Ragnarok: The Fate of Gods

by Jake La Jeunesse

“Good plan. We’ll go see him, he’ll kill me, use you for this resurrection, then everyone will be all ethereal, with halos and harps and the whole shebang.”

  Zeke stared blankly into the night. “I guess we can’t exactly go to him.”

  “What about Daniel?”

  “Daniel?” Zeke noticed for the first time that the boy, who seemed ever-present, was missing.

  “Well, isn’t he the Karellan’s . . . Micah’s Raven? He might know something, or at least be able to hook us up with someone who does.”

  “That’s not a half bad idea. Where is he?”

  “Should be in Nifelheim. We left him there when the plate fell.”

  Zeke’s face went white. “What?”

  “Oh god, that’s right. We didn’t tell you yet. The whole place blew up after your fight.” He paused, then added “Sorry.”

  There was a moment of silence. “Well, that’s where we’re heading then.”

  “Nifelheim?”

  “Nifelheim. The ruins, at least.”

  “Sure. Why not?” Jack turned to his controls. “Another trip. Rome to Nifelheim. Nifelheim to Rome. Let’s run the pilot dizzy. Who cares? Why couldn’t that old coot live somewhere closer to civilization. I swear . . .”

  Quetzalcoatl sped off through the darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Purge

  Daniel stood alone in the communications room of the Muselheim. The ship was mostly deserted. Most of the city’s survivors had abandoned their duties and posts when the dust settled. Except for the occasional squatter sneaking on board hoping for privacy or warmth, the military airships were now very quiet.

  A screen flickered in the dark room. Daniel spoke into a microphone. “Panama? This is the Muselheim. Do you read me?”

  The screen danced wildly with static. The image was poor. “Raven Uzuki?” came a voice. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “The Karellan is away on business.” He thought of Zeke. “I’ll relay your message to him,” he lied.

  “Very well,” said the man. On the screen it looked as if the man stood up to attention. Or sat down. It was hard to tell. “Following the strange appearance in the sky earlier this week, our North American satellites have picked up a disturbance.”

  “A disturbance?”

  “Yes. With the atmospheric stagnancy, satellite reception should be at a peak.”

  “Tell that to my monitor.” Daniel turned dials randomly, hoping for a better picture.

  “That’s the thing, sir. There’s still interference. Our satellites have taken excellent readings from the entire world, but there’s one dead spot coming from the former United States.”

  “A dead spot?” the Raven repeated. “Do you think it’s significant?”

  “We believe it to be the source of this interference. Also, satellite photos taken of the surrounding areas indicate a drastically altered terrain, as if something huge pushed itself out of the earth. We believe the dragon emerged from this point.”

  Daniel was silent. Thinking. Then he asked, “What about malak activity?”

  “There has been no sign of them since the dragon appeared. It seems as though they’ve disappeared, although we’re still looking for them,” the man reported.

  “Thank you.”

  He turned to disconnect the communication, but the man spoke again. “Sir?”

  “Is there more?”

  “Not of my report. But my men are worried. The entire city is worried. It’s grown colder and our food will run out in the next week or two. Will there be relief coming soon?”

  “I’m sorry to say I can not give a definite answer. Nifelheim is struggling as well. We will send aid when we can.”

  “Thank you sir.” The man saluted. Or put on a hat. Or a fly landed on the lens. Daniel couldn’t tell. After a moment, the screen went dead.

  Fires burned for kilometers in every direction. None of the survivors dared to wander too far away from one. Fires were safe. They were warm. They were light.

  Here in the ruins, fire was life.

  The survivors of the fall adjusted to their new lives in many ways. Some people sang and danced. To them, the fall of Nifelheim was the end of a life in Hell. The end of an oppressive government.

  The escape from Plato’s cave.

  Others were not so happy. They had been separated from their families. Or pulled out of comfortable first-class lives. Some sat by the fires and sobbed. Others searched the camps, the ruins, or the surrounding areas. Some people were found and rejoined with their families.

  Most weren’t.

