* * *
Heimdall rushed toward his father as he strangled the Moon Dog, then slowed when he heard the traitor’s neck snap. Odin released Managarm, and his body slumped to the ground.
Heimdall met his father’s eye with an incredulous half-smile. “It’s over?”
Odin stood up to his full height and rested his hands on his hips. Heimdall started toward him, then stopped when he felt the prickle of apprehension at the back of his neck. Just behind Odin, Fenrir stepped through the smoke from the nearest wrecked bulldozer.
The Randulfr halted and cocked his head to one side to look down at the fallen Moon Dog. Heimdall didn’t sense any fear or even anger in Fenrir, just calm. He moved to warn his father, but Odin rested a hand on Heimdall’s shoulder and smiled, then turned to face his nemesis.
“Odin,” said Fenrir.
Odin didn’t even blink. “So you have come. It comes down to fate after all.”
Fenrir lifted his chin. “Ragnarok.”
Odin calmly widened his stance, bracing for the coming attack. Fenrir crouched low, ears twitching and muscles taut, ready to spring on the old god.
Moving quickly, Heimdall circled around, keeping his eyes on Fenrir and making sure the Randulfr’s full focus was on Odin. There was no way to take Fenrir by surprise, but he could at least try to double-team him and keep Odin from getting killed.
He crept closer, until Fenrir was within reach. With no weapons available, Heimdall balled his hands into fists and prepared to tackle Fenrir as soon as he made a move toward Odin.
Fenrir stumbled suddenly sideways, knocked over by a projectile lodged deep in his side. He looked up at Heimdall suspiciously, then down at the two arrows sticking out of him.
“GO, VIKS!”
Heimdall’s jaw dropped when he turned to find the plush-covered PSU mascot on his knees in the distance, taking aim with a crossbow. He launched his last arrow and struck Fenrir in the lower back.
“Take that, Randulfr!” Victor E. Viking cried out through his massive character head as he jumped to his feet and pumped his fists in the air. “Vikings!”
With a vicious snarl, Fenrir ripped the arrows out of his side and leg. Heimdall crouched low, ready again for the Randulfr to attack. But instead of lunging forward, Fenrir stared blankly at Odin’s suddenly relaxed stance and open hands.
“We can still make peace with one another,” Odin offered. “Even your father has returned to the fold.”
Fenrir growled deep in his throat and backed a few paces away. He dropped the bloodied arrows to the ground and reached for the projectile still lodged in his back. “Ragnarok!” Fenrir spat.
“Careful . . .” Heimdall warned.
Odin gestured around the field. “This is Ragnarok. The world has changed far beyond what we could have imagined in the early days of Ásgard. So, too, can our destinies change. We are not slaves to any fate that was forecast at the dawn of time.”
Fenrir straightened his spine and looked Odin in the eye. Even Heimdall studied his father, searching for whatever trap he must be setting. But Odin’s posture was loose and honest.
Fenrir glanced down at Managarm’s body puddling in the dirt. He clenched his clawed fingers into fists at the sight of the Moon Witch hovering over the fallen god.
“There is no need for us to fight one another,” Odin proffered.
Fenrir’s eyes narrowed, and he sank low again into an attack posture. Heimdall mimicked the Fenris Wolf’s stance, while Odin remained still, arms hanging loose by his sides. Fenrir bared his white fangs and snarled.
“Father . . .” Heimdall called out. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s not working—”
Fenrir’s muscles tensed and he sprang, leaping directly at Odin—diverting at the last second to dart past him. Fenrir tore across the decimated stand of young trees and fled into the woods.
Stunned, Heimdall loosened his hands and tried to slow his breathing to release the adrenaline coursing through his system. “What in all of Svartálfaheim was that about?” he practically hissed.
Odin didn’t say a word. He just watched Fenrir disappear into the trees.
Valhalla Page 65