axe at the ready, determination evident on her face. “Stay close,” she whispered. “They’re not like any wolves you've seen.”
“You’d be surprised,” replied Zayzal, recalling the battle he had not long ago with a pack of rampant wolves.
The air grew tense as the pack neared. With each heartbeat, the danger became more palpable, and the village braced itself for yet another confrontation.
Zayzal trudged forward, the light from the village growing brighter and more inviting. With each step, the pain in his body seemed to dissipate, replaced by a glimmer of hope.
The village was quaint, with small stone and wooden houses arranged in a semi-circle around a central open area. There was a large wooden fence around it, which he assumed was there to keep out predators.
Smoke was rising from the chimneys, further fueling Zayzal’s expectations.
He could hear the sound of distant chatter carried by the harsh wind, but as he neared the village, those sounds didn’t sound so quaint.
“Hjálp! Hjálp!”
“AHHHhhhh!”
Alongside those screams, the clanking of metal soon reached his ears.
Zayzal didn’t know much about the Norwegian language, but it was clear they were in trouble.
Trudging through the ever-increasing snow, he hurried to the village entrance to check out what was going on.
The entrance gate was imposing, constructed from thick, aged timber that bore the marks of time and weathering. Iron braces reinforced its structure, and the hinges groaned softly as he pushed it open, revealing the chaos within.
As soon as he stepped through the imposing wooden gate, he halted in his tracks, eyes widening in shock as he absorbed the chaotic scene unfolding before him.
Red. Everything was red. Blood and guts filled the gravel paths. Various limbs were littered about, and the whole place was in chaos.
Children could be heard inside the houses crying, their mothers attempting to console them. Dogs were barking incessantly while wild animals rampaged about.
As Zayzal was attempting to make sense of the scene, a large cow noticed his presence and charged at him like a mad bull. It had bloodshot eyes, arrows lodged in its skin, and various puncture wounds, but it was still going strong.
“MOOOO!”
Zayzal snapped out of his reverie and stepped out of the way, narrowly dodging the cow.
The cow didn’t bother stopping as it continued to run through the snow until it disappeared beyond the trees.
“What the hell is going on?!” Zayzal exclaimed in shock.
Walking toward the source of the noise, Zayzal was determined to find out.
‘This might be the only safe place in a hundred miles. If I have to go back out into the wilderness at this time of night, who knows what’ll happen.’ With those thoughts in mind, he stomped forward, stepping over the puddles of blood whenever he could.
Trying to ignore the bodies that had seemingly imploded, he soon made his way to the back of the village, where the source of the noise was.
There he saw massively muscular men with battle axes trying to calm a horde of enraged animals like horses, cows, chickens, sheep, and goats.
At the head of the men were two people, a man and a young woman. The man was like the rest of them, holding an axe with Nordic tattoos all over his body. He had thick braided dirty blonde hair, reaching his mid-back.
Meanwhile, the young woman was just as muscular and extremely tall herself, but she was using a medium-sized wooden shield in one hand with a one-handed axe in the other. She was tall, around 6 feet (183 centimeters), and had long blonde hair with light shades of pink at the end.
Around them, there were several people with lost limbs and varying degrees of injuries, but they didn’t show an ounce of pain on their faces.
‘...Why do they look like Vikings?’ Zayzal thought, wondering for a moment if he had suddenly jumped in time machine.
The woman, sensing someone approaching, swiftly turned around. Her piercing blue gaze met Zayzal's, and for a moment, they locked.
Zayzal couldn’t help but be drawn into those intense, shining blue eyes. But, at the same time, something else caught his attention.
Two lights shone within her body, one red and the other gold. Glancing around, he noticed that all the other people only had one light, which was red.
‘Weird…’
“Hald þér í burtu!(Stay back!)" the woman shouted, interrupting his thoughts, her voice a booming command as she deftly blocked an enraged goat with her shield, knocking it away with a swift swipe of her axe. The beast tumbled and then scurried off, bleeding and bleating.
The man beside her grunted, having just felled a maddened horse that had come charging.
“Hverr er utangarðsmaðr?(Who’s the outsider?)” he yelled, not taking his eyes off another incoming creature.
“Ekkert vit, en hann er minnsti vanræði voru núna! (No idea, but he's the least of our concerns right now!)” she replied, swinging her axe to fend off a particularly vicious-looking rooster that had somehow grown in size and had talons that looked as sharp as a hawk’s.
Zayzal, however, wasn’t content to stand by. He looked around and quickly grabbed a discarded wooden spear with an iron tip from the ground.
Holding it firmly, he managed to thrust it into the side of a crazed cow, diverting its attention from a small group of children huddled together in fear.
“I’ll help!” Zayzal said in English, holding onto the faint hope that they would understand him.
The young woman glanced at him, a light of understanding in her eyes as she nodded and surprisingly replied back to him in decent English. “Don’t kill! They’re food!”
Zayzal nodded, understanding her plea. In a place like this, food was precious, and these enraged animals were still a vital part of their survival.
He quickly shifted his approach, aiming to incapacitate rather than kill, using the blunt end of the spear to strike and knock out the animals.
Suddenly, a scream pierced through the commotion.
Turning, Zayzal spotted a young girl, no older than ten, trapped against a wall by a furious ram.
Without a second thought, he lunged forward, but he was too far away to reach her in time.
However, just as the ram was about to strike, an iridescent shield materialized in front of the girl, forming a protective barrier between her and the creature.
‘Magic!’ Zayzal screamed internally, surprised by the situation while not stopping in his tracks.
