Well, here it is....a very random snippet from what I had planned for my Divine Play story...
Thanks go to locke for proof-reading ^^
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The world is breaking.
Skyscrapers shake, towers shatter.
He is running as fast as he can while being assaulted.
At every corner they stand ready, the giants, the servants of the world burner. With fire and sword they stand ready to stop him. It is the promised day. Midgard will burn. Must burn.
So they step into his way.
He tears, he shreds, he destroys.
He has already given up on the charade.
The form of the man is gone. The skin, the flesh, the fragility.
Nothing remains.
Fur bristles over taut muscles. Giant jaws rip apart anyone that gets in his way.
And still the beast known as Fenris keeps on growing, every leap seeing him grow stronger and stronger.
He races through the streets, giving no head to the battles behind him.
Let Thor take care of Lif and Lifrasil.
Let Yormugandr battle with Niddh÷g.
Let Loki step between the eternal flame and its targets.
He has a bigger fish to fry.
The biggest prey.
The one responsible for all of this.
Surtr.
The beast-man howls, a sound so raw, so primal that even the concrete beneath his paws is stripped away.
Faster and faster he moves.
And again the earth shakes.
The end is close.
Too close.
That bastard Surtr. He had tricked them. Had fooled them.
He had never intended to wait for Ragnar÷k.
And now, his plan was almost complete.
Hell's gates were open.
Niddh÷g was free and the Midgard itself was being torn apart by the growing Yggdrassil.
He had chosen his allies with great care. Obviously.
Lif and Lifrasil, those gifted with the „Promised Future“. Even if they could be defeated, till the day they ruled over the new world, they could not die. Such was the strength of their fate.
The Eternal Flame. Hah. He could just as well try to kill reality by himself.
And of course, Niddh÷g. The monster from down below. The abomination. Not even he could kill something that had never lived in the first place.
Surtr had gathered them, had promised them, that the time had come.
A perfect plan.
Too perfect.
Fenris should have devoured Odin and Thor.
This time his jump carries him through an entire building, blowing through steel and concrete as if it were a wall made of rice-paper.
His paws find hold not on solid ground but upon the air itself as the wolf keeps on running.
NO ONE USED HIM
No god, no mortal, no giant.
He was the thrice-bound. The Sun-Eater, God-Killer, First of Beasts and Lord of Killers.
Every man was a but a tool of fate.
Not even gods could stand against their own destiny.
But he was a beast and he would accept no order but his own.
If the world was to fall it would do so between his jaws.
An eruption.
The ground ...explodes.
And from it rises Yggdrassil, a gigantic tree, its branches breaking through the ground, shooting upwards, the highest point quickly reaching the top of the highest skyscrapers.
And it keeps on growing.
Freed from the constant harassment of Niddh÷g the world tree bursts through Midgards ground and keeps on rising to the sun.
Fenris eyes narrow to slits as he jumps, reaching a fast growing branch.
Flames, everywhere.
That was Surtr's plan.
To burn the world, to burn it down and leave only ashes.
He intended to burn it starting with the world tree itself.
The eternal Flame is everywhere, a thousand sprites of flickering fire, gnawing at the roots and branches of Yggdrassil.
And Fenris still keeps on growing, dwarfing the houses beneath him now.
He howls again and this time the wind that rushes past him brings an answer.
From the shadows they come, the shapes of wolves and hounds.
From every crevice and every hidden corner they come at his call.
Every sinner and every saint.
Every soldier and every priest.
All those that killed, in cold blood and with fire in their hearts.
They are his.
He is the Lord of Killers.
They chase after the flames, and a deadly dance begins, atop the world tree's winding branches and roots. Beasts versus flames.
And one last jump.
Fenris reaches them.
Surtr.
Odin.
The Giant is still in his guise, an older gentleman, black cane in his hands.
But it is a facade.
There is mere glittering in his eyes anymore.
Where there should be pupils there are seas of fire. The places where his feet touch the ground is throwing up bubbles as it melts and smoke is coming from a hole in his chest. Inside of the wound...there is pure magma.
When he speaks it is with the heat of a thousand suns, every word burning in the ears.
„You....have you too come to steal my destiny from me, BEAST?“
Odin is on the ground, her body crumbled, hands still holding onto the gun that is, without a doubt, Gugnir. Her sole eye is shining with an inhuman light and the other seems to stare through even the King of Fire.
