The Cave of Silent Screams

Chill winds howled all around Brynjar, tossing around his thick hide cloak and even forcing its way through the chinks in his black plate mail. Had he still had flesh and were he not a skeleton, he might have cared.

Yet, even when he had still been a man, he had been known for not caring about the cold, much to the chagrin of the others who had lived in his village before its destruction at the hands of the fallen angels.

It was during that attack that Brynjar had been killed. He could still remember that moment as though it had happened only yesterday despite the fact that it had actually occurred more than a century ago.

An angel, a golden being with feathered wings and wreathed in supposedly holy light had come down from on high with a flaming sword in his hands, and it had laid a telling blow upon him.

He had been sixteen at the time, barely able to hold up an axe in self-defense.

Even now, he could still sometimes feel the echo of the pain from the strike in his bones, a consistent reminder of what had happened that fateful day.

He gaze upon the tunnel entrance that had been carved into the mountain before him, and his mind again settled upon the reason why he had come here in the first place:

Audun, his mentor.

He was another who had suffered a fate not unlike what had befallen Brynjar, albeit his death had happened over a thousand years ago. It was he who had reanimated Brynjar and initiated him into the Knights of Vidarr.

Brynjar had not forgotten that either. One moment, he had been whisked away into oblivion, seeing only blackness before him. Just as he started to see the light of what he thought to be Valhalla off in the distance, he woke up, though he still wasn’t sure that that was the right word to describe what had happened.

Had he been reborn that day? That was a question that he had pondered many times since then. He thought about it for a few moments and again settled on the decision that “reborn” wasn’t the right word either.

Still, he remembered being on a stone table in a stone room, and everything had been engraved with runes. The walls had been as black as his armor, and there had been others like him standing over him, all skeletons clad in black armor and thick cloaks. Their breastplates had been engraved with a wolf’s head superimposed on a lightning bolt, the symbol of Vidarr, god of vengeance, for they were his knights, an order of reanimated warriors who possessed the singular purpose of avenging those who had died too early.

Closest to Brynjar had been Audun, the one who had led the ritual of reanimation and trained him in the ways of the knights. It was because of him that Brynjar had learned to bear the black plate of the knights, wield the mighty greatsword that he grasped in his hands, and channel the divine might of Vidarr himself.

Yet, it had ended just as quickly as it had begun, for Audun had been taken from him. They had been sparring in one of the arenas on the perimeter of the citadel that the knights occupied, and, like that day over one hundred years ago, an angel had come down from on high. Brynjar hadn’t known whether that angel had been the one same one from so long ago, nor had he particularly cared.

He and Audun had fought it, working together with their divine-granted powers.

And they had still lost.

Brynjar remembered Audun’s last words before the angel had flown off with him:

“I will be back.”

That had been nearly two decades ago, and Brynjar was done waiting.

He had heard rumors in the nearby port city of Vortaag that a Knight of Vidarr had been found in the Cave of Silent Screams, rumored to be one of the deepest caves in the mountain.

Why a Knight of Vidarr had been taken by angels to a place that demons were known to inhabit, Brynjar did not know. What he did know, however, was that he wasn’t going to take any chances. Even if it turned out that Audun wasn’t here, Brynjar still had an eternity to find him, no matter how deep the caves or how high the peaks, or even if his mentor was on a different world entirely.

None of that mattered, for Brynjar would be undeterred.

And it was with that mentality that the Knight of Vidarr entered the tunnel, brandishing his iron, rune-engraved sword as he moved. The block-like, geometric runes on the blade glowed with a faint bronze light.

The light from the runes beat back some of the darkness, enough that Brynjar could see what was in front of him as he walked. As he descended deeper into the tunnel, his grip on his sword tightened and his pace slowed.

He came to a complete stop as the tunnel widened into a cavern filled with large patches of glowing red crystal that pulsed eerily. It wasn’t long before he could feel the tension rising in the room, seeming to pulse in time to the crystals.

Brynjar walked into the center of the cavern and assumed a full defensive stance, locking his knees with his sword pointed forward. Normally, two or more Knights of Vidarr would assume this position together, ensuring that nothing could flank them. Brynjar, however, had become accustomed to assuming the stance alone. His skill at arms was such that even if his reaction wasn’t the quickest, a few well-placed blows from his blessed sword would still end a conflict quickly enough.

