Just as Blake thought his head was about to be smashed like a cantaloupe, a rod of light flashed before his eyes, and the sound of thunder rattled inside his brain. Then, the giant collapsed in front of him, his head shattered and smashed, blue blood pooling the ground, with tendrils of smoke emerging from his broken skull.
Blake stepped back. Looking up, he saw another horse galloping in the sky, its rider wore an armor that shone like gleaming gold in the night. It was a woman with wavy red hair under an iron helmet, fluttering wildly as she rode, and she swung… Was that Mjölnir, Thor’s Hammer?
The figure charged toward the other giant, swinging Mjolnir and spurring hard. The Jotun turned in fright as the rider, fast and agile like a cat, struck the giant in the chest. A blaze of light made Blake flinch, and the giant collapsed to the side with a thud and the sound of shattered bones.
Th valkyrie rode among the remains, descending from her horse like an expert gymnast. And she looked like more and that. Her armor had the color of bronze, but so bright that it seemed to reflect everything around her, and she wore chainmail underneath. Her red hair dropped to the middle of her back, and the chainmail she wore descended down to her thighs. And what thighs. Blake blinked, he was about to die, so he thought it’d be silly to start lusting for the valkyries. But… What a woman! If Eir was the most beautiful woman Blake had ever seen, that red-headed valkyrie was the hottest. She had the body of a sports illustrated model, her thighs, oh, why was she so damn attractive? Aside from its length, her armor was not revealing, but the shape of her bosom was more than insinuated, her posture was straight and warlike, and she walked with absolute confidence, like a mix between a female wrestler and a swimsuit model.
She deadlifted the giant’s body, pushing it away.
“Sister,” the red-headed Valkyrie shouted, her voice was feminine but slightly boyish. She knelt in front of Eir. “Sister, how… How is it possible that after two thousand years you can’t defeat a single Jotun.”
“Brynhilde,” Eir wheezed.
“Brynhilde?” Blake jumped to his feet. Brynhilde had Thor’s hammer?
Either everything about mythology was wrong, or Thor was already dead…
What was that about, he was dreaming, of course anything could have happened.
But in the legends that didn’t make sense, according to the sagas, when Thor died, Ragnarok was about to begin and the hammer should have passed to…
“That’s your choice for father’s army?” Brynhilde said, arms crossed, staring at Blake up and down. The, she addressed him: “And your idea of bravery is stealing from the dead?”
“How many humans do you know who dare to face a Jotun head on?” Eir said, sitting up, a bright golden fluid staining her face. Was that her blood? “And he was about to…”
“To have his soul obliterated,” Brynhilde said, eyes still fixed on Blake. To be stared at like that made him self-conscious.
Blake tried to keep his eyes up, but those thighs were calling him and… Damn. Those eyes gleamed. They were clear blue, much more serious and less innocent than those of Eir. Now if she was Brynhilde, all the legends made sense. All those gods and warriors of legend like Gunar and Sigfried had gone crazy for her and done utterly stupid things.
“Now he does have the body of a hero,” Brynhilde said. Blake felt himself blush. He had been powerlifting for two years, so he had put on some bulk. “Listen, kid, I’m teasing you to see what you’re made of. I like you, I mean, you have hair like mine, it’s not that common anymore. But the guys up there are harder to impress. Let’s see if you are really worthy to be called hero.”
Brynhilde turned toward Eir and offered her a hand. “Sister, let’s get the Hel out before more of those frost-assed Jotun show up.”
Eir nodded, stretching her hand. Brynhilde helped her up the horse, then turned toward Blake, extending a hand. “You too, brave warrior.” She said with a hint of sarcasm. “What are you looking at? Come on or you’ll miss the feast.”
Blake found himself nodding seconds later. The skeleton was still cursing him behind his back. “Give me back my necklace!”
“Don’t listen to him,” said Brynhilde. “Just come.”
