The Fires of Muspelheim

by Matt Larkin

  His vision fading. The slight awareness of the Watcher pitching over, falling beside him.

  Couldn’t let Odin … fail …

  The cycle …

  Cycle …

  22

  No amount of dragon flesh would give Thor back his missing toes, missing finger, or missing teeth. That said, he felt strong. Really strong. The last linnorm, it had struck him with a claw and—though the hit had sent Thor flying—it had only barely broken his skin. A blow that might’ve disemboweled him not long ago.

  Tyr had helped him slay four dragons.

  Four. Fucking. Dragons.

  Which meant Thor was … ugh … what was that word? Magnanimous! Er, wait … no. Magnificent! Thor the Magnificent!

  Shame Tyr had run off after, insisting on meeting with some river mer and hunting down Fenrir.

  Well, that hardly mattered anymore. Mjölnir overflowed with lightning. Even hanging from his belt, the hammer felt apt to erupt into storm any moment. And Thor … well, Thor had never felt stronger.

  Just as well, given the rumors he’d heard. Oh, he’d intended to make for Idavollir, but then tale had come of another linnorm. The greatest linnorm, some said. Jörmungandr itself, surrounding the ruins of Asgard.

  Which meant Thor knew what he had to do, and thus had made his way down through Valland, taken a small ship, and sailed for Andalus. Because Thor the Linnorm Slayer had a task before him.

  Jörmungandr, if it truly was that fabled serpent, could wreak havoc unlike any other dragon in the world. Who knew, maybe it was even as powerful as Nidhogg, that Father so feared. So, Thor sailed for the beast, hand on the tiller, guiding his ship through mist and storm, south.

  Home.

  The home the jotunnar had stolen from him.

  Well, maybe Thor the Magnificent-Linnorm-Slaying-Jotunn-Crusher would just have to take back Asgard while he was there. Once that was done, he’d go ahead and kill Hel and Nidhogg for Father. That, ought to earn him some tales from the skalds.

  Maybe he’d even commission a tale. He’d call it … Thor Slays the Whole Fucking Cosmos. Children would ask for that tale as they sat around the fire pits! Men would cheer. Women would get wet.

  Thor loved the poem already.

  Spots swam before his eyes as his ship continued south. A great rumbling storm had cropped up, and for a time he’d fought with it, until passing through. The mists had begun to thin, though he didn’t think he was actually close enough to Asgard to have seen that yet.

  Like the fires all over the world had begun to burn away the cursed vapors.

  Hard to imagine, honestly. The mists … had just always been there. Everywhere, save for Asgard.

  And now … Well, now maybe the whole world had changed. Was it better? Thor didn’t even have a guess. Damn eldjotunnar and the Sons were rampaging all over Midgard. At least the frost jotunnar had plans, strategies. They had goals beyond simply lighting everything in sight on fire.

  Ah, well, once Thor had slain the serpent and reclaimed Asgard, he’d attend to the Sons. He’d smite and smite until they begged for mercy. Then he’d smite them for being such cravens and begging.

  The mists were mostly just a haze now, preventing him from making out what lay far away, but he could have almost sworn, up there … glowing embers. Asgard was on fire, too.

  Thor clucked his tongue.

  Somebody would pay for this outrage.

  Somebody would …

  Ahead, something glistened, out in the mist. A slick … wall?

  Oh. Fuck.

  Thor jerked the tiller to starboard before he rammed clean into a wall of scales. A serpent, immense beyond imagining, was swimming in slow circles around Asgard.

  The wind was up, and it carried him along the same path as Jörmungandr. Little doubt, now, that it was that legendary serpent he faced. Naught else could be so immense. Did it truly encircle the whole of the south island?

  Thor shook his head.

  How was he even to fight such a monstrosity? Much as he loved smiting, the sea serpent didn’t present a convenient target. It was just a wall of gray-green scales, stinking of brine, and glistening with water. Like the other linnorms, Jörmungandr had great spurs jutting from its spine. In this case, spurs larger than most jotunnar. The serpent must have a maw large enough to swallow Thor’s whole ship.

  Heh. Imagine how bad its breath must be. Toxic fumes and acid and so forth.

  Thor felt apt to retch at the mere thought of it.