A roar came forth from the darkness as a vaguely-humanoid form shot straight toward Brynjar. With but a cursory glance, he knew it to be a demon: the claws, the talons, and the red skin stretched across its flesh gave that away. Its fiery eyes glared at Brynjar with eternal hatred, and its scowl revealed all of its needle-like teeth.

Its feet hit the ground, and it drove its jagged spear toward Brynjar’s chest. The knight stepped back and parried with his sword. He turned the spear away before lunging forward to hack at the demon with his sword.

The demon deftly leaped out of the way. Brynjar drove his sword toward the demon’s throat. Again, the demon leaped, but it couldn’t escape Brynjar’s blade entirely. The blade’s edge bit into the demon’s shoulder, leaving a deep cut from which black blood began to flow.

Brynjar let out a snarl as he pulled back his blade and swung again. “Where is the Cave of Silent Screams?”

The demon brought up its spear to parry and swiped at Brynjar with its free claw. His breastplate screeched at the abrasion, but both it and the symbol of Vidarr remained intact.

“It is within this mountain, Knight of Vidarr, guarded by my kin,” the demon snarled, “but you spark of unlife will be extinguished here.”

It drove its spear toward Brynjar’s chest again. He beat it back with his sword and followed up with a swift chop at the demon’s neck. The demon ducked below the blade and thrust its spear at Brynjar’s shin. The knight stepped back before bringing his blade down upon the demon. The sword tore through the demon’s back, nearly slicing it in half. Brynjar followed up with another strike, finishing what he had started. He took great satisfaction in watching the two halves of the demon’s body fall limp.

Still, he wished that he had taken more time to interrogate the fell creature before slaying it. Battle-fury took him over so quickly that he rarely took the time to think about asking questions, which made him not unlike the demon that had stood before him.

He took solace in the fact that this was only the beginning of the tunnels, and he knew that there were more demons lurking in the depths. He walked through the cavern and into where the tunnel continued.

The tension from the cavern seemed to follow Brynjar, as if it were trying to drag him down. Still, he continued on, moving faster once he began to see a dim light flickering at the edge of his vision.

He slowed down as he heard hisses and snarls emanating from the cavern ahead, coming to a complete stop at the edge of the entrance and making sure to keep himself out of sight of whatever was lurking in there.

Carefully, he glanced into the cavern. It looked much larger than the last one, and it contained more of the patches of glowing, pulsing red crystal.

Hovering at the center of it wall were two demons. One looked like a beautiful woman with a pair of small horns and black, bat-like wings. She wore a gleaming chainmail cuirass and held a wickedly curved greatsword that had crackling flames dancing along the length of its blade.

The other demon looked much like the one that Brynjar had encountered in the last cavern. However, he towered over his lesser kin. His claws were far larger as well. A pair of thick, curled horns crowned his forehead, and his skin was as black as the darkest night. A pair of bat-like wings protruded from his shoulders, more savage than the ones possessed by his female companion. He, too, gripped a jagged greatsword with a blade that had been possessed by dancing flames.

Despite the fact that there were two demons, Brynjar knew that he would be able to dispatch them. Their human-like proportions told him that they were lesser demons. Though they were skilled enough to fell mortal warriors, the Knights of Vidarr had slaughtered them for centuries.

And it was that remembrance that gave Brynjar the confidence to take that bold, fateful step into the cavern before him.

“Foul demons,” he snarled, “tell me where in this fell mountain the Cave of Silent Scream is or I shall smite you down with the might of Vidarr’s vengeance!”

He dropped into a fighting stance with his sword intimidatingly brandished.

The two demons turned to face Brynjar, both wearing grins on their faces. They, too, readied their swords to strike.

“Look at this, Xyabar,” the female demon giggled, “Another Knight of Vidarr has come to challenge us.”

“Tell me where the Cave of Silent Screams is!” Brynjar barked back. “Where is Audun?”

The male demon, Xyabar, cackled maniacally. “I see it, Zur’ria. It looks like the knightling has lost someone important to him.”

