“ITS PUSHING US BACK”

That was Skarda or Skard, Kara couldn’t tell which but she could tell they were desperate, the fear in their voices could be heard even over the ringing of the battlefield.

The enemy groaned and roared as it sensed victory approaching, even after a week of fighting these thing's Kara didn’t know what they were, the others had started calling them “dregs” and the name stuck but it still didn’t describe them. Twisted and permanently hunched over but twice the height of a human, their skin puckered by the scars of disease, their long oily ropy hair their only clothing, the dregs lumbered forwards in their strange hunched waddle lashing out with filthy fingernails the length of a man’s forearm trying to drag in the delvers then tear them apart.

Luckily, they were as stupid as they were ugly, Sigurn should have killed their chieftain by now and the rear-guard hadn't signalled for help which meant they hadn't even tried flanking the delver assault team.

Katlin struck a Rune which released a wave of warm air that crackled with the Aesir’s power, everyone it touched found their veins filled with fire and that their muscles burst with energy again as if they were fresh to the fight.

Kara stepped out of the way of a grasping limb and, with her renewed might, slammed her hammer down onto the elbow snapping it like a bundle of dry twigs. As the dreg tumbled forwards Kara brought her hammer back up, the second striking plate slamming into the dregs chin and snapping its head back, with a brisk step forwards kara got under its guard and performed the Twin Anvil art, they couldn’t take that from her and she’d refused to throw it away herself. Her muscles moved like this then like that as within her, her beast directed the power, a jarls art.

The hammer blazed blue as it struck with a loud crack, the moment it did the hammer bucked in Karas grip as a second crack echoed around the room, the blue light rushing forwards into the dregs body. The first blow shattering the rib cage and the second pulverising the organs Kara stepped smartly back and watched as the twisted aberration fell in a twitching dying heap. Cracking its skull in to put it out of its misery Kara turned around and was satisfied to see that her squad was well on their way to dealing with the other three, one was down and blind thanks to Reidar, Gunhilda was going at the second like a woodpecker drilling through a mighty tree, the third had been backed into a corner by Skarda and Skard with their long pikes which it was batting at as Helga opened up its stomach with her poleaxe.

“Over!” Kara shouted as she charged, Gunhilda broke from her marital trance long enough to bend at the waist and slam her axe down onto the dregs foot, locking it in place with an agonised bellow as Kara slammed a foot down onto her back, propelling herself into a rising leap before crashing down, all her armoured weight compounded by the velocity of her sprinting jump condensed into the point of her war hammer.

The dreg didn’t even get to wheeze before it died, organs pulped and bones broken. Kara had found that was the best way to kill these things, stab wounds didn’t do much through their blubber and hide although enough long cuts did at least bleed them out.

Speaking of which Kara noticed that Helga seemed to be done disembowelling hers, the dreg managed to put up a spirited fight for a few more moments but the twins had their pikes embedded deep in its hide and it died still pinned to the wall like a butterfly collected by some demented divine lepidopterist. A few moments later Skarda and Skard collapsed like puppets on cut strings, both visibly steaming in the cold air, Helga wasn't doing much better. Whatever saga-kin she was made her stronger than a human but against the dregs it barely seemed to matter, she was bent double and panting, sweat pouring from her hair like a tiny waterfall.

Gunhilda was doing better but that was mostly the runes on her armour and Reidar and Katlin were both nearly fresh, Kara thought for a moment then nodded, wiping the sweat from her own brow as well. They were still strong enough to reinforce the rear-guard if needed and it didn’t look like it would be, besides if they stopped to rest this whole damn quest would take twice the time and Kara wouldn’t let that happen, they needed to be faster.

“Everyone on your feet!” she shouted, causing one of the twins to jump with surprise, she couldn’t tell which. “I said GET UP! Everyone follow me we’re meeting up with the rear-guard and folding up to Sigurn’s position, get those legs moving!”

Grumbling and with bad grace the delvers scrambled upright and formed a rough line behind Kara as she stormed along the corridor. Since they arrived, they had discovered that the damn tower was nearly impossible to navigate primarily because all the corridors were identical, sized for a jotun and covered in swirling dotted art, a few had what looked like braziers in them or other ancient metalwork all worn by passing ages until they became unrecognisable lumps.

In the end copious amounts of chalk had let the remnants of the expedition’s scouts create at least the outline of a map with the rest of them relying on the big red chalk X’s that indicated corridors they shouldn’t go down and a big blue triskelion when they should, it wasn't elegant but it was certainly practical.

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Hustling past two more triskelion’s, up and down more of those damn identical corridors, they finally saw the flashes of light and clanking of armour that meant they had met up with the rear-guard. Kara stepped out first and got a respectful nod from her opposite number in the other team, a moment later and the two groups had combined and started moving faster, spears at the front with heavy shields behind them, the Gothi and the handful of gunners they still had staying at the back. Most of the thunderarms and the best shots had been with Alvis… wherever he was now, if he was even still alive, if any of them were…

Kara tried to force her mind back on track but the thoughts circled her awareness like wolves around a dying elk. They were all still alive, all the others groups, everyone… especially her… Kara was sure that Erika had to be alive, she had to… Kara wouldn’t accept anything else.

