Thesilence engulfs us, the snow absorbing even the faintest whisper of sound. Gullfax stands motionless beneath us. His muscles coiled tight like a spring, ready to snap. The stillness is suffocating, the weight of anticipation pressing on my chest.
Then, in a blur of motion, I'm airborne. Before I hit the ground, the world spins—the impact knocks the breath from my lungs. Snow fills my mouth and nose, and the icy crystals sting my face as I struggle to orient myself.
As I push myself up on shaking arms, a guttural snarl freezes the blood in my veins. Slowly, I raise my head, blinking away the snow clinging to my lashes. What I see sends a bolt of pure, unadulterated terror through my heart.
"Draugr!" Bryn shouts.
Holy shit. These aren't the sanitized zombies from horror movies—they're something far more ancient and terrifying. Their bloated, waterlogged corpses rise from the snow like demons from a Norse nightmare. Their skin has the sickly blue-black hue of the long-dead, stretched tight over swollen flesh. Ancient Viking armor, crusted with ice and decay, still clings to their hulking frames—these warriors died in battle and rose again with supernatural strength. Their eyes glow with an eerie blue fire in sunken sockets, radiating a cold beyond physical chill—the cold of the grave itself.
These undead Vikings tower over us, their forms nearly twice the size of a living man. The stench of death and decay rolls off them in waves, made worse by the putrid black liquid that oozes from their mouths and wounds. Their movements are unnaturally quick for their size, and they possess a terrible strength that death has only enhanced.
We're surrounded, the undead warriors closing in from all sides. Their heavy footfalls crack the frozen ground beneath them, and their rattling breaths sound like the last gasps of drowning men.
The Aquanite stone in my crown pulses with an unfamiliar urgency like it's trying to tell me something. I barely have time to process this new sensation before my body moves on pure instinct, daggers sliding free from my hips as I launch myself at the nearest Draugr.
Time warps around me—my favorite trick, and damn if I haven't gotten good at it. The world crystallizes into slow motion, giving me a front-row seat to the horror show. The Draugr's battle axe cuts through the air with glacial slowness, its rotting muscles bulging beneath blackened skin—child's play to dodge.
I dance under the swing, my movements fluid and precise in the warped time. My daggers find the gaps in its ancient armor, but as black ichor sprays across the snow, the crown pulses again—more assertive this time, almost demanding. The Aquanite stone's energy races through my veins like liquid lightning, and suddenly, I understand.
Snow. It's just frozen water.
A savage grin spreads across my face as I reach out with my mind, feeling for that familiar liquid connection. The Aquanite stone's power surges through me, and holy shit—I can feel every single snowflake, every ice crystal. But more than that, I can sense the frozen water trapped in the Draugrs' waterlogged flesh.
Time snaps back to normal as I flex this new power. The charging Draugr freezes mid-stride, confusion evident in its glowing blue eyes as the moisture in its dead flesh responds to my call. I clench my fist, and the ice crystals within it expand violently. The monster explodes from the inside out, painting the landscape with frozen chunks of undead gore.
"Well, that's new," I laugh, watching black blood crystallize mid-air—the crown thrums with approval.
Two more lumber toward me, but now I'm in my element. Time warps again, and I slide between them like smoke. My daggers find their marks—not to kill, but to create channels for my newfound power. I pull at the snow beneath their feet, transforming it into jagged spears of ice that shoot upward through their bodies. Their inhuman shrieks echo off the mountains as I twist the ice inside them, shattering their frozen forms like macabre glass sculptures.
A fourth gets close enough to grab my arm, its grip like frozen iron. The stench of decay burns my nose, but I smirk. Time slows once more as I reach for every drop of moisture in its rotting form, the Aquanite stone singing in my blood. The Draugr becomes a grotesque ice statue, its face forever frozen in a snarl of rage. One well-placed kick, it explodes into a shower of glittering shards.
