Michael

As the skies wept, some two hundred north-men did battle. The two clans fought over some dispute that resulted in the dishonor of one of the clans’ members, as it was common in their culture: every offense of one’s honor must be avenged through violence. A minor dispute erupted over time into interclan warfare.

The muddy ground they stood upon was painted in blood and gore, just as the faces of men were covered in war paint. Dozens of corpses lay upon the wet ground, blood sipping from their wounds, nourishing the life below the feet of men. Some of them had yet to part with their breath; they laid there cut, bruised, and broken-boned, and some even missing limbs. Their screams of agony echoing through the land, filling the hearts of women and children with sorrow; these were sons, brothers, fathers, husbands, all had gone to waste over the honor of a man. Such was their culture, cruel, yet fascinating.

As the thunder clapped in the sky, the still fighting warriors roared with vigor, they thought the thunder to be a sign of their god, a giant slaying warrior of unequalled strength. They thought him to be celebrating their battle, they wanted to make him even prouder of his followers, and they pressed on – trying to crush the opposition. These men, they knew not of a glory more than the one that comes with the death on the field of battle.

Only a few dozen men were left standing, only a few dozen men were still fighting when the ground began shaking beneath their feet, throwing them off balance. These once brave men had begun to panic; the quaking took their spirit away, swiftly. Those men thought themselves to be pleasing their warrior-god and yet, the ground continued to shake beneath their feet, toppling them down to their knees.

As the ground shook, the storm clouds had parted and from within the gap, a bright light had shined, so bright that when the man below looked up, they had to look away, covering their eyes with their hands and shields, anything to avoid the blinding light from the sky.

From the gap in between the storm clouds, a figure of a man began to descent onto the earth, with magnificent wings, made up of lighting. It slowly made its way from the heavens. The men who still managed to look at the sky at this very moment would describe the awesome sight as that of a man with wings made up of lightning so large, so humongous, that they cover the whole visible skyline.

Soon the celestial’s wings of lightning had disappeared but a ear-shattering thunderclap came instead, it roared on for long moments, planting seeds of mortal fear into the hearts of men, as it slowly turned into a loud, painful, sound akin to noise of scraping metal, so terrible and disgusting it cannot even be described as a screech.

The celestial, absent his wings, plummeted to the ground with such force that the soles of his boots left a permanent mark upon the impact sight, his landing so forceful all the men around him had fallen down, his landing so impactful the heavens had stopped raining.

The celestial appeared to be a young man with commoner’s clothes; he wasn’t too short, nor too tall, he had a black hair – rather short, messy and slightly curled with a short beard to match, both black like coal. As the celestial looked around himself, all he could see was dozens of mortified men starting up at him. Their hastened breath and widened eyes made it all clear for the celestial: they were afraid, no; they were paralyzed with the terror he had brought upon them.

With the snap of his fingers, they all had begun to clutch at their innards, as a white light made its way through their mouths and eyes, quickly turning into flame. They were burning from the inside out; no matter how bad the damage was, their screams of anguish would not cease until nothing but a carcass of shriveled skin and bones remained. They all fell to the might of the celestial, all but one.

One man, one blessed creature, he remained unaffected. The celestial stared at him, intrigued, as the man rose to his feel once more, screaming and growling like a wild dog at the celestial, beating his shield and axe.

The man was smiling.

The celestial but for a moment was delighted when he found that there was a single lion among this herd of sheep. The celestial approached the man slowly, as a smile forms on his face and asked the man in his own native tongue what does this lion of a man wish for in life.

Delight soon turned into disgust.

The man had said, he wanted to die in battle; he cried that he yearned to be led into a glorious death. He barked that he wanted to reach the Allfather and fight by his side until the end of days.

The celestial, with a look of sheer disappointment, pointed a finger at the man’s chest and turned his arm upside down. The man’s smile, it began to fade, as coughing took its place and he was forced to seize his own chest, in hopes of avoiding the terrible pain that befell his heart. Clutching at his shirt forcefully, the man fell to his knees, spewing out blood from his mouth, he then landed face first into the muddy ground below, and his last breath had left his body even before it hit the dirt.

The celestial shook his head in disagreement at the sight of the carnage he had just caused and then looked up into the sky, screaming in his own tongue:

“Look at them, Father! Look at them! More beast than a Behemoth… More monstrous than the Leviathan … These, these lowly apes, they call your child a monster. Look at them! You pride yourself in their creation, you wish me to protect them. Look at them, Father! Only men would speak of peace while shedding blood, only these worms can speak of peace while waging war. Look at these suicidal little fanatical maggots, Father! How could they be your perfect creation, Father? Just look at them!”

The celestial lowered his head, and with great anger, he had vanished from this field of battle.

Wild winds and lightning coursed through the sky, followed by a mighty thunderclap that shook all the trees nearby, rainfall resumed. The skies poured as if the heavens themselves were crying like grieving maidens over the needless fall of men, or perhaps over the frustration of the celestial that had the whole world in his hands, but could not change the hearts of men.