  In one part of the camp, a family huddled together under a threadbare blanket, trying to stay warm. Near the ruins of the city, a man stood comforting a crying woman. He stared at the wreckage, fighting the urge to cry himself. Elsewhere, young men danced around an especially large fire. They sang loudly and passed a dirty bottle of rum back and forth.

  One of the dancing men stumbled away from the fire. A child, hiding in the shadows watched eagerly. The man passed out, and the child scurried out to rifle through his pockets. He pulled out a few trinkets and squirreled away. The other men ignored the child and continued their hedonism.

  A man passed by. He called to the dancers, asking for help scouring the ruins. They sneered at the mention of work. One of the dancers finishes the bottle of rum and throws it at the man, who runs away.

  They dance, oblivious to the ghostly form rising from the ground behind them.

  The Muselheim sat at the center of the camp, but most of the survivors kept their distance. A few ventured to sneak on board, hoping for warmth, but were disappointed. The doors of the loading dock were left wide open, guarded only by Dumah, Lilith, and a defense militia captain who had come to report to his leader.

  “Sir, we’ve scoured the ruins of the city and conducted a search of the survivors. We’ve seen no sign of the Karellan or Raven Hugin. The highest ranking authorities in the city are now Raven Uzuki and yourself.”

  “And Jae-Hoon?” he asked, worried.

  “I’m sorry sir. We’ve found no trace of Father Lee.”

  “Keep looking,” he ordered. It came off harsher than he intended, so he softened his voice and added, “Please. It’s important to me.”

  “Of course sir.” The soldier bowed deeply and left.

  Dumah knew the law. He was second-in-line if the Karellan died or was incapacitated. The city was now his responsibility.

  He couldn’t think of anything he wanted less.

  “Well congratulations, Adam,” came the voice of his wife. “You simply had to go on rabble-rousing. Now look what’s happened. You’ve killed the city. What a marvelous king we have.” She laughed, amused by her own insults.

  Now he could think of something he wanted less.

  He ignored Lilith and picked up a small microphone. Like it or not, he was in charge now. These were his people, and it was his job to keep them safe. It was time to address his nation. He pressed the transmitter and spoke, his voice blasting for kilometers over the Muselheim’s sound system. “Attention, Nifelheim survivors. This is Supervisor Dumah speaking. The events of the past few days have taken much from us. We’ve lost family, friends, homes, food, and the very things we need to keep ourselves alive. Despite our losses, we must keep going. We must move on to find some place where we can find food and warmth. We must work to stay alive.

  “I must ask everyone to gather whatever possessions they have left and please board the Muselheim. We have to look for somewhere else to live. Another city with supplies, a patch of warm land, or anywhere we might be able to make a stand. To grow food. To rebuild a safe city. The Muselheim is ready and waiting. This is our only chance for survival.”

  He concluded his speech and turned the microphone off. Then he waited. He stood there vigilant for an hour, but no one came.

  “My, but do you command respect!” taunted Lilith. “I swear, if it weren’t for that Raven, we’d all be doomed.”

  “Not now,” Dumah said
. He noticed she had spent the entire hour waiting with him, but didn’t say anything. “We’ve got bigger problems than playing I-told-you-so. We’ve got to figure out a way to stay alive.”

  “You’ll never figure out anything. You rule over chaos. Over nothing.” She threw her arms into the air and approached mocking him. “Welcome to Nifelheim! Land of the Dead!”

  “Lilith, I swear,” he growled under his breath.

  “What’s happening out here?” interrupted Daniel, coming out of the ship.

  “Nothing,” said the frustrated Supervisor. “No one wants to do anything. They’ve all decided to sit here and die. Any word from the other cities?”

  “Everyone’s pretty scared. Most of them run on nuclear power. That should last them for a while, but not indefinitely. The food will run out soon.”

  “Any word from Jae-Hoon?”

  Daniel shook his head. “I’m sorry. We left him with the Karellan. I’m afraid we’ve lost him.”

  “But we don’t know. We haven’t found the Karellan yet, either. Right? We don’t know who won.”

  Lilith let out a snort.

