The creature writhes in agony, hammering its body into the ground, pulverizing everything beneath it. Its unrest sends shock waves into the terrain toward us. The beast slithers its colossal body inch by inch into the sea to our left, the vibrations underneath us subsiding as it escapes. Soon all that is left of the creature is the aftermath of its rage, permanently engraved on the ground where it used to lie.

I'm finally able to catch my breath. My mind is helpless as it tries to comprehend everything that had just transpired. I recognize the same bewilderment on my companions bloodied, disheveled faces as I peer over to them. I am comforted and thankful that they are still breathing. I owe our escape mostly to them. I push myself to my feet, ignoring my body's opposition, and head to help them both to stand.

My eyes gravitate to the man with the bow and I notice two more standing behind him. One was an older man wearing a thick grey cloak with a maroon scarf wrapped around his neck. His hair was grey, dirty, and kept longer than most would find comfortable. He wears no armor and seems to only carry a small sword. The other appears to be much younger but their face is covered by a green hood that hides their features. They stand quietly and unmoving, giving off a cold and emotionless feeling. Leather armor guards their chest and is held together by black and gold straps. A sword and numerous daggers can be seen resting beneath the green cloak as it flails in the wind.

"Thank you," I say nodding my head towards them.

"No issues at all," the man with the bow replies. His words are soft and inviting as he speaks.

"Did you just slay a dragon!?" The boy interjects with excitement, unconcerned for the injuries he has just endured.

"That was Nidhogg, and no I didn't slay him. If anything, he has fled back to his castle." The man answers as he points to our right.

In the direction of his finger, a massive castle sits on a snow-covered ridge a few miles away. Its giant structure now visible as the heavy snowfall concludes. The castle commands a menacing presence as it stares down at us. My eyes are captured by its obscurity. It faintly whispers to my heart, warning me of what lies within.

Heavy footsteps sound behind me. Their thuds being more familiar as they grow closer and closer to me. I turn sharply, recognizing who the footsteps belonged to. Approaching us was the behemoth of a man whose stature seems somehow much smaller after encountering the creature. Wounds cover his body and I can't help but think that he got what he deserved. That it was a shame that the monster didn't bite that arrogant, hot-headed dome off his shoulders.

"W-why did y-you do this to m-me?" The man stutters. His eyes shifting between us, still filled to the brim with rage.

Before the arrogant behemoth has any chance to react, the old man steps forward to greet him. "Bjorn, I know you have been told that you are too stupid to be this recklessly hot-tempered."

"Old man Frode is that you? I heard you gone and croaked a few years ago," Bjorn utters, the rage now beginning to vanish from his eyes.

"I did you dolt! And if constant agony wasn't enough, the gods have punished me further by making me spend it with you!" Frode shouts back clearly annoyed.

"Well, that's some bad luck for the both of us. So, what's new?" The man replies, his rage now completely subsided.

*****

I ram my foot into the base of the hatchet, snapping the handle off. This was all we had to use as a substitution for firewood that would give us a break from the blistering cold. The man with the bow gave us his name, Iver, and each of us instructions. No one complained since he seemed to understand what he was doing, and I wasn't going to interject and challenge him without a plan. I still don't completely fathom the situation and Iver's commanding, calm presence made him easy to follow. Even the fierce warrior woman and Bjorn followed without objection.

I find myself back in the array of scattered corpses searching for supplies. Their smell still twisting my stomach. The only items able to be found are those that the bodies appeared with. I find mostly weapons and armor that are too rusted and decayed to use. I wonder what determines what you arrive with? Is it what you died in? No, that wouldn't make sense in my case. I'll probably never have the luxury of an answer. I continue rummaging through the bodies hoping to find something useful.

I slam an iron shield on the ground in frustration. It clashes and bangs as I watch it skid away from me. All I have to show for my efforts is a few broken off wooden handles that I obtained from useless weapons. I glimpse over at Bjorn who is searching the pile a few meters to my right. Rummaging through the corpses seems to gave no effect on him. I watch as he violently shakes the corpse imprisoned in his hand attempting to remove its thick cloak. His savage actions decapitate the dead warrior, thus freeing the cloak. Impressed by his own efforts he shouts in triumph, "huzzah!"

"How about letting the dead rest in peace? That probably isn't even going to fit." I shout over to him.