„Shut IT. You goddamn bastard, you used me!“
The words fight itself out of his throat. More a growl than speech.
He steps forward, body still growing, his head now easily dwarfing a car, yet the ever growing branch of the world tree offers them more than enough space.
Around them the carnage continues. Everywhere around them shadow-beasts and flames collide.
From afar they can hear the sound of Gods and Beasts battling.
He bares his teeth.
„You used ME. And for that , YOU DIE! No one messes with me, no one takes the choice from me, Surtr!“
He leaps, over the fallen Odin, moving at a speed that is beyond any concept of time. It does not take mere moments.
If it can be described then as moving „between“ moments.
Time is meaningless between divine opponents.
That is their divine right.
Even if the jump takes no time.
Surtr's body changes in the not-time it takes.
The black suit swells, the cane grows longer and far shaper. The last gray hair disappears in a blaze of fire as the Lord of Fire takes on his real form.
A rush of hot-air, the sheer heat erases any mundane matter around him.
And a scream that sets the air itself aflame all around them.
Such is the power, such is the majesty of the World-Burner. The Ash-Maker. The Land-Defiler.
Giant jaws rip through the molten space, tearing through this realm of absolute heat.
The giant dwarves any other being, but compared to the original beast he is but a child. He screams in rage as his skin is broken and liquid magma pours out. Fenris shakes his head, tearing even deeper into the giants body before the Fire Lord is thrown away.
He flies only for moments, coming to a stop in the empty sky, his feet burning marks into the air itself. The sword in his hands glows so brightly that even the sun pales in comparison now.
Again the beast jumps, but this time the sword is faster. It pierces through the open mouth, cutting through Fenris divine tissue. Poisonous blood pours out, mixing with the magma from Surtr's own wounds.
The blade is lodged deeply in the Wolf's throat, but now he is so big that even that wound is but a scratch. The jaws snap shut, catching both Giant and Sword. He throws his head left and right before spitting the Fire Lord out again, leaving his enemy stunned enough to catch him with one of his paws.
Surtr's body hits the wood of Yggdrassil with a sickening crunch.
His blood bites into the divine wood.
The giant bellows and the world disappears in a storm of fire. The sword is gone, the blade becoming a giant maelstrom of flames that reduces everything to ashes, blackening even the bark of Yggdrassil.
The Fires of Hell descend upon Midgard, but they are high enough, being carried higher and higher the ever-growing branches of the world-tree, that even those flames will take a while to reach the ground.
The beast's fur is but fuel to the flames. They descend upon its sacred body, devouring every inch of skin and fur.
Those flames...should be capable of reducing even him to ashes.
But the Wolf just keeps on growing, the fire that burns away at his being can not keep up with the growth of his freedom.
For thousands of years he had wandered the world of Midgard, caged, silenced, thrice-bound. Not by steel, not by word, but by the impossible itself.
All his being, all his strength, concentrated within one mortal-sized package.
And now he was free.
Free to rage.
Free to kill.
Free to HOWL.
The sound shatters reality. As if made from cheap glasses, it breaks apart. Slowly. Ever so slowly.
Space loses its meaning.
The Maelstrom of Flames should devour the beast.
Instead the beasts opens its mouth to devour the fire.
Jaws that could reach heaven and hell at the same time open up and catch the all-destroying flames within.
As if lit up from within the light shines from his maw.
Fenris swallows the death of the world itself.
And again he howls and this time reality shatters completely.
A million shards float all around them, reflecting the broken image of Yggdrassil to them.
Surtr still stands tall.
All his might has been used, all his strength has been spent.
But he refuses to fall.
He is the one to burn the world.
He will not bow. Never.
The Wolf can acknowledge that much.
In that sense they are the same.
Both have something they simply can not accept.
Beast nor Giant would ever bow to anyone's will.
„It was my fate.“
The words are spoken calmly.
Fenris does not answer.
Surtr will say what he has to say...and then it would end.
„It was my fate and I would have relished it. I am the World-Burner. No flame but mine may incinerate the world. I saw them, those mortals, with their accursed fires. They dared to raise the star's own flames on this world.“
The Giants eyes are glowing as he shakes with rage.
„This World was MINE to BURN. Not theirs. NEVER THEIRS. I AM SURTR.“
The fires flared on last time before they too dissappear, leaving behind only smoldering yet controlled rage.