“No games,” Brynjar growled, “Tell me where he is.”

Zur’ria shrugged. “Unfortunately, my dear, the Cave of Silent Screams is but a legend, and we have no idea who Audun is. In fact, we are puzzled as to why a Knight of Vidarr would come here in the first place. It was our understanding that your order focuses more on slaying corrupted angels.”

“My purpose is no business of yours, foul temptress. If you cannot yield the information that I require, then stand aside and allow me to pass through unimpeded.”

Zur’ria and Xyabar both laughed and shook their heads in unison.

“We cannot do that, knightling,” Xyabar hissed, “You see, while we appreciate the fact that your order focuses on killing angels as much as the next demon, we cannot condone the fact that you have come into our realm and threatened us.”

“I made no threats,” Brynjar said coldly. “I only make promises.”

“You are not helping your case, my dear,” Zur’ria crooned, “Not at all.”

“I care not about the opinions of two demons who have been forced into hiding,” Brynjar shot back, his voice maintaining it cold edge. “Your kind decided to side with Surtur during Ragnarök, and now you suffer the consequences. If you wish to fight, then I will gladly slay you both, for your deaths will please Vidarr.”

“It is decided then,” Xyabar seethed.

Zur’ria shook her head. “Tsk, tsk, Knight of Vidarr. If only you had been a bit more polite, though I know that that word doesn’t describe many members of your order. Unlife tends to make mortals apathetic, and the giant-kin that your order tends to recruit from are uncivilized to begin with.”

Xyabar charged forward, hacking at Brynjar with his sword. Brynjar parried as Zur’ria began casting a spell. Xyabar pulled his weapon back and swung again. Brynjar beat back the demon’s sword with his own and followed up with a brutal swing. The blade bit into the demon’s shoulder, leaving a jagged, bloody gash upon his dark flesh.

Zur’ria finished casting her spell, conjuring a crackling spear of black energy. With a cry of challenge, she threw it at Brynjar. The knight stepped out of the way as he swung at Xyabar again.

The demon swiftly parried before taking one claw off his weapon to slam a globe of fire into Brynjar that had been conjured in a fraction of a moment. The heat assaulted Brynjar’s armor as well as the necromantic spark that kept his skeletal form animated, but it left no lasting damage.

“You will have to do better than that to best me,” Brynjar said, “but I do not think that you can muster that much might.

“Vidarr, grant me your wrath so that I might fell this demon that is so unworthy of life!”

The runes upon Brynjar’s sword began to glow brighter as he swung the weapon again. The blade remained true, slicing deep into Xyabar’s side. By the time Brynjar had torn his weapon free, the blade was covered in black blood that dripped off it.

“You bastard,” the demon snarled.

“You should have just let me pass,” Brynjar replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

“You have not won this fight yet.” Xyabar staggered back a few steps and assumed a defensive stance.

“Awww,” Zur’ria crooned, “Poor Xyabar is bleeding. That was not very nice of you to do, Knight of Vidarr.”

“I don’t care,” Brynjar snarled.

As he raised his sword to swing the telling blow upon Xyabar, Zur’ria charged forward and intercepted his blade with her own.

“I cannot have that,” she hissed.

Xyabar stepped forward and swung at Brynjar. The blade struck the knight’s side, and he heard both armor and bone crack. It wasn’t long before he felt his spark of reanimation seeping out of his body; a faint purple mist began to flow forth from his ribs.

Brynjar let out a rasping roar as he unleashed two mighty swings of his sword, one at Xyabar and one at Zur’ria. Both demons blocked with the flats of their blades.

“How predictable, Knight of Vidarr,” Zur’ria said mockingly. “I had expected more from one who has an eternity to practice the arts of war.”

Brynjar wasn’t about to reveal the fact that he had only been practicing for a century. That amount of training meant that he was better than most mortal warriors, but immortal creatures such as demons and angels viewed a century in the same way that mortals viewed a year.

Instead, he let out another roar as he drove his blade straight toward Zur’ria waist. The she-demon leaped out of the way as Xyabar stepped forward to take her place. Brynjar’s blade grazed his chest, leaving a wound that was not as deep at the other two but still quite bloody.