  But, Tyr had said the way to kill a dragon—or pretty much aught else—was to destroy head or heart. Thor didn’t have a fucking clue where the linnorm’s heart would lie, so maybe he’d have to go for the head.

  Eventually, the serpent’s path took it out of the line of the wind. Which meant, Thor was no longer closing in on the thing’s head.

  That left him with an unenviable choice. Bring the ship about and wait for the serpent to circle all the way around—and spot him, come right at him—or mount the serpent and run along its bulk to try to reach its head.

  “Which would make the better tale, Thor?” he grumbled under his breath. “Oh. I’ll tell you which makes the better tale. The one where Thor mounts the serpent and puts Sigurd Fafnirsbane to shame. Sigurd who? That’s what they’ll ask when I’m done.”

  Sounded like a plan. Be bold. Show that serpent that it might be big, but Thor’s stones were even bigger. Big as … fucking … uh … mountains.

  Thor backed up to the far side of his ship, drawing the apple’s power—he refused to call it pneuma, the stupid made-up word—into his legs. Then he took off, running, leaping, a heartbeat flying through the air.

  He collided with the scale wall. Which turned out to be slick and wet. His body slid down it, hands flailing, slapping, trying to gain purchase. His fingers lodged behind a scale and he dangled there, holding on by one hand—one missing a damn finger, even—legs kicking against the slick surface for a moment, before finally managing to climb enough, and catch a scale with another hand.

  The scales themselves were almost the size of his torso, tough but somewhat pliant. And the serpent didn’t even react to having Thor pull on them. Maybe it didn’t even notice. To the dragon, he must seem like a tiny pest.

  Well, this ant had a fucking stinger. One that shat out lightning bolts.

  Thor climbed upward, forcing himself higher, and higher, until he managed to crest the top of the serpent. It swam in such a slow, steady course, he could walk along it without falling, assuming he was careful of his footing.

  Especially careful, given his lack of toes on one foot. Damn Narfi for that nonsense.

  Sweat plastered the back of his shirt, and seawater had drenched his beard. Wet and uncomfortable was what he was. Oh, but the tales! Skalds would hardly even believe this, he suspected. They’d have called it fancy, mist-madness. Except Thor aimed to have a corpse the size of an island as proof. Hard to deny a feat when a miles-long stinking carcass was there right in front of you.

  Grinning—no one here to see this missing teeth anyway—Thor plodded on, careful of his footing, but going with as much speed as he could muster. It was time to get this done. Time to let the so-called Midgard Serpent feel Mjölnir’s wrath!

  How dare the serpent … er … swim around! How dare it swim around Asgard? For such a … crime … Thor would bring down the greatest smiting in all of history! Today, he would give new meaning to the word smote!

  As it turned out, Jörmungandr was really, really fucking long.

  Running for miles over a brine-reeking, slick, scaled beast was not only a little tiring, it was … ugh, what was that word? Disheartening! Just how long could this thing really be?

  Huffing, Thor faltered a moment. There, a hundred feet more, that looked like its head. Great horn-like spines rising out of the water, taller than towers. The biggest rose straight up from its back, but other curving horns jutted out at other angles, like the whole head was a forest of misshapen spires.

  An
d this thing could’ve eaten a fucking longship.

  Thor stood there, hesitating, gaping at the thing. What was wrong with him? Had he gone craven? All he had to do was rush in there and beat the creature to death with his hammer … which suddenly felt like someone trying to stab Thor with the clipped end of a fingernail.

  Thor worked his shoulders.

  All right.

  All right.

  He’d eaten from the hearts of four dragons. He held the mightiest weapon in the world.

  And also, he was Thor.

  Not many could say that.

  “All right, then.” He unstrapped Mjölnir. As soon as he touched the hammer’s haft, its awesome power flooded into him, eroding even that tiny hint of doubt that had cropped up in his mind.

  Thor was no craven.

  If it lived, he could kill it.

  He worked his arms. He cracked his neck. He bellowed a war cry.

  The serpent didn’t even bother looking at him.

  Hardly mattered. Thor charged forth, Mjölnir raised over his head. He’d bash Jörmungandr’s brains in if it was the last thing he ever did.