„It was mine.“
Fenris closes his eyes.
That may have been true.
Certainly, for Surtr that must have been his truth.
But the Fire Lord had forgotten one important thing.
The Beast took the last step, his size beyond comparison now. Even while the giant had spoken he had never stopped growing and now it could not be said if he even saw the tiny giant any more.
And he slowly opened his maw.
Infinitely huge fangs shone in the light of the nearby star.
„I AM FENRIS.“
This time the voice was not a growl.
The words were....truly....coming from the depths of his being. Thoughts traveling over impossible distances.
„IT WAS MINE TO DEVOUR.“
And ever so slowly the jaws closed upon the blue jewel in front of him.
Thanks go to locke for proof-reading ^^
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The world is breaking.
Skyscrapers shake, towers shatter.
He is running as fast as he can while being assaulted.
At every corner they stand ready, the giants, the servants of the world burner. With fire and sword they stand ready to stop him. It is the promised day. Midgard will burn. Must burn.
So they step into his way.
He tears, he shreds, he destroys.
He has already given up on the charade.
The form of the man is gone. The skin, the flesh, the fragility.
Nothing remains.
Fur bristles over taut muscles. Giant jaws rip apart anyone that gets in his way.
And still the beast known as Fenris keeps on growing, every leap seeing him grow stronger and stronger.
He races through the streets, giving no head to the battles behind him.
Let Thor take care of Lif and Lifrasil.
Let Yormugandr battle with Niddh÷g.
Let Loki step between the eternal flame and its targets.
He has a bigger fish to fry.
The biggest prey.
The one responsible for all of this.
Surtr.
The beast-man howls, a sound so raw, so primal that even the concrete beneath his paws is stripped away.
Faster and faster he moves.
And again the earth shakes.
The end is close.
Too close.
That bastard Surtr. He had tricked them. Had fooled them.
He had never intended to wait for Ragnar÷k.
And now, his plan was almost complete.
Hell's gates were open.
Niddh÷g was free and the Midgard itself was being torn apart by the growing Yggdrassil.
He had chosen his allies with great care. Obviously.
Lif and Lifrasil, those gifted with the „Promised Future“. Even if they could be defeated, till the day they ruled over the new world, they could not die. Such was the strength of their fate.
The Eternal Flame. Hah. He could just as well try to kill reality by himself.
And of course, Niddh÷g. The monster from down below. The abomination. Not even he could kill something that had never lived in the first place.
Surtr had gathered them, had promised them, that the time had come.
A perfect plan.
Too perfect.
Fenris should have devoured Odin and Thor.
This time his jump carries him through an entire building, blowing through steel and concrete as if it were a wall made of rice-paper.
His paws find hold not on solid ground but upon the air itself as the wolf keeps on running.
NO ONE USED HIM
No god, no mortal, no giant.
He was the thrice-bound. The Sun-Eater, God-Killer, First of Beasts and Lord of Killers.
Every man was a but a tool of fate.
Not even gods could stand against their own destiny.
But he was a beast and he would accept no order but his own.
If the world was to fall it would do so between his jaws.
An eruption.
The ground ...explodes.
And from it rises Yggdrassil, a gigantic tree, its branches breaking through the ground, shooting upwards, the highest point quickly reaching the top of the highest skyscrapers.
And it keeps on growing.
Freed from the constant harassment of Niddh÷g the world tree bursts through Midgards ground and keeps on rising to the sun.
Fenris eyes narrow to slits as he jumps, reaching a fast growing branch.
Flames, everywhere.
That was Surtr's plan.
To burn the world, to burn it down and leave only ashes.
He intended to burn it starting with the world tree itself.
The eternal Flame is everywhere, a thousand sprites of flickering fire, gnawing at the roots and branches of Yggdrassil.
And Fenris still keeps on growing, dwarfing the houses beneath him now.
He howls again and this time the wind that rushes past him brings an answer.
From the shadows they come, the shapes of wolves and hounds.
From every crevice and every hidden corner they come at his call.
Every sinner and every saint.
Every soldier and every priest.
All those that killed, in cold blood and with fire in their hearts.
They are his.
He is the Lord of Killers.
They chase after the flames, and a deadly dance begins, atop the world tree's winding branches and roots. Beasts versus flames.
And one last jump.
Fenris reaches them.
Surtr