“We tire of your presence here, Knight of Vidarr,” Zur’ria hissed before beginning to cast a spell.

Brynjar swung at Zur’ria, but, again, Xyabar interposed himself and parried.

“You would do well not to put yourself between my blade and my foe again, demon,” Brynjar growled.

“You would do well not to swing at my mistress, knightling,” Xyabar shot back.

“Then I shall cut you down just as I will her!”

Brynjar hacked at Xyabar with his sword. The demon blocked. Brynjar pulled back and swung again, this time aiming for Xyabar’s sword. The two blades met with a thunderous clash, and the demon’s blade shattered. The jagged chunks rang as they hit the ground.

Zur’ria finished casting her spell and pointed a crooked finger at Brynjar. “Be gone, Knight of Vidarr! I banish you!”

In that instant, shadows engulfed Brynjar, blotting out all of his other surroundings. He heard the two demons cackling, seemingly off in the distance. Whether they were still close to him, he did not know.

He was still standing, which he was glad about. Despite the shadows that surrounded him, there are still solid ground under his feet.

Did that mean that he hadn’t actually left the cavern?

“Cowardly demons,” he roared, “Come forth and face me! Do not think that I cannot find you, for it is the might of Vidarr himself that guides me!”

A chorus of deep, dark laughter echoed forth from the darkness. “I am not worried about you finding me, knightling. If anything, you should be more worried about the fact that I have found you.”

Roaring flames exploded into existence in front of Brynjar, soon merging with the swirling darkness to form a maelstrom of shadow and fire. A tendril of flame surged forth from the unholy amalgamation and whipped itself at Brynjar.

The knight hacked at it with his sword. Blessed by Vidarr’s power, there were few things that it couldn’t cut through. The flame tendril wrapped around the blade and jerked back, attempting to tear the weapon from Brynjar’s grasp. He tightened his grip and pulled back. Though the strength of the tendril was mighty, it was Brynjar who prevailed with a final, mighty pull that freed his weapon.

“Is that the best you can offer, demon?” Brynjar roared, “I have faced angels mightier than you! If you do not have a real challenge for me, then send me back into the mountain so that I might finish my quest.”

The demon of shadow and flame let out a guttural laugh. “The knightling thinks that I cannot provide a good enough challenge for him. Look upon my true form and know just how wrong you are. Look upon my true form and despair, for you shall know the wrath of Duurog, Butcher of Men and Herald of Ragnarök!”

All of the shadow and flame collapsed into a single form, that of a mighty, hulking being wearing armor and chains, both adorned with spikes and blades, and all of it had been made from the darkest iron. Flames coursed all through Duurog’s body, gathering mostly in the demon’s eyes, maw and chest, though it also coursed through the rest of his body, forming the pinions and bones of his wings.

In one meaty, clawed fist, Duurog gripped a wickedly curved sword made from the same seething flames that coursed through his body. In the other, he gripped a two-tailed whip, also made of fire, stirring and crackling seemingly of its own volition.

Brynjar took one hand of the hilt of his sword and pointed at the demon.

“You!” he roared, “I know you! It was my god who struck you down when Surtur came forth from his realm of fire and ash to cleave the world asunder into four realms at the start of Ragnarök so long ago.

“It was he who banished you to this lightless realm, and it is I, by his hand, who shall ensure that you remain here!

“Crack your whip and bring your sword down upon me, for I fear no evil!”

Brynjar put his other hand back on his sword and assumed a defensive stance.

Duurog let out a barking laugh of derision as he swung his sword at Brynjar. The knight lunged back, watching as the flames melted off a section of the crumbling stone bridge that he stood upon and could see now due to Duurog’s manifestation. A quick glance around told him that he was in an ancient, underground hall that had once served as a fortress, though he couldn’t see the runes upon the walls well enough to determine whether they had been carved by men or dwarves.

“That is how you respond to my onslaught, tiny skeleton?” Duurog snarled, “By retreating instead of meeting my challenge? It seems that Vidarr’s followers lost their honor at the end of Ragnarök.”

“You know nothing of honor, fell demon, for it was you who marched alongside Surtur and his giants!” Brynjar shot back. “It was you and your ilk who betrayed Odin.”