  “I’m really sorry. But I don’t think we’re going to find him. I don’t think we’ll find either of them.” Daniel didn’t want to speculate, but he didn’t see how Jae-Hoon could have survived.

  Dumah sunk to the floor. “No,” he said. There was a long pause. “No. You’re right.” He paused, collecting himself. “Well, both the Karellan and Hugin are missing. Looks like you’re our leader, Mr. Raven. Any orders?”

  Daniel laughed. “Are you kidding? I’m just a spy. You’re the Supervisor. It’s your job now. You’ve done well enough. I’ll leave everything to you.”

  Lilith snorted again. “There’s a laugh. He already tried the leadership thing. ‘Please, listen to me. We have to live!’” She laughed cynically. “Give me a break. No one out there is going listen to him.”

  Dumah glared at her.

  Daniel stepped between them. He faced Lilith sternly, despite his small stature. He spoke intensely. It surprised all three of them. “Regardless, if we are to keep any semblance of order, Supervisor Dumah will be the one we report to. Is that clear?”

  Lilith stared in awe at the Raven. It had been a long time since anyone issued an order so forcefully to her. He stood firm, waiting for her answer.

  They were interrupted by screaming from the camps.

  The malak raises the drunk’s body into the air. The man kicks wildly at the demon, aiming for horns or wings or anything a malak might find sensitive. His blows pass through the ethereal monster harmlessly.

  But the angel’s grip on his throat is tight.

  The other drunks back away in horror. The malak flicks his wrist. The man’s neck snaps. His body goes limp. The monster closes its eyes. Its chest expands. It looks as though it’s drinking. Feeding off some unseen food.

  Devouring the drunk man’s soul.

  A woman screams in horror. The drunks turn and run. One trips and hits the ground hard. The malak tosses his prey to the side and moves in on the fallen man. He struggles to his feet and turns.

  And takes one step.

  His body shakes violently. The cold air seeps inside him. He looks down. The arm of the malak emerges from his chest. His blood drips to the ground. It passes through the malak’s arm, leaving the limb clean and ghostly. The demon tosses him beside the first dead man and gives chase to the living.

  People run. They look for safety, but can’t find it. Malak rise out of the earth. The angels are everywhere in the camp. Most of them kill effortlessly. They wait for someone to run by in a panic. They reach out. Then the person dies.

  They are not hunting. They are simply killing.

  The militia captain runs up the ramp to the Muselheim loading dock. “Sir, there’s a problem.” He breathes heavily, exhausted.

  “What is it?” .

  “Malak, sir. They’re attacking the camp.”

  Dumah turns to Daniel. “Prepare the fleet for take-off.”

  “Yes, Sir!” Daniel says, throwing in a salute for good measure. He turns and runs into the airship.

  Dumah grabs the microphone and turns it on. “Everyone, try to remain calm. Please proceed calmly, but quickly, to the Muselheim or the nearest airship.”

  A lone engineer stumbles through the Muselheim’s engine room. He drinks from a bottle of whiskey. Generators hum. Steam shoots out from pipes. The man drunkenly turns valves and flips switches.

  “Whole freakin’ planet is out there freezin’ and I gotta be in here sweatin’ balls,” he rants to himself. “Why didn’t I think of runnin’ out with the rest of ‘em? Every day with the orders. ‘Prepare the engines! God damn plate is fallin’! Prepare the engines! We’re bein’ attacked by monsters! Prepare the engines! We ran outta whiskey!” He turns the bottle upside down. Nothing comes out. He throws it against the floor. The glass shatters. He moves on to the next control panel.

  A ghostly shape begins to rise out of the floor by the glass.

  The man doesn’t notice. “I swear, one of these days I outta let the whole freakin’ generator fry. Turn this whole bloody ship into a friggin microwave.”

  He runs his hand across the board, selecting the proper buttons. Even after a half bottle of whiskey, the process is familiar to him. He flips one last switch and the entire room begins humming rhythmically. “There,” he says, smiling broadly. “Another hard day’s work complete. Where’d I put that bottle?”

  He turns, coming face to face with the malak.

  The monster grabs the man’s head with both hands.

