Man's Original Sin_Avatar: Jǫrðsaga

An animalistic surge ignited the essence in my lungs, setting them ablaze, transforming flesh and soul into forge roaring with the flames of life. The temperature kept rising as I bellowed at the contestants like a mad beast, warning them should they think to trespass into my domain. Sweat and grime bridged the gap between flesh and clothing as they proceeded to constrict, tearing fabric apart. The world swirled, pangs of light and colour blossoming and wilting to my sight. The skin of reality peeled back before my eyes, allowing me a glimpse at the innards of creation fading in and out of perception. Nothing mattered anymore, not the people, the contestants, or even myself. All was washed from conscious recognition as this fever held me in its seductive grasp.

Colours known and unknown engulfed swept me up, dancing in shapes and patterns that ought to be incomprehensible, playing out in some kind of maddened performance tailored just for me. I felt my mind fraying at the seams as the symphony of delirium reached its swan song, but right on the precipice of fracture, when mind and body were to be rendered null, everything came crashing down. Doused with virgin waters, all colour bled from my vision as the inferno of heat plaguing every fibre of my being gave way to a bone-chilling frigidity that was very much similar to what I experienced during that fateful snowstorm.

An odd ticking sound reached my ears as I broke into a shiver attempting to stave off the cold creeping in. The persistent clatter led to my teeth that had started chattering, and I could almost understand their complaints about the state I was in. They were right. Had a vile spirit possessed me? Or was I really a cursed being, as everyone said? Could I do nothing once more? For how long would I remain powerless? What am I? Branching questions plagued my mind as doubt and fear bubbled up, only to be overrun by an unbending rage.

If my body were weak, I would train it unceasingly. If my mind were vulnerable, I would subject it to all manner of torment. If any dared stand in my way, bar me from progress along the chosen path, I would trample them underfoot. This was the way, my way. A sharp snap breached my thoughts, followed by a stinging pain in my right hand; I had crushed the handle of my frayed sword, splintered wood digging into flesh, ichor dripping from the cracks of my fist. Fury kept building within, pleading to be released from its shackles, and all it needed was but a push to descend onto this mortal coil.

As if answering their prayers, a burly boy broke from the huddling group at the mouth of the Vigningsväg, striding toward me. He was looking down on me. Did he not see what I did to the others? How I beat them black and blue and then threw them off the edge. His cheeks jiggled with every step, tubby figure growing in my view.

‘It is a challenge. It qs a chaqlengn. It wz a chlkejne. Ra za p chpallze. Pc un v unciooakl. Ionjsdynzoewbjmnavuisgdaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeee…’

The lull encompassing me since I was broken out of that psychedelic nightmare shattered, coinciding with the prey halting a distance from me. The wrath imprisoned in the deepest chambers of myself was let loose, detonating from my mouth in all its unchained glory, “Aaaaaaahhhhhh!”

The earth fractured and sank as I got on my hands and knees before lunging at my prey. His already large figure kept growing as air rushed past my face, arms outstretched, ready to squeeze the life out of him. As I plummeted upon him, he raised his shield in defiance at the last moment, my teeth grinding at the realisation I had been denied my quarry. Our inevitable collision proved too much for such a weakling to bear, and we were subsequently sent tumbling, rolling, down the inclined bridge. A feral cry slipped out as I clutched and dug into anything that would stop reality spinning in reckless abandon. Steadiness jolting to fruition when I finally managed to solidify a stranglehold on stone, the searing sensation of skin scraped raw, catching up soon after.

My lower half had lost all forms of purchase while my fingers were embedded, leaving me hanging off the edge with just one hand. The thought of what I would do once I caught the boy was the sole thing that kept my grip hardy, molars chittering in approval. The sight of the abyss, paired with an almost palpable darkness nipping at my heels, intending to drag me down, did nothing to douse the conflagration that ravaged my heart, retribution my only desire. Swinging back and forth, chunks of rock were swallowed by ravenous black as I tried to get a solid hold with my other hand. Eventually latching on, I hoisted my frame in one swift motion, landing on all fours.

Glancing left, all I was met with were cowering lambs, wide-eyed, defenceless; they weren’t who I was searching for. At the sight of the prey’s lumbering mass ascending—without even the slightest care for the threat I posed—my snarl turned into a frenzied howl; the hunt was on. I bolted after him, hand and foot propelling me forward. His figure grew with every bound, and I leapt on as soon as I was close enough, bringing him to his knees. With a fistful of hair to keep him steady, I took a bite out of his ear, sending him into a fit, which, fortunately for him, threw me off. I chewed, the squelch and crunch of flesh reverberating in my skull.

Flipping onto his back, he stared at me with eyes full of fright, crawling away while shouting something unintelligible. I spat the wad of mush at him to shut him up. His words held no meaning, the dark desire craving his absolute annihilation, twisting sentience and reason. His flesh will be stripped, his guts laid bare under the sun, his bones crushed. Not a single part of his soon-to-be carcass would be left unmolested when I was through. A growl rattled my gullet as I bared my teeth, muscles swelling in anticipation, while I stalked his retreating form.