The stench of blood hit jarl’s nose like a physical blow jerking her out of her revery and pushing her back into her battle mindset, the flickering lights, and eviscerated bodies… all dregs… they must have caught up with Sigurn.

Pumping her legs Kara swept the group up in her wake, passing columns and cloisters that had been set up in the mirrored corridors, crude shelters that had been clawed into the walls, hides and bones used to make yurts and blankets and even a few firepits, Kara tried not to look at what the dregs had been roasting over those fires, or what they had used as fuel.

Every passage they passed through became more and more cluttered and unrecognisable, shallow recesses in the walls became fully carved alcoves and then whole rooms, roughly carved by the claws of the misshapen dregs, with curtains of leather and fur as doors and even the occasional trap, long strings made from what looked like the dregs own hairs strung with bones that jingled and gnashed together if they were disturbed. Obviously, the dregs hadn't bothered making any real traps, nothing to injure or kill or even capture, probably sure that they were the most dangerous things on this floor.

Finally, they reached the end of the long trail of bloodstains and corpses, Kara had no idea what this had been originally, probably another of those damn corridors sure but it might have been something else. Carved into a cavern as far across as a dozen halls stack next to each other, a hundred paces or more end to end. It was filled with crude structures but Kara didn’t bother even looking at them, she only had eyes for their king.

A throne of skulls and bones sat in the centre of the room, stained with old blood it towered over even the tallest Jotunkin Kara had ever seen and sat in it, nearly overflowing from its confines, was a dreg. Five times the height of the rest of his kin and noticeably less… twisted. Its skin looked like the skin of a man and on its brow it bore a crown of crudely hammered gold, by its side was a stone sword obviously ripped from the hands of some ancient statue (in fact it still had one of the hands around its pommel) but the king hadn't even gotten the chance to use it.

Right through its heart, as small as a wasp’s sting to a man of Midgard, was a great sword and holding the sword was Sigurn. The blade, which should have barely scratched the king’s skin, hissed loudly enough for Kara to hear even from this vast distance and plumes of red smoke flowed upwards from the wound.

Finding out she was Chosen made a lot of a sense, Kara wasn't sure how even a normal silver rank fought but the chosen of Thor’s son? The inheritor of Mjolnir? They fought with lighting and lots of it.

Sigurn seemed to be fishing around the king’s waist and, as Kara watched, she managed to liberate a pouch, probably a small one as far as the king had been concerned despite it being three times bigger than Kara herself.

As the group arrived the pouch was hurled down onto the cold stone where the rest of Sigurn’s group fell upon it, hacking the sides open like a pack of rabid rats and scampering inside, a heartbeat later they emerged again and started to drag giant sized coins out and onto the floor. Kara and her party arrived just in time to hear Sigurn arguing with Hroarr, a former huscarl and her right hand since they arrived in this ancient tower.

“…hy would be have that in his pouch?”

“I keep snacks in my pouch!”

“Well, he didn’t! All that’s in it is gold coins, jotun sized and very old.”

“Damn it!” Sigurn seemed to consider kicking the king’s corpse again but in the end she settled for leaping up and retrieving her sword then bounding down onto the ground. Kara tried not to stare as Sigurn casually leapt the height of a good dozen stacked houses without even a run up, was this a chosen thing? Or a silver rank thing?

Sigurn seemed to notice Kara for the first time and gave her a brisk nod. “Good you’re on time, kill any survivors then follow us. Katlin you’re with me.”

Kara gestured for her exhausted followers to rest and watched as Katlin peeled off from the group and followed after Sigurn, they both stepped behind the king dregs giant throne and began to pull up the crude rug carpet that had been thrown over the stone. Below the moulding leather and fur was a stream, an actual stream of water, in a purpose cut channel twice the width of a street.

The water was a foul brown colour, filled with… things Kara didn’t want to look at, upstream and further behind the kings throne was something that looked like a butchers shop and the offal seemed to have been poured into the water.

Sigurn smashed the towering tables with a gesture and Katlin began to work, humming and chanting and chiselling she carved runes along the edges of the stream until, maybe five minutes later, there was a sharp crackling… sound? Feeling? Kara wasn't sure, it felt like her bones had snapped into a different position a few metres back from her body and twisted upside down but also stayed in place all at once. As Kara watched a straight line was drawn across the stream, on one side the water was filthy brown and black and on the other it was crystal clear which began to flow downstream, chasing away the brackish black filthy, it would still be a few hours before it could be drunk, after all it needed to clean out the stuff stuck to the bottom of the channel, but it was clean again.

Sigurn looked at it for a moment then nodded, without another word she strode from the room and the expedition scrambled at her heels.