Blake dropped the sword, slid the necklace inside his jeans and staggered forward, feeling numb and weak once again. As soon as he reached, Brynhilde grabbed him like a ragdoll and put him across her lap, in between herself and Eir.
“Hey!” he shouted, as the horse started trotting mid air and raising like a drone.
“You just enjoy the ride and relax,” said Brynhilde. “Let’s go,” the valkyrie said, spurring harder and rising up toward the rainbow, toward Valhalla.
Blake was expecting to wake up, but he never did. The rainbow beneath them gleamed with otherworldly light. He gasped, looking up from the valkyrie’s lap.
“Raise your head, brave warrior,” Eir grunted, as if trying hard to sound strong. “We are almost at the Gates.”
“Listen,” Brynhilde whispered, looking back at him. “I have some experience with people of your time. The last one who came like a hundred years ago talked too much. And got angry. That’s not how people should act here. My sister went all the way to Midgard to get you and got a beating for you, so don’t shame us. I’ll give you a tip, don’t ever be a coward in Valhalla, or we’ll run you over and throw you out.”
“A hundred years ago is supposed to be my time? And… Honestly… I don’t think I deserve…”
“That’s the kind of talk!” Brynhilde shouted. “Cut it out now and act like a man. You’re already here, do your best. This is what Aesir do.”
Blake blinked. She sounded angry, but also, it felt a little like she was teasing him. What she said reminded him a lot of his grandfather. He was always giving pep-talks: Always do what you have to and give your best, whether you win or lose, that doesn’t matter.
“I trust he’s going to do well, sister,” said Eir from behind her sister.
“I’m telling him. They’ll eat him alive here, no matter how brave and good at fighting he is. You will walk among the Aesir now, we are honorable and proud, but always lift our names on high.”
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Brave? Good at fighting? Blake swallowed hard.
“Alright,” he blinked, trying to remember the sagas he read and try to get into the Norse mindset. What a crazy dream this was.
Blake lifted his gaze. A gate stood before him, like resplendent gold. A figure stood at its entrance, his skin gleaming like the moon. It was a man as tall as a basketball player, with ivory skin and hair like long strands of amber.
“Hail, son of Nine Mothers.” said Brynhilde, raising the hammer above her head.
“Where do you come from?” replied the man, with a booming baritone voice. “And who do you bring with you?”
Blake blinked. He looked at the figure, he fixed his eyes on the gleaming skin, the golden helmet, richly engraved in runes, and… The horn at his waist… Was that Heimdall? He had to be.
“A warrior brave who died in battle,” said Brynhilde.
“Is he worthy of entering Valhalla?”
“Aye,” spoke Brynhilde. “We saw him fight with bravery and defy the dead.”
Blake blinked in surprise. Brynhilde was speaking for him, not Eir.
“Then,” Heimdall turned back and pushed open the gate with one mighty hand. He turned toward Blake and blinked an eye. “Lucky fool. It’s been years since the men of Midgard come. Enjoy the mead.”
The horse trotted past the gate. Blake shut his eyes, thinking this was the time when he’d wake. Still nothing. When he opened again, he gasped. He was before a fantasy landscape, more beautiful than what he’d ever seen before, with high towers that seemed to have been made from gleaming silver or of sapphire and marble, fjords and waterfalls that cascaded into pleasant rivers. The architecture seemed old Norse, made with many interlocking sections for roofs and walls, some like Norwegian stave churches, with many triangular sections and roofs, but of precious materials instead of wood and thatched roofs. Many hills rose over the mountains, and one building stood in the center of it all, a massive roofed fortress, as big as a football stadium and shaped like a shield, with so many entrances that he couldn’t even try to count. Blake knew what it was once he saw it.
“Valhalla.”
He felt something, like a light coalescing inside him, flowing through his veins.
“What is happening?” he asked, staring at his palms.
“Finally!” Eir said, turning toward him. “You have been fully resurrected. Your body has been restored in Valhalla. You are a son of Odin now, and you have eternal life like us. You are ready to join the Einherjar.”