  Rushing forward, he charged around one of those great, towering spurs rising from the serpent’s spine. The thing had to be forty feet long, maybe longer. Roaring, Thor smacked the spire with Mjölnir as he passed.

  Thunder crashed, the clap so loud his ears rung. Bolts of lightning leapt off the horn, crackling along flesh, jumping to other spurs. Scales exploded in a rain of gore and acidic blood.

  And Jörmungandr bellowed.

  The force of its roar had Thor stumbling, the sound so powerful it felt like his head would blast apart. It set his teeth hurting, feeling like they would crack. But the power of dragons ran through Thor, and he wasn’t done yet.

  Continuing forward, he slammed Mjölnir into another horn, unleashing a web of lightning that erupted all around him in blinding chains of power. The serpent’s flesh burned, peeled, and ruptured, unleashing geysers of blood in Thor’s wake.

  “Who’s big now?” Thor shouted, unable to even hear his words over the ringing in his ears.

  He couldn’t hear, but he could feel the serpent roaring once more, the power of it sending vibrations through Thor’s whole body.

  And then Jörmungandr reared up, spun around.

  Its bulk surged, creating waves the size of mountains crashing over the islands below. It twisted around, trying to catch sight of Thor, though he was too close to its head. He fell, tumbling through the air, before colliding with a scale his attacks had blown loose.

  He caught it.

  The scale ripped off the monster and Thor fell again.

  Slammed back first into a spur.

  Jörmungandr was vertical now, rising up, hundreds of feet above the waters. Thor caught a rough edge of the spur and dangled, clutching Mjölnir with a death grip, his feet kicking wildly below him in desperation.

  Oh. Fuck.

  A fall from this height might not kill him, infused as he was with dragon power. But … could he keep his grip on Mjölnir? Could he even hope to assault Jörmungandr again?

  His attack had been madness.

  Even with the hammer screaming in his mind, seeming to beg for the soul of so mighty a monstrosity, he could see his arrogance in thinking to fight such a creature. Now, his only shot at victory, at survival, lay in not letting go.

  But he couldn’t climb with one hand holding the hammer.

  He had no way to regain his footing.

  And his hand was slipping.

  A sudden, swift jerk of its head. And Thor flew free, sailing through the air like a shooting star. Wind stealing his breath, swallowing his screams. Threatening to tear out his hair and beard.

  Desperately, he clutched Mjölnir to his chest with both hands, refusing to let the hammer go.

  Couldn’t lose it.

  No matter what else happened.

  He was flying, hundreds of feet. More.

  The wind wanted to rip him apart.

  The waves were rushing up at him now.

  Oh, fu—

  The ocean slammed into him as if he’d fallen into solid rock. He skipped along the surface, three times, tumbling end over end, before shooting beneath the waves. Saltwater surged up his nose, choking him.

  Overwhelming currents seized him, flung him about.

  He ought to be dead. At least unconscious.

  He could feel pain tugging at his mind. Trying to drag him under. Mjölnir’s rage blocking out pain. The power of dragons hardening his bones so that none had broken. Toughening his skin like armor.

  But the currents! A maelstrom stirred up by the swimming bulk of the serpent.

  And there, ahead, eyes glowing hot, furious, as that head shot toward him, lancing through the water so fast he couldn’t even—

  Jaws the size of a palace snapped down on him and Thor snared his arm around a rough, serpentine tongue. Caught a breath—couldn’t see a damn thing—as the seawater surged down the dragon’s gullet.

  And he’d been right before: now that he drew a breath, the stench in here had become overpowering. A toxic cloud of poison vapors, acid, and rotting meat that had Thor gasping for breath. He could feel the serpent’s poisons saturating him. They seeped in through his clothes, through his skin. Eitr, unlike aught he’d ever experienced, now trying to unmake him from the inside out.

  His gut heaved, feeling ready to liquify itself. Blood—had to be, it was too hot—had begun to dribble down his nose, his ears. It caked his throat. His eyes burned, though he still couldn’t see aught.

  Gasping, Thor brought Mjölnir down on Jörmungandr’s tongue. Nigh blinding bolts of lightning leapt around the serpent’s mouth. For an instant, the crackles cast that cavernous maw in stark relief, revealing fangs the size of trees, dripping with venom.