With a shout of defiance, Brynjar raised his sword and charged Duurog, leaping at the demon as he reached the edge of the bridge.

“Vidarr guide my blade!” he shouted as he swung at Duurog while in midair.

His blade tore through the demon’s breastplate, leaving a gash in the shadowy flesh from which seething flames of pure hatred began to flow forth.

After inflicting the wound, Brynjar began to fall into the darkness below, that which was beyond the light of Duurog’s fire.

“What did you hope to accomplish with that?” Duurog seethed, “You have but scratched me, and now you fall into the shadows below.

“But, I will not let it end like this, for that would be too hollow a victory. Too long has it been since I have destroyed a follower of Vidarr, knightling, and one day, I shall march from this realm to show the vengeful god the true meaning of his portfolio!”

Duurog cracked his whip at the falling Brynjar. The twin tails sped toward him, quickly wrapping him up. Without Duurog having to crack his whip again, the two tails ushered Brynjar up high enough that he could look his foe right in the eyes.

“I could crush you right now, knightling,” Duurog rasped in a matter-of-fact tone. “With but a fraction of a thought, I could command my whip to constrict you, warp your armor with the heat until it shatters, and then incinerate the bone underneath. I know that the need for vengeance that binds you to the physical realm is strong, but I am one of the authors of hatred.”

“Then do it!” Brynjar shouted, “Shatter me! Destroy me!

“But know that if you do, my soul will not long stay in Valhalla. I shall return, and when I do, Duurog, Betrayer of the Gods, it shall be you who I come for! So as Vidarr avenged Thor when you and Jörmungandr slew him at the edge of the world, so shall I avenge Audun. I know that he is held within the Cave of Silent Screams, and he shall be kept there no longer!”

Duurog began to laugh. “Is that what this is all about, knightling? You search for the one who is held within the depths of this mountain, another reanimated mortal, and yet you would compare yourself to the gods, demons, and beasts who waged Ragnarök?” The demon shook his head mockingly. “Pathetic.”

As the demon spoke, Brynjar mentally recited a short prayer to Vidarr, asking the deity for the sight to see what the demon’s shadows had concealed from him. Shortly after, piercing bronze light shot forth from the edges of Brynjar’s weapon, cutting through the inky blackness below. He caught glimpses of deep water that revealed no treacherous rocks lurking within its embrace.

And that meant that it was safe.

Brynjar began to struggle against the tails of Duurog’s whip, trying to saw through it with his sword.

“You will not sunder my whip, knightling!” the demon roared as he drove his sword through Brynjar.

The flames roared through him, melting his armor and charring his bones. He could feel his spark of reanimation slipping away from him, seeking the way back to complete his soul in Valhalla.

But he did not give in.

He let out a roar of defiance as he continued to saw through the whip with greater ferocity and reached out to his weapon mentally so that he could call upon its innate might. The runes upon his sword glowed brighter as he continued his assault. Within a few moments, he saw fibers of flame slipping free. His mouth formed into a grin underneath his helmet.

“Do not doubt the might of the god of vengeance!” he cried out as he tore his weapon free, having fought for enough space to do so.

“Very clever, knightling,” Duurog hissed as he twisted his blade and continued immolating Brynjar. “But, it will not be enough. In a few moments, you will be nothing more than ashes.”

Though Brynjar said nothing, he knew the truth of the demon’s statement. He could see the ashes drifting forth rom him and feel his spark of reanimation going with it. Still, he raised his sword and hacked at Duurog’s whip. He needed only one good swing to sunder it, but if that failed…

He didn’t think about that; he couldn’t afford to.

All he focused on was making sure that the edge of his blade met Duurog’s whip. As the blade bit into the whip, the runes upon it glowed brighter before it tore through the whip completely.

Duurog let out a roar of rage as the tail of his whip began to fall along with Brynjar. He pulled back his sword and swung at the knight.

Brynjar angled himself out of the way of the demon’s blade as he sped toward the water below, soon crashing into it. He let out a sigh of relief as he felt the burning upon his bones and armor disappear. However, he didn’t take any time to revel in his victory.

He looked up at the raging demon before him, and it was then that he realized just how much larger Duurog was. Compared to the demon, Brynjar was but an insect.