  It pulls apart, splitting the engineer in half down the middle.

  Daniel and Dumah shepherd people on board the Muselheim. People rush inside, screaming. They barely notice the men trying to help them.

  Lilith, of course, is already inside. On the bridge.

  When the crowd thins, the militia captain pushes his way to Dumah. “Sir, the malak are closing in on the Muselheim. We can’t stay on the ground any longer.”

  “We haven’t evacuated the entire camp yet.” He continues to pull people up on the ramp.

  “Sir, I’m sorry, but they’re lost. They can’t reach the ship, and we can’t fight the malak. If we don’t take off now, we’re dead.”

  Dumah stares out at the camp. The malak swarm. The straggling humans run madly, screaming. Two people run up the ramp. In the distance, three white shapes turn toward the ship.

  “Sir?” says the captain. “Sir, will you please give the order to lift off?”

  He turns to look inside. People huddle together in fear. The Muselheim is not safe. Not yet.

  Lilith’s voice booms over the PA system. “Adam, get in here now if you want to save your own hide.”

  “I hate to say it, but she’s right,” calls Daniel from the other side of the ramp. “We have to go.”

  “Fine. Close the cargo doors, then lift off.”

  “Yes sir,” says the captain. He runs inside. Daniel follows. Dumah takes a few steps backwards, watching the chaos. The ramp begins to retract. The doors start to close. He turns and hurries inside as the Muselheim breaks free of the ground.

  On the bridge, Dumah watched the chaos fall away beneath him. He felt guilty. It was always the leaders who escaped safely. Their families who were best protected. Power, allegiance, and support from the people were ultimately used for self-preservation before all else. He reminded himself that his death would not have helped anything.

  But it didn’t ease the guilt.

  Daniel puts a hand on his shoulder in silent understanding.

  The radio operator turned around in his chair. “Sir, we’ve received counts from the other ships. It sounds like we’ve evacuated a majority of the survivors.”

  His face didn’t change. “That doesn’t change the fate of those we failed .”

  “There he goes with the sentimental crap,” piped Lilith. No one paid her much attention.

  “Sir,” shouted the ra
dar technician. “I’m picking up an approaching ship.”

  “Do we have a visual?” asked Daniel.

  Another technician began twisting dials and flipping switches. “Yes sir. It appears to be a small cargo freighter. The markings match one that took off from Nifelheim port just before the plate collapsed.”

  “Quetzalcoalt,” Daniel said to himself.

  Dumah looked at him with interest. “Quetzalcoatl? Isn’t that . . .”

  “Zeke. I know it is. Ready the hangar,” he ordered.

  The radar technician called back, “Sir, it’s not headed for the hangar.”

  “What?”

  “It’s landing.”

  The frightened man runs hysterically. All the ships have taken off. There’s no place left to run. He trips. He rolls hard on the ground, then stops.

  When he opens his eyes, a winged malak looms over him.

  A small ship appears. It hovers in the sky above the monster. A man stands at the open hatch, holding a sword with a glowing red blade.

  He leaps.

  He falls gracefully behind the malak, his sword piercing the monster. It stumbles. Zeke lifts his foot, ready to kick. He places it on the malak.

  It holds. His foot doesn’t pass through.

  He kicks the malak away, freeing his sword. The monster disappears in a burst of white light.

  Zeke runs.

  Malak cluster ahead of him. He readies his sword and leaps. He lands on the angel’s back, burying the sword deep in the monster, leaping into the air just before it explodes in a burst of light. He flips in the air and lands on his feet.

  Two giant malak approach from either side. Good, he thinks, I’m starting to catch their attention. He lunges at one malak, burying the sword deep in its chest. Without pausing, he pulls the sword out. Changing direction in a fluid movement, he swings the sword around, cutting off the second malak’s head.

  Light bursts. Both demons vanish.

  “Sir, you have got to see this,” says an excited technician.

  Dumah and Daniel rush over and examine the monitor. They see a figure with a sword, swinging wildly. The screen periodically goes blank. When the image comes back, there’s always one less malak.