The Einherjar was Odin’s army of resurrected warriors, reserved for Ragnarök and the end of the world.
He felt as though a mist had dispelled from his mind. His thoughts were clearer than they ever had been. Every pain in his body disappeared, and his reaction time became faster. It felt as if everything started to make sense.
“What did you do to me?” he asked Eir.
“I am the one who summoned you, so I get the choice to give you my blessings. I gave you all that are mine to give. You have received the [Helm of Awe] back in the World of Spirits, as a permanent gift from me, so that your reflexes increase.” A magic circle appeared for an instant around Blake..
Then, another circle with different runes displayed before his eyes. As he could read Elder Futhark, he recognized the word Skald.
“This one is [Skald’s voice],” she explained. “You felt your mind become sharper and faster as you were resurrected. This will increase your mind’s power even more.”
“Wow,” Blake gasped. It was as if a million connections had flared up in his mind, bringing him increased awareness. Everything he had ever read displayed before his eyes. He could only describe it as photographic memory. “Damn, with this I’ll never fail an exam again.”
“This will also help you know what to say among the Aesir, for our ways are not yours.”
“Makes sense,” Blake said, nodding. He had read something about Norse traditions and values, like the importance of keeping one’s word, courage in the face of adversity, and some negative ones like revenge, and other customs that did not always fit well with modern cultures, but they were good to know.
Thoughts and ideas coalesced into his mind, displaying runes in front of him. Like before, through his own subconscious, or by design of the gods, a series of runes appeared into his mind, like the stats page of a video game, quantifying his attributes and rank.
Your class is Einherjar. Level 1.
You have received the blessings:
Helm of Awe (increased reaction time and stamina +10)
Skald’s voice (increases mental accuracy + 50)
Current stats are:
Name: Blake Olson
Class: Einherjar
Level: 1
XP: 2/100
[Health]: 9/35
[Odr (Mana)]: 1/30
[Strength]: 11
[Agility]: 8
[Intelligence]: 12
[Reaction time]: 10
Blake noticed that his statistics were nothing extraordinary for a human of his age, with his strength as a powerlifter being above average, and his intelligence being slightly above average. But with the new gifts, he could enhance them temporarily.
Brynhilde laughed.
“I like you, kid, but you’ll need more than having broad shoulders and a nice smile. This is a tough place. Not for weaklings, but I see you like to improve your body and progress with your skills; that’s a start. Now, as a welcome gift, I’ll grant you something of my own. Consider yourself lucky, I don’t give this to anyone. But I trust my sister’s judgment, and my own.”
You have received the blessing:
Vali’s Leap (Assisted Leap: increased strength and stamina + 10)
“Beware,” Brynhilde said. “Even despite these new skills, your level is still low among these Einherjar. But I hope they can help you stay out of trouble and not be humiliated in front of everyone. I expect you to keep growing and developing these skills. And who knows, maybe I’ll give you other gifts if you behave.” She winked.
There was something else about the gifts, a strange awareness that lingered. He looked at Brynhilde. He couldn’t explain it, but he felt a bit closer. He also felt the same for Eir. Each time his thoughts drifted toward her, he felt a strange burst of euphoria. He stared at her, finding her smiling at him. She lowered her eyes shyly.
He also noticed their respective power levels. Brynhilde’s [HP] was insane, reaching [858], by his measurements, her strength was at a whooping [350]. She was truly overpowered. Part of it, he imagined, derived from Mjölnir. Eir had a much lower level, her [HP] was barely [150], and her strength was half of Brynhilde. But another measurement he perceived, a strange energy that emanated from her, was much higher than Brynhilde’s. On the runic system, it was described as [Odr], and he translated it as mana.
“And I can summon these skills whenever I want,” Blake said, as the skills displayed before his eyes. “It’s like a videogame.”
“A video what?” Eir asked.
“A… Well, I’ll explain it to you later. Well...” He cleared his throat. “I can’t wait to meet the Allfather.”