The ram slammed into the barrier with full force, the shield vibrating from the impact but holding firm. The creature staggered back, momentarily dazed, giving Zayzal the window he needed to intervene.
He kicked the ram away, sending it tumbling, before grabbing the child and escorting her to where the adults were.
Once the girl was safe, he turned to see the young woman, her eyes glowing in the same golden hue as the mysterious light within her. The ethereal shield faded as she gave him a nod of acknowledgment.
“You strong, huh? Good. You’ll be useful.” She said, but Zayzal wasn’t paying attention to her words.
Instead, he was staring at her with his mouth agape, only to quickly adapt and return to normal. “How… How’d you do that?” He asked.
“Hm?” The young woman raised an eyebrow before replying with a painful smile, “...When light came down. Went through agonizing pain. Then, when I awoke… magic.”
When Zayzal opened his mouth to ask questions, the woman turned around and ran to the next animal in order to help out another injured person. “Talk later! Deal with this now!”
Looking around, Zayzal agreed.
‘I just hope wild beasts don’t surround this place after smelling all this blood.’ Zayzal thought but pushed that to the back of his mind for now.
With every passing moment, the chaos seemed to amplify.
Zayzal, adapting quickly to his surroundings, found himself immersed in the challenge.
Using the spear's blunt end, he tactically approached each rampaging creature, always careful to preserve their lives.
He felt a strange synergy with the young woman, their actions often mirroring each other's, working in tandem even without any direct communication.
As the evening deepened, the white blanket of snow that had been steadily falling began to intensify, and the furious winds picked up.
Suddenly, a particularly aggressive boar, bigger and stronger than the rest, charged towards the village's center. Its eyes, wild with rage, fixed onto a group of elders who were trying to rescue an injured child.
Before Zayzal could react, the young woman stepped forward. Taking a deep breath, she clenched her fists, and with a focused effort, the ethereal shield materialized, stretching wide enough to protect the entire group.
The boar crashed into it, the collision creating a thunderous sound that echoed throughout the village. It tried to push through, but the shield held firm. The woman, though clearly strained, maintained the barrier.
Using this momentary distraction, Zayzal sprinted forward and, with all his might, landed a powerful blow to the side of the boar's head. The creature crumpled to the ground, momentarily stunned but alive.
It was at this moment, with the snow falling around them and the furious winds howling, that the tide began to turn. One by one, with teamwork and determination, they subdued the frenzied animals.
Hours seemed to pass, but finally, the once noisy village square grew silent, save for the wind.
Exhausted villagers and wounded animals alike rested where they fell, the snow beginning to cover them like a soft blanket. The village had sustained damages, but its people had endured.
The man with the axe, who looked a lot like the young woman, approached Zayzal, extending a hand. “Sigurd Eriksson. Þökk.” he rumbled, his voice deep and filled with emotion.
Zayzal shook Sigurd's hand, feeling his massive bear-like strength. He didn’t need to understand his words to know the man was expressing his gratitude.
“Zayzal El-Athanasios. I just did what I should.” He smiled, not bothered by this extra work.
While he was shaking Sigurd’s hand, he felt a presence inside his burly body and could concentrate more on the pulsating red orb inside of him. Connected to that, many shining lights, less vibrant than the red orb yet still discernible, were several that seemed to form a pathway of sorts.
“Sera Sigurdsdottir.” The young woman introduced herself and shook Zayzal’s hand.
Sera's grasp was firm and warm. Despite the harsh conditions and the toll the battle had taken on her, her eyes still sparkled with determination and strength. “We are in your debt,” she said, exhaustion evident in her voice. Her English, while accented, was clear, better than when she was in battle.
“We'll need to quickly secure the village and tend to the wounded," Zayzal replied, sensing that their troubles were far from over.
Sigurd nodded in agreement, and a call to action spread amongst the villagers. People began to rise, assisting one another, clearing the streets of debris, and helping the fallen animals find shelter.
As the injured were taken to one of the larger huts, which Zayzal assumed to be a makeshift medical bay, he and Sera worked together to mend a portion of the broken fence.
Despite her evident fatigue, Sera’s movements were swift and precise. The bond between the villagers was palpable – their unity had been forged in the fires of adversity.
In the midst of the repairs, a chilling howl echoed through the night.
Sera’s eyes widened in alarm. “Wargs…” she whispered.
Zayzal looked up, trying to discern where the sound was coming from. The darkness was almost absolute, with only a few torches illuminating the snowy village, but the howls were getting louder and more distinct, suggesting a pack was approaching.
Suddenly, a sentry from atop a nearby watchtower shouted, his voice filled with panic. “Ólög! Frá norðri!(Beasts! From the north!)”
Peering through the darkness, Zayzal could barely make out shadows moving swiftly in the distance, their eyes gleaming ominously. The pack of wild, monstrous wolves was closing in on the village, drawn by the scent of blood.
Sigurd, clenching his battle-axe, barked out orders, rallying the villagers. "Til veggjanna! Verjið þorpið! (To the walls! Protect the village!)"
Children and the elderly were hurriedly ushered to the safety of the central buildings while the able-bodied villagers took up weapons, ranging from swords to simple farm tools. The village, having just overcome one crisis, was now facing another.
Sera stood beside Zayzal, shield and axe at the ready, determination evident on her face. “Stay close,” she whispered. “They’re not like any wolves you've seen.”
“You’d be surprised,” replied Zayzal, recalling the battle he had not long ago with a pack of rampant wolves.
The air grew tense as the pack neared. With each heartbeat, the danger became more palpable, and the village braced itself for yet another confrontation.
