Mythender Intro

B
efore the three of us approached Thor, the so-called god of thunder and Mythic Norden’s
mightiest warrior. He rode in his chariot down from atop the crackling clouds, his eyes
fixed on us as he grew ever closer. Between him and us was a host of einherjar, warriors long
dead and favored by the gods to live forever as the their foot soldiers.
I would pity them, if they weren’t abominations.

Thousands of feet rushing at us rivaled sounds of thunder. My young comrade Beatrice
sprinted ahead to meet them, her horse whining and neighing. As she leapt in the air, Beatrice
grabbed the horse’s neck and flipped herself over, arcing the beast over her body like a war
hammer. When they landed, her steed broke the dead army’s formation and shook the very
earth beneath us all. The land cracked, making a spider’s web of chasms, with her at the center.
Some of the einherjar fell to their final death. A good start.

“Cute,” Rashid chuckled, and he sauntered toward the horde. His hands were ablaze. He
raised them in the air, as though he was pushing up an immense weight. The earth, weakened
by Beatrice’s blow, cracked around the battlefield. The hot blood of the world spewed forth
from the hot bowels below. Rashid weaved his hands about, and the geysers of molten death
did his bidding, pouring all over the undead fools and spraying Thor’s massive demon-goats.
The goats reared up. Thor shouted in pain, for he could feel every blow we made against his
thralls. Light burst from his mouth and filled the sky with lightning, that then came down to
earth and shot through us all. Rashid and I were knocked back. Beatrice stood her ground.
I got up on one knee and wiped my brow. Blood. I laughed as I summoned my Book.

The giant Tome of Life and Death hovered before me and flipped open to a blank page. I used
my own blood to write “On this day, the Myth of Thor was no more.”
The god of thunder coughed blood and godly bile as he fell from his chariot in the sky. The
moment was still.

Then he got up and charged us, wielding his legendary hammer.

Let this futile charge come, oh warrior of Norden. When the skalds sing of your Ending, this will
only make the song grander, motherfucker.