  A forked tongue Thor could scarce keep a hold on.

  An abyss of darkness down to the linnorm’s innards.

  Thor tried to bellow a battle cry but managed only a gasping wheeze while he pounded his hammer again and again, sending great bolts of lightning coursing through the serpent. Acidic blood splattered him.

  But then, it now spurted from his own mouth as well. Gobs of it.

  His heart seized up. Missed a beat. His organs felt aflame. Melting! He was fucking melting.

  Desperate to escape the maw, Thor dropped, let himself fall down and grab hold of the serpent’s gums. Then—too tired to manage another war cry—slammed Mjölnir into the tooth. The fang splintered like shattering rock, sending the serpent into wild, flailing heaves.

  Its sudden movement hurled Thor up, weightless, to collide with the roof of its mouth. Then slapping down onto its tongue once more. The rough muscle convulsed, trying to hurl Thor down into its gullet.

  Managing a bloody scream, Thor caught his arm around a smaller fang, clinging on for all he was worth. Desperate not to fall, for surely, down that void, there’d be no return. Even if he could have fought his way to the serpent’s heart, what vile acids and toxins must lay in its guts?

  Something in Thor’s head broke. What had been a dribble of blood became a flood, pouring from his nose, his ears, his eyes.

  Everything inside breaking down.

  He was going to die.

  The thought, it came to him with stark clarity, breaking through the haze of pain and terror that clouded all other thoughts. It cut through the rage. Even through the hammer’s terrible lust for souls, driving him, not after glory, as he preferred to think of it, but rather, to murder everything, anyone that had a strong soul. Mjölnir hungered and its hunger was a void as deep as Jörmungandr’s. They deserved each other in their fathomless cravings.

  The hammer, his beloved hammer, it had driven him to his own destruction, forced him to engage with a foe no man—not even an Ás immortal—could have slain.

  He was going to die.

  The poisons coursed through him, turning his insides to mush.

  The pain should have ended him alread
y, yes, but if there was one thing Thor could do better than any other man, he could take pain. He could take oceans of it, and keep on fighting. He’d taken pain fighting Narfi. Taken it before that, fighting Thrivaldi.

  He ought to have lost there, too, but he’d released Mjölnir’s pent-up souls in the form of a blast of lightning unlike aught he’d ever seen.

  Thor’s arms had begun to convulse. His muscles were being torn apart by those same poisons. Acids eating away at him.

  Jörmungandr was a weapon that could consume the world before it went to sleep again.

  If Thor let that happen.

  Madness had brought him here. Madness would see it through.

  Because … he had to … help those … left.

  Which meant, one more time, he had to release all the pent-up power inside Mjölnir. The screaming, writhing souls of jotunnar and draugar and dragons and hundreds of men, all caught in a maelstrom of suffering. All so very eager to share their torment with others. Or with one … other.

  His arm was slipping from the fang.

  Whole body was giving out.

  Father, forgive him for his failures … He’d never been worthy of Father’s …

  Sucking in a breath—hard over the flow of blood pouring down his face—Thor released the fang. Grasped Mjölnir with both hands as he fell. And into that hammer, he poured all his rage, all his pain. For he had taken more pain than most men could dream of. The pain of innumerable wounds. The pain of lost loved ones.

  Those he drove into his blow.

  And the souls of all trapped within Mjölnir. The hammer crashed down with a blast of sound and light that obliterated all senses.

  Lightning erupted in a sphere that fed into itself, crashing among that horrible maw, bouncing off fangs. Flesh exploded all around Thor. Venom and blood evaporated into sizzling mist.

  The serpent convulsed.

  And a roar of thunder annihilated all.

  23

  A galvanic blast shot up into the sky, so bright it cast the night in cerulean relief. Out in the bay, lightning poured from the serpent’s open maw in a column that seemed intent to burn down the heavens. It coruscated along Jörmungandr’s scales, down its neck, until, unable to contain the mercurial energies, those scales blasted outward in all directions in a cascade that began at its head and ran all the way down into the sea below. A macabre explosion of flesh and blood and, beneath those, escaping beams of light as lightning tore new orifices into the monstrous serpent.