It would be impossible to bury each of these warriors with the respect they deserve, but we could at least only disturb them when necessary. I know I would be restless if I perished in a place like this and had my body desecrated by a bumbling oaf. Out of all the people to be scavenging with, I drew the short straw. Even the old man who knew him in life wasn't pleased with his company.

"Well, he doesn't need it does he?" He scoffs back, content with his words.

I shake my head at his response, not giving him the satisfaction of a reply. However, regardless of my feelings, there is validity in his words. If we are going to be stuck in this harsh and frigid climate, it's better to be prepared. I start fumbling through the deceased looking for warm garments and a cloak for myself. I should get some warm clothes for the others as well.

Bjorn starts walking toward me as if my previous words invited him to do so. Almost as if he thinks we are now somehow friends, and all is forgiven. As if my only wish right now wasn't to have my axe slice open his thick, empty skull. The pain in my chest is a lovely and constant reminder of who he truly is.

"Too bad these fuckers didn't die with some ale huh?" He shouts to me, laughing.

"Let's get back to the others," I say, swiftly trying to end this unwanted conversation with the person who tried to kill me only a few hours ago.

I grab the clothes and broken handles and make for the clearing with Bjorn following, thankfully silent. I look over my shoulder constantly, prepared for his attitude towards me to quickly change. I have experienced this type of man before. They preferred war and battling over loyalty and bonds. They'd quickly turn on their brothers if it meant they could have a fight. Only happy with a weapon in hand and scores of bodies in their wake. What I found most intriguing was their ability to act friendly with those they had just tried to kill. A skill I was obviously, never able to master. I also know our battle never came to completion. I must be watchful of him. For my safety and for the safety of the others.

I get back to where the others have started to make camp where a small fire struggles to stay lit. Everyone gathered around it hoping to gain back even the slightest feeling in their extremities. I throw the broken handles in the fire, hoping they catch, then head over to the boy and woman.

"Here... These are for you. Hope you can get over the smell." I say as I approach them, handing each of them warmer clothes. I hope what I found is enough to give them comfort, but I don't know how much gloves and some thick cloaks can give.

"Thank you. Lucky find." The woman replies, gesturing to the clean cloth she was using to cover the boy's wounds.

It was nothing short of a miracle for them to find such a thing. I guess the gods haven't completely forsaken us. However, I can't help but feel a tinge of guilt as I watch the woman wrap his wounds. Both injured for my sake as I laid helpless. I will repay my debt to them. I swear it.

"I'm Asger. Thank you both for saving me back there. I vow to return the favor." I declare with sincerity.

"Haralda." "Langley." They say as they each nod towards me.

"Come on tough guy. Let's get you patched up." Iver jests as he places his hands on my shoulder and leads me away from them.

We sit in the slightly melted snow close to the fire that has steadily grown from the wood gifted to it. The heat blissfully caresses my feet and rejuvenates my numb body. I even think I can start to feel the tip of one of my big toes.

Bjorn stretches back to relax and snaps at Iver impatiently, "I thought you promised us some answers?"

"Well I don't know what answers I can give you, but I'll tell you what I do know," Iver answers coolly as he continues to wrap my wounds.

"What Frode said earlier is true. He is dead as are all of us." Iver answers, his expression growing increasingly more serious.

I thought I understood and accepted the situation but hearing him confirm our suspicions still tightens my chest.

"We are in Nifflheim. The Shore of Corpses, to be exact. A place where you go to be punished for your sins committed in life."

I look over at Haralda who is clearly rattled. So sure, that she should be in the great halls of Valhalla. I can only imagine her disarray over this unjust ruling from the gods.

"How come we are still alive?" Langley interjects, his wounds now all wrapped.

"I don't know what the conditions are for you to reawaken in the afterlife. Maybe it has something to do with the circumstances of your death or some other unknown catalyst that determines when or if you wake up. Do you all remember anything before your death?"

"All I remember is being wounded on the battlefield but I don't remember much before that," answers Haralda disheartened.

"It is okay if you can't remember currently," Iver quickly responds. "Your memories will return in due time like for Frode and myself."

"I was on a voyage with my older brother. I know that we were running out of food. I guess... we didn't make it." Langley responds with a somber look on his face.

"All I can recall is being blindfolded and tied to a pole. And arrows..." I mutter as I touch my chest, remembering the feeling of the arrows.

"That sounds a lot like what you do with a deserter! I knew in my gut there was something off about you! I'll be damned if I am to listen to some deserter speak!" Bjorn bellows as he once again reaches for his hammer.