Brodir entered a tent under the watchful gazes of the tribe members. Fear and caution fell over them as they eyed him, but he didn’t pay any attention to them.

Throwing open the tent flap, Brodir was met with the image of his son, Jorgun, beaten and broken.

An elderly woman wearing trinkets of animal remains held his hand, whispering incoherent words as if communicating with spirits.

Brodir patiently waited for her to finish, and when she did, his eyes shifted with expectation.

“No good,” The tribal shaman shook her head.

“How long will he live?” Brodir asked he lowered his face, casting a shadow over his expression.

His tall and imposing figure rose with anger he had trouble containing. Between his long blonde hair, there were scars and marks of experience that began to contort as he frowned.

“He has a strong heart, but he will not make it through the night,” the shaman said, showing a regretful expression.

“This is no way to die,” Brodir growled, his chest rose with each breath. “There is no honor in being beaten by a mere beast!”

He clenched his massive fist as his expression warped.

“The hunters said the beast could move the wind, did they not?” The shaman replied.

“I care not for the stories of the cowards who allowed this to happen,” Brodir barked, stepping out of the tent in a huff.

As he stomped outside, there were men lined up and forced to their knees by Brodir’s warriors.

“TWELVE TRIBES!” Brodir shouted, looking at their disheveled faces. “I lead twelve tribes! Men, women, children, and elders from as far as the fens to the mountains. Of those tribes, there are thousands who fall under my name. I have sent my children to each tribe from the largest to the smallest.”

Brodir stretched out his hand and several men struggled to lift an unwieldy battle-axe before placing it in his hands. The weight of the weapon was beyond what an ordinary human could hope to handle.

“So tell me, why is that one of my sons meets his end here? In this small tribe of mewling bastards and cowardly men!”

His roar caused those in question to flinch, eager to flee, but not brave enough to attempt it.

“Come, all of you… Jorgun may die here, without a shred of honor granted, but I will at least ensure that you all do not suffer the same fate.”

The warriors and hunters of the small tribe were given weapons and then urged to stand.

Brodir raised his axe and grunted, one hand struck his chest and then he sauntered forward like a lion. His eyes were narrowed but spilled with aggression.

“Aaaah!” One man rushed out, his brave charge was cut short by the edge of an axe that split him in half.

“I wish to grant you an honorable end and you hesitate? Are there no men among you?” Brodir asked.

His question spurred the hesitant fighters into action who rushed forward with loud war cries. Brodir met them head-on, each swing of his axe turned his targets into piles of much. He separated torsos as if they were made of twigs.

Even as dozens of men charged him, there were few who made it within 1 meter of Brodir. His axe took their lives without mercy.

“Die!” A man screamed as he sprung up from Brodir’s flank and thrust a blade into his exposed back.

“Heh.” Brodir laughed as he looked upon his attacker’s face, finding the look of terror to be slightly appeasing.

The dagger meant to kill Brodir couldn’t poke through the layer of muscle covering his body. Brodir lowered his axe and gripped the man by his skull, lifting him into the air with no effort at all.

“A coward will die as he lived.”

With a squeeze, Brodir’s hand crushed the skull of the shivering man like a melon. Unmoved by the gory display, Brodir marched forward and cut down the remaining men.

When all was said and done, there was little left of anyone. It was hard to tell who was who exactly as visceral piles of guts and limbs were entangled together like a pot of stew.

Turning to one of the shaman elders who showed no reaction to the brutal killings, he spoke.

“Send the word out, I want each of the remaining eleven clans to send one of their best hunters out. I want this so-called magical beast to be found and killed. When that’s done, I will eat its flesh and make trophies of its bones. Whoever manages to strike the beast down will receive a bowl of spirit sap for their clan.”

The shamans nodded and quickly went on their way, in preparation for whatever ritual needed to call to the other clans. Brodir spat on the ground before wiping his bloody forehead.

He returned to Jorgun’s bedside, planting the axe on the ground before crossing his arms and sitting stoically.

…

A week later, eleven hunters stood shoulder to shoulder, men and women with looks of determination. All of them peered in the same direction, looking west as a strong wind blew past them.

“The best the Tribe of the Great Bear could send was a tiny boy like you?” A woman cackled, a long spear rested in her powerful arms.

“Y’ think you’re much better?” said a teenage boy who let a short bow and a quiver of arrows rest on his back. “I could kill before ya’ even noticed.”

“Both of you talk too much,” a man with a wild appearance growled. A large wolf pelt rested on his head while two hatchets hung from his leather belt.

“Let’s just go,” The woman with the spear said, “I’ll be the one to get that spirit sap from Brodir.”

“Aye, you just might, but do not think you can mislead Brodir and bring just any carcass you find. The shamans have pondered on it and they think the beast we hunt for is blessed by wind and heading toward the west. If you try to fool him, Brodir will have your neck as well as those from your tribe.”

“Shame ‘bout Jorgun, I wanted to be his wife,” Another woman said, war paint obscured her true appearance.

“Then you best hunt with all the fury of a widow,” The teenage boy replied before sprinting away, each of his steps spanned the length of 3 meters in what was an incredible display of agility.

“Damned brat!” The woman covered in war-paint barked before quickly moving in the same direction.

No matter which one moved, each of the elven hunters showed inhuman movements. They traversed the woodland with frightening ease, showing exactly why they were the best of their respective tribes.

After an hour, the first to come across something was the spear-wielding woman who discovered a massive boar. She charged right into it and forced her spear into its side, before pulling it back and delivering several more thrusts in the blink of an eye.

The boar squealed, the sudden sharp pain of an attack it hadn’t seen coming frightened it, but as it tried to run two arrows struck its eyes.

The boar raised its body, moving erratically, but a man wearing a wolf-pelt leaped out of the brush and struck its body with two hatchets, spillings its insides onto the ground in an instant.

“Tch,” He clicked his tongue. “I rushed over thinking you found the beast already.”

“S’ too bad then. I only wanted to test my spear arm, been a while since I had a good hunt, y’see? Never thought you’d be so eager to stake your claim on the best. Suppose that it's good that I know now.”

“Listen close, there is spirit sap to be won from this hunt. Do not think I will hesitate if the chance to earn a bowl is in front of me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” The woman waved her hand.

The few hunters who stopped, thinking they missed their chance turned their attention back to navigating the forest and dispersed. A group of accomplished hunters fervently searched for Genesis.