I pounced on him, fighting through kicks and jabs, pain no longer having a hold over me. Gaining a position atop his chest, I began raining down punches on his face, ignoring the futile resistance I faced. However, the stubby fingers clawing at my eyes were proving a nuisance, so I bit down on the few that strayed too close, wrenching my neck back and tearing them free. Sour warmth pervaded my mouth, the liquid an elixir that only fed my hunger. A throaty laugh smattered my inferior in blood and gore, his terror fuelling the increasing speed of my assault. His bloodied face was not enough. I still hungered for more. “More. More. More! Msre! Coie! Bhae! Ahkf! Kekekehahahaha!”

Reaching over my shoulder, I grabbed the shield, holding it in both hands, raising it high above before bringing it down. A joyous crack was heard amidst the loud ringing that pervaded all audible sound, losing myself in euphoric mania, anointed by outbursts of warmth.

I was pulled off my prize—kicking and screaming at the interruption of genius—allowing me to finally view my handcraft in its entirety. What had been a defiant being was now a mass of pulp and goop, reds, pinks and greys mixing together in ways that were oh so beautiful. Blood and viscera painted everything in a sanguineous shimmer, the gruesome aftermath of my carnage. I flung my arms at the surrounding assailants, aiming to continue the battle despite being restrained.

“I’ll kill you all! Di—,” my head jolted forward, followed by an all-consuming void whisking me to oblivion.

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A moment prior.

The section of Jörðgard occupied by the prominent and wealthy was in an uproar. The fringes of their territory had transformed into contested land, the peasant army knocking on their gate. It would have turned into an all-out brawl if not for the line of guards that kept the two from mixing, pushing back on the waves. Their leather armour and gleaming weapons were more than enough of a deterrent for the drunken fools hurling curses at the other side. If somehow that still didn’t suffice, the wolf crest on their backs and a few overzealous individuals being escorted away after being battered into submission did the trick. The Illugi private guard was not known for their kindness and mercy.

Elevated from all the unrest and commotion, brother and sister sat in abject quietude in the central zone, intently observing the happenings below, specifically a black-haired boy. Those in the vicinity were of similar countenance, thoughts churning within the recesses of their mind, unknown to anyone else. However, their faces betrayed the secrecy of their mind, donning varying shades of grimaces and frowns to ones depicting bleakness and forlornity. When the boy began beating his shield and taunting what were the last remaining children of the karls, Alffinnr could no longer contain his distaste.

“I do not know whether to feel relieved these cowards who share our heritage have been brought to light or dismay, seeing as we’ve been thoroughly embarrassed!” he roared. The scathing remark drew grunts of approval from his compatriots who shared similar views, this sentiment growing under the impish giggling of his sisters.

“Don’t be too harsh on them, brother. It is not they who are cowards, but their opponent who is nothing less than a genius. Not only is he physically superior but has entrenched himself into their psyches as an insurmountable wall, thereby reducing his degree of confrontation.” She replied in a tone that spoke of her non-concern about the outcome, much to her brother’s chagrin.

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“Alfheiðr, for once in your life. Take. This. Seriously,” he said, pausing between words for emphasis. He was sick of her unfettered nature that had plagued him since childhood. “This farce has captured the hearts and minds of all the commoners and could very well overturn all the hard work we have done. Nothing will stop the wolves from gorging themselves if we loo—” The guttural scream of a banshee pierced the sky, halting his rantings. He swung back, searching for the source of noise of such unholiness, just in time to see the boy hurtling himself into another, prompting him to exclaim in shock. “What in ormr’s name was that!”

“The lad has lost his mind!”

“That boy must have inherited his mother’s balls…”

“Aye, she wasn’t called the second coming of the sun for nothing.”

The resignation laced into the conversations around Alffinnr told him all he needed to know. If nothing changed, this would be their complete and utter defeat. At least concerning this batch of warrior recruits. But against all expectation, the boy rammed into his much larger adversary, sending them both into a mad tumble down the Vigningsväg.

Deep trails were gouged out of the bridge as the brown-skinned child tried to correct himself, eventually hurtling off the near edge, saving himself by a hair’s width. Those around Alffinnr rose to their feet in joy, cheering at the unexpected turn of events, seeing some chance to salvageable this disaster. The celebrations, however, were cut short, courtesy of the unrefined cackling originating from someone that was quickly wearing their patience.

“Pray tell, why do you act in such an indecent manner, my dear sister?” Alffinnr excoriated, trying his best to stay his hand.

“How—hehehe—do none of you see it?” she questioned, staving off her fit of laughter, surveying their confused visages. “Do all you warrior’s only have lamb and mead for brains? He’s experiencing his first berserkergang!” She broke out into a second peal of laughter, likely at the expense of their own ineptitude, but the act fell on deaf ears.