I stand in the aftermath, surrounded by a grisly display of blood and ice. My breath comes in sharp pants, creating vapor clouds in the frigid air. The crown pulses with satisfied energy, and I've never felt more in tune with its power.
"Anyone else?" I taunt, twirling my daggers as more undead warriors advance. The snow dances around my feet, responding to my will like an eager pet. "Because I'm just getting started, and I've got some new tricks to try."
Through the chaos, I glimpse Rhyland in action and holy hell—it's a sight to behold. Erik moves like a silver shadow between opponents, Heimdall's spear flashing like lightning, and Bryn's wings spreading darkness as she dances through the air. But there's no sign of Baldr's golden armor or Sleipnir's distinctive form.
A Draugr lunges at Rhyland from behind—he doesn't even turn. The monster suddenly freezes mid-stride, its glowing eyes widening in confusion as it's lifted off its feet. Rhyland clenches his fist, and the creature's armor implodes with a sickening crunch, black ichor spraying from every joint.
He doesn't just fight the Draugr; he dominates them. With a mere flick of his hand, three undead warriors hurtle through the air like ragdolls, their bodies crashing into each other with bone-crushing force. Another gesture and their own weapons turn against them— ancient axes and swords ripping free from rotting hands to spiral through the air in a deadly dance. The weapons pierce through waterlogged flesh and rusted armor with devastating precision, pinning the monsters to the frozen ground.
And then there's Erik—a blur of silver and deadly grace. Grave Warden cuts through the air as Erik moves with that eerie prescience of his. He knows exactly where each Draugr will strike before they move. An undead warrior swings its battle axe at Erik's head, but he's already ducking under the blow, Grave Warden slicing through its knees in one fluid motion. Before the creature can even begin to fall, Erik's blade finds its throat, separating head from shoulders.
Three more Draugr converge on him at once, but Erik moves like liquid mercury between them, each step purposeful, each strike inevitable. Grave Warden's ancient blade cleaves through rotting flesh and rusted armor as if they're made of paper. In seconds, there's nothing left but dismembered corpses, and Erik hasn't even broken a sweat.
Sometimes, I wonder if he has a sixth sense for battle or is just that good at reading his opponents. Either way, his performance is impressive and slightly terrifying.
I scan the area again in search of Baldr. But he's nowhere to be found. Shit. Just what I need—a missing god to explain to Odin. But before I can dwell on that potential disaster, three more Draugr lumber toward me, their rotting forms casting long shadows across the blood-stained snow.
Time warps at my command, the world crystallizing into that familiar slow-motion dance. The first Draugr's sword moves through the air like it's trapped in amber,giving me plenty of time to analyze its trajectory. The crown pulses again, and I reach out with my newfound power, feeling the ice crystals singing in response.
I pirouette between the first two monsters, my daggers opening precise channels in their armor. As time snaps back to normal, I pull at the snow beneath our feet, transforming it into a spiraling column of ice that lifts me above their heads. The Draugr's look up—perfect. I release my hold on the ice pillar, letting gravity do the work as I plunge my daggers into their skulls on my way down. The force of my descent drives the blades deep, black ichor spraying in an arc around me.
The third Draugr charges, but I'm already moving. Time slows once more as I slide under its wild swing, the Aquanite stone's power surging through me. I reach out, not just to the snow this time, but to the very moisture in the air. It freezes instantly, creating a cage of ice spears around the monster. With a twist of my will, the spears shoot inward, impaling the Draugr from a dozen angles.
But it's still moving, its hands reaching for me through the ice. Fine. It's time to get creative. I focus on the frozen water in its flesh while simultaneously manipulating the ice cage. The result is spectacular—the Draugr literally tears itself apart as the ice in its body pulls in one direction while the cage pulls in another. Its torso separates from its legs with a sickening crack, and its black blood freezes instantly as it sprays through the air.
I land in a crouch, breathing hard, my daggers dripping with frozen gore. The crown hums with power, almost like it's pleased with my improvisation. But there's no time to celebrate—I need to find Baldr before he becomes another casualty in this frozen hellscape.