It was also then that it hit home that this truly was the same Duurog who had slain Thor alongside Jörmungandr during Ragnarök. That, along with the other legends of Ragnarök, had been pillars of his life as he trained, especially once he had joined the Knights of Vidarr. Never would he have thought that he would actually face the demon.

Perhaps Duurog had been right; perhaps this was a pathetic endeavor.

No!

Brynjar refused to give up. If he was bound of Valhalla, then he would at least go with a tail worthy to offer up to his god.

“For Audun! For Vidarr!” Brynjar roared as he swam toward Duurog.

A mortal warrior might have been slowed by the suit of armor that Brynjar wore, but his vigor came from the immortals themselves, and it surged strongly through him as he closed the distance between himself and his foe.

He drove his sword into Duurog’s shin, a pillar of dark flesh with veins of flame that towered over him. The demon’s cloven hooves still burned beneath the water’s surface unimpeded by it.

A tide of flame burst forth from Duurog’s wound, washed over Brynjar, and crashed into the water, surrounding him in a miasma of seething steam.

Duurog bellowed out a roar of pain as he threw the handle of his whip into the water and bent down to snatch up Brynjar. The knight leaped out of the way, dropping into a defensive stance with his sword pointed forward.

“I will not be caught that easily, fell demon!” Brynjar taunted.

Duurog gave no response as he kicked Brynjar. His hoof slammed into the knight, propelling him back through the water.

“I do not have to catch you to destroy you, knightling,” the demon seethed.

He inhaled deeply and breathed forth a wave of fire down upon Brynjar. The knight ducked below the water, grinning as the surface of the water turned to steam and he remained untouched.

That was another one of the advantages of being undead: he didn’t need to breathe.

He swam deep into the water before starting to close the distance between himself and Duurog once more.

“Coward,” Duurog hissed, “Again you retreat from me, but you cannot hide from me forever. We are in my realm, and I will find you.”

“I am not making myself difficult to find,” Brynjar declared as he broke the surface of the water.

He swung at Duurog’s shin with such might that the blade cleaved the demon’s flesh free from his hoof. Flame exploded forth from it all, washing over Brynjar and again surrounding him in steam.

Duurog let out a raging bellow as he staggered back, away from Brynjar, before finally toppling over.

The demon crashed into the water, sending a tidal wave toward Brynjar. He dove beneath the surface of the water so that he could avoid this wave just as he had the others.

One had risen again, he began to laugh, one of the few times he had done so since starting his quest.

“This is far more mercy than you deserve, demon” Brynjar growled, “but my code of honor demands that I offer it, even to you, one of the foulest creatures ever to scar the realms.

“Grant me egress from your realm, and I will allow you to continue your wretched existence in this black pit.

“Fail to do so, and my blade shall pierce your fiery heart and extinguish it once and for all.

“Make your choice.”

Duurog titled his bestial head upward so that he could cast his hateful gaze upon Brynjar.

“It was I who killed Thor!” he roared, “It was I who fought against Odin and his kin during Ragnarök, and it was I who aided Surtur in cleaving open the world! I will not yield to a pathetic knightling who would dare to compare himself to the gods!”

“Then you will die,” Brynjar replied grimly as he started toward Duurog.

The demon flailed his flaming sword at Brynjar, trying to cleave him away. But, the knight dodged out of the way before leaping up onto Duurog’s shin.

“Do you know where Audun is?” he demanded as he continued upon his warpath, stalking toward the demon’s chest.

Duurog grinned. “If I did, why would I tell you? You are already about to slay me, vengeful knightling. Do so and send me back to Hel where I belong. May your blade grant me the exodus that I have yearned for since the end of Ragnarök.”

“Where is the Cave of Silent Screams?” Brynjar snarled as he stepped upon Duurog’s chest where his hateful heart of flame pulsed below.

The demon began to laugh, a hollow, mocking laugh where the fury that normally followed his actions was silent.

“If you desire to be slain, then I shall not do so until you have given me the information that I require,” Brynjar declared even as he rested the point of his blade upon Duurog’s chest.