“No, it can’t be!” Alffinnr rebuked as if the possibility of such a thing was too heinous to even consider. It was rare for the pride of house Nýi to showcase such discomposure, but the circumstances were extenuating, worst fears coming to fruition before his eyes that shot back to the boy in question. With strength far surpassing anything within normal boundaries, he propelled himself high above the bridge, landing with a tremor, red-eyed, huffing and drooling—the tell-tale signs of one going berserk. Surveying the area, he quickly discovered the plump boy chasing after him almost on all fours, each step causing the bridge to shake in fright.

Arriving within striking distance, he made another monstrous leap, spanning a length of more than five times his own height, latching onto his target’s back in an effort of predation. He was bucked off just as quickly, and an ear-piercing cry resounded in the arena, the fat boy holding onto his right ear. If that wasn’t enough to hint at what had happened, the ensuing sludge the brown-skinned boy spat out was a conclusive indicator.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alffinnr saw a few frantic individuals pointing and trying to get the guards to do something, getting nothing more than a glance in response. Of course, nothing would be done; the officials only moved when a fatal injury or life-threatening situation arose, of which neither was true at this point in time, but he deduced it wouldn’t be long before things took a dark turn.

The boy slowly approached the target of his ire, eyes radiating a faint light. He bared his teeth, spreading his arms that glistened in the orange glow illuminating the grounds while something squirmed beneath. He lunged at his fallen foe, ignoring the blows he received as they wrestled for supremacy. Unsurprisingly, he overpowered his adversary with ease resulting in them both pounding at the opposition. Still, no one sought to intervene as it was still within the bounds of a non-lethality; that changed when the boy took a chunk out of his opponent’s hand.

The examiners were swift to move, having already approached the mouth of the Vigningsväg, but the distance between them and the brawl took a few breaths to cover, leaving more than enough time for what was to come next. To the shock and horror of everyone, the boy, the svartr, ripped off the shield strapped to his back and used it as a bludgeon to cave his opponent’s head in.

The scenery of unadulterated gore caused many who were oblivious to the realities of battle to empty their stomachs, while those in the know were not much better. When the now red-skinned boy was finally pulled off, the full extent of his handiwork was exposed. The other child’s skull was bisected in two, swimming in a pool of blood, trickling down a fractured bridge, painting it a deep crimson hue that reflected a shying moon before oozing between cracks and crevices and were lost to the void below. The boy’s haunting screams rang over the silenced masses, coming to an abrupt stop courtesy of his captors, many thankful that this catastrophe was at an end.

This night would be forever immortalised in history, and the souls of all those fortunate enough to experience it first hand as the first profanation. A moment when innocent blood stained the path of ascension, marking the rise of someone who would come to be known as hinn Ófnir—the Inciter.

A dull wind brushed over lulled treetops, their arms outstretched in an attempt to graze the crescent moon snared against a stygian backdrop. Agitated foliage filled the vast forest with trailing whispers, overshadowing the sounds of nocturnal life vying for survival at their feet. In the deepest reaches of this grim symphony of life, hidden from the gaze of man and animal alike, laid a secluded glade. Ancient trees, as old as time itself, encircled the small break, hands interlocked, preventing encroachment on this hallowed ground. Their wrinkled bark emitted vast swarms of glittering light that danced and played like mischievous fairies, a swirling galaxy of luminescence. Luscious grass swayed to and fro in perfect harmony with the ebbing silver stream, gilded by the moonlight, harmonising gold and silver in an eternal waltz.

At the centre of this dreamlike performance, rising out of the earth, was a colossal menhir, an undying remnant lost in the annals of mortality. It pierced through stone and soil, undeterred, proud, defiant, displaying its bleached form to all brave or foolish enough to attempt the feat. A cyan glow seeped from its base, hinting at the unknown slithering beneath, a long tentacle of thorny vines crawling along its length.

Perched atop this primal entity was a woman in stasis, encompassing such stillness that if it were not for her fluttering hair, one would think she were part stone. Her eyelids were shut, bathing in ageless starlight that alighted her skin in gemlike radiance. The stars seemed to be ensnared between antlers that sprouted from her head as threads of heaven, silvern hair, flowing over a bewitching figure.

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The flapping of wings woke her from ritualistic trance, auric pupils peering in the direction of arriving herald. The nightmare raven emerged from the black curtain draped over this half of the world, perching atop her hand, claws gnawing against wooden skin. Its head bobbed back and forth, sizing up the figure in front of it and gurgling in delight when she passed scrutiny. “Ever the vigilant one, aren’t we… Even after all this time, you still don’t fully trust me, Jiyi?” the woman bemoaned, paired with a smile that belied a different emotion.

The bird crowed in response, numb to her teasing after the numerous years spent together.

“So? What did you find? Is he the one we have been waiting for?”

The raven jumped up and down excitedly, warbling and croaking in a manner that seemed to show it could communicate. However, this bizarre display was outdone by the woman, who nodded at times and laughed at others much the same way one would if conversing with a human.

“Ahhhhh~ long have I awaited this moment,” she said, tears of silver streaming down her cheeks, coating pale skin. She began humming an ethereal tune, her voice so sweet, so angelic, it enchanted both living and non-living alike, from the smallest of pebbles to the most gigantic of beasts. The forests danced to her divine hymn in joyous reverence for meaning within.