Writer's Workshop: Ragnarok 2
The First Day of Ragnarok, Part 2.
The snow falls in blinding torrents, a blizzard of epic proportions. This must be the infamous Fimbulvetr, the final winter, said to last three winters long. Does that mean three seasons or three years? It doesn't really matter. Those damned teeth are drawing nearer.
Far to the South the sky is aglow in amber oranges and crimson reds. Something massive advances there. From the North the cold wind shrieks, banshees in maelstroms, I'll freeze if I don't find shelter. Houses, trees, ground, buildings, streets, they all explode in violent fury towards the West. The teeth tearing through them, devouring everything, I have to run, must get away.
My rout is to no avail, the earth buckles and heaves under my feet as the ground tears from its foundation. Flung high into the air, I smash into objects, fleash tearing and bones snapping. Bludgeoned and bleeding I fall into the maw of the Great Wolf, it's burning eyes scarring the skies. Darkness surrounds me for a minute, than everything grows crystal clear. I float above the wolf, transparent.
Soul ripped from the body, still I'll stay and watch this terrible spectacle. I am no Einherjar and no Valkyrie will come to collect me. I'll not travel to Valhalla and the road to Hel is congested with throngs of frantic souls. I'll remain an earth-bound spirit for now, observing and remembering.
The wolf howls in furious rage, a challenge has been issued. An armored man on an eight-legged steed stands for the wolf. Spear in hand, he smiles grimly and charges. A fierce battle cry echoes throughout the worlds, the All-Father has come to join the fray. The battle rages but Old One Eye falls, swallowed whole by the wolf. Yet, revenge will have its day, the son avenges the father. Vidarr steps on the lower jaw of the wolf while grasping and tearing the upper jaw up to the heavens. Here is where the wolf dies, but its brother rises.
The oceans heave and roll, coastal towns and cities inundated, the great World Serpent has begun its ascent from the depths. Sinewy and twisting, the serpent Jorgmundr slithers onto land. It thrashes and lunges attacking all in its path, spewing poison as it kills. Another challenge sounds, cracks of thunder and arcs of lightning rip through the sky. A warrior with a great hammer stands upon a cloud. The two circle and strike. Fangs pierce flesh and hammer smites scales. Soon they both lie upon broken earth, lifeless.
The entirety of the Earth shudders as terrible battles commence everywhere. Gods, Man and animals perish, the sky groans and winds stand still. In a final gasp, all land masses sink below the sea, all save the forested land called Hoddmimir. In that thick glade is where the cycle begins anew.
After time, a new sun burns through the clouded skies and the myriad pinpoints of stars show again. Sol birthed a daughter and now she continues the lighted path. New landmasses rise from quiet seas and life begins to take root again. From the depths of Hoddmimir's Holt, step Lif and Lifthrasir into the new sunlight, healthy from feeding on the morning dew. These two in peace, the cycle of humanity continues.