Brynjar knew that slaying the demon would result in him being elevated to the status of one of Vidarr’s exalted, but there was a part of him that could not go through with the act, not until he knew whether or not Duurog had the information that he needed.

The demon continued to laugh, joining with the seething of his flames to form a cacophony.

“Foolish knightling, did Xyabar and Zur’ria tell you nothing?” he hissed, “You are in the Cave of Silent Screams. The souls of all who are slain here are kept for all eternity, screaming in agony but heard by no one.”

“You lie!” Brynjar shot back. “You just said that if I slew you, you would go to Hel.”

“I did.”

“Tell me the truth! Now!”

Duurog’s mouth formed into a wide, toothy grin that was filled with flames. Brynjar could have sworn that he saw human-like forms writhing in torment in the demon’s maw. He shook his head to dispel what he believed to be an illusion.

But, the forms remained, silently screaming.

“I must say that this is more entertaining than crushing you under the lash of my whip,” Duurog hissed, “Thank you, knightling.”

“I know the truth now!” Brynjar roared, “The souls of those who have been slain here rest in your gullet! Your maw is the Cave of Silent Screams, and your heart is the furnace by which they suffer!”

“You think so, knightling?”

Brynjar met Duurog’s gaze directly, not faltering. Not now. “I know so.”

“Then do it, if you have the courage. Slay me!”

Brynjar bellowed out a howl of rage that might have rivaled that of Fenris himself as he raised his blade. Yet, before he could plunge it through Duurog’s heart, the demon gave a roar of his own that heralded the wave of flames that raged forth from his open maw.

It cascaded down upon Brynjar, threatening to snuff out his spark of reanimation in one fell swoop.

But, he stood his ground, for in those moments, he knew no fear.

He was a Knight of Vidarr, and he would have this victory.

He let out a roar of defiance as he plunged his sword through Duurog’s chest, piercing the shadowy flesh and going straight into his fiery heart.

The demon let out a roar that served as his death rattle, and no more flames exited his maw. The ones that assaulted Brynjar had already passed over him and dissipated into nothingness, leaving him charred but intact. All of the flames that burned within Duurog went out, replaced instead by rising smoke that smelled of death.

Brynjar walked up to Duurog’s maw and looked within.

“Audun?” he dared to ask.

Only silence met him. He kneeled upon Duurog’s throat and looked deeper into the maw.

“Audun? Are you there? It is I, Brynjar. I have come for you.” He paused. “I have avenged you.”

As he finished that last, solemn statement, he saw a bronze light well up from within Duurog’s maw. The light ascended and formed into one who wore the armor of the Knights of Vidarr.

“Audun…” Brynjar whispered. Had he still been alive, there would have been tears of joy streaming down his face.

The other knight nodded. “Yes, Brynjar, it is I, Audun. After that angel took me more than twenty years ago, he cast me down into this realm where Duurog devoured me, for I have learned of a plot being hatched by the angels to bring about a second Ragnarök.”

Brynjar shook his head. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped.”

Audun nodded. “I know, Brynjar, but it was the bidding of Vidarr himself that I remain silent.”

“I understand.” Brynjar nodded.

“Thank you for coming for me. I fought everyday against the flames of the demon’s maw, trying to find anyway I could to escape.”

“I know, and you are free now.”

Audun nodded. “Please, Brynjar, rise. We have much to do.”

Brynjar tentatively stood up. “Oh?”

“We must go to Valhalla. Vidarr deserves to hear about your mighty battle in person, for it is one worthy of the gods.”

Brynjar beamed underneath his helmet as he fought to retain a disciplined stance.

“I have but one question,” he said.

“Ask, and I shall answer,” Audun replied.

“Before his death, Duurog told me that slaying him would send him back to Hel. Does that mean that he might return?”

“If this second Ragnarök comes to pass, yes, which is exactly why we must go to Valhalla. Take my hand, Brynjar, so that we might be gone from this foul place.”

And Brynjar did exactly that. A nimbus of bronze light ensorcelled them both, and Brynjar swore that he could see the valkyries and the feasting halls before the light had completely delivered him and Audun from the darkness.

That made him all the more eager to leave the mountain behind, for with Duurog dead and Audun freed, there remained no challenge for him within its dark depths.

He had won the day.

The End

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