Halvar took a deep breath. There, he’d found them. Little fuckers were on the run, hoping the darkness of night would be safety enough. Naked dead man at his feet thought that too before his neck got twisted all the way around.

The Jarl took off at a sprint. Couldn’t lose the shifters again, not before they killed him. And there was vengeance to be had. The Hastingy had taken losses but the wolves would have taken far more after he was done.

Halvar crashed through a tree and hardly felt it. Made noise though, enough that the shifters scattered again, but not fast enough.

He slammed into a berserker feeling the crunch of bone before rolling back to his feet. Another was just out of reach, so the Jarl palmed a stone and threw it. A yelp escaped the wolf, its last word as Halvar pounced, taking its head with his hands and twist.

The snap was satisfying, but by the fucking tree, they weren't even fighting back anymore. They’d just run and run, forcing him to give chase and died without much fuss. Could hardly call it a battle much less a hunt. Maybe he’d get lucky and find a lindworm. A dragon could surely kill him if these shifters continued to be lacking.

Halvar came to a stop again, sniffing the air. Found them again, and good, they were all together. His eyes cut through the darkness seeing a few wolves enter a cave on the side of a hill. Could have been their hideout, now it would be their grave and hopefully his too.

A roar escaped him as he bounded up the slope. Let them know he was coming. Let it be an ambush. Damned shifters didn't stand a chance otherwise.

Halvar came to a stop at the cave mouth, bathing it in the red glow of his eyes. This vaettir had its uses, only asking for his soul in payment. A shame. Crushing Nyarn’s skull would have made this all worth it.

Walking forward, the Jarl found no one until he turned his first corner. A naked man and woman charged him with spears. He caught one by the shaft but the other sank into his chest with a hot lance of pain.

The woman flew forwards as Halvar jerked on her spear, slamming his first into her jaw. Something in her skull gave with the impact and she dropped. Arrows came a breath later, four thudding into his chest.

More pain came as the man tore his spear free and thrust back into the Halvar’s chest. He couldn’t breathe now. Vision had turned redder than before, but it still wasn’t enough.

Halvar spun with all his might, taking the man off his feet and into the wall. Caught him by the hair before he found his footing and held him up, taking arrows as the Jarl advanced. Four naked archers started shifting then. Let the fuckers. It wouldn’t save them.

A wall of fur crashed into him from behind. Before he could raise, another fell on him. A vargr wolf went in for the kill, savaging his arm. Another went for his shoulder and then the pain didn’t feel so distant.

A yelp escaped one of the vargr wolves and then a roar of pain from a berserker. Shouts and battle cries followed and before Halvar knew what was happening, he was being dragged.

“Lord!” said a familiar voice

“Gry?” Halvar asked, blinking the spots from his eye.

“You’ll be fine lord. Nothing they did that can't be fixed.”

“No!” he roared.

She couldn’t see him like this, as some misshapen thing spat out from the mist.

He surged past her heading deeper into the cave. Had to get away, find a fucking lindworm to end him!

Halvar tried to rush past a group of hasting warriors when one grabbed hold of him.

“Father?” Hadding said, his face filled with abject horror.

This wasn’t supposed to happen! A final victory and then a glorious death, not this. The great Jarl Halvar, reduced to a monster, and feared by his own son.

“Everyone leave!” Gry called out. Her flaming dagger was in hand but her gaze was on the hasting warriors, aiming her weapon with a threat of violence. “I said leave.”

Gry walked closer when they were alone, dagger still blazing with heat. “You’re not possessed by a vaettir.” She places the dagger in a sheath of stone and knelt down to meet his eyes. “You’re a shifter.”

Halvar laughed at that, the sound of it grating. Fool girl thought he was a shifter with his red eyes and graying skin. Not an inch of fur was on him and not a single claw. What manner of beast could he possibly be?

“You're a troll shifter.” She tapped his chest with a finger. Sounded like stone. “Aslaug can explain better than I. Probably won't believe me anyway, but you need to come outside. The sun has risen.”

Halvar didn't move for what could have been hours, but Gry just kept waiting, staring at him like a misbehaving child.

“I'm getting hungry,” she said like it was his fault she was missing the day-meal.

“Then leave.”

“Not without you, Lord.”

Halvar looked at his hands again. It was like they were covered in polished stone that was somehow still soft, like that of a troll's. “I'm no shifter.”

She smiled. “If you weren't, I'd be a dead woman by now. Vaettir hate the living, we Völva always say.”

“Still time for that,” he said and stood, making his way to the cave mouth.

There was light and it was blinding like staring at the sun on a rare day of clear skies. Gry's small frame pressed against his and the Jarl took another step and another. Soon he was in the light, bathing him in a soothing warmth that banished the strangeness of his skin.

Halvar looked down at the mist-covered landscape filled with countless of his warriors all whooping, with torches held high.

“Halvar, the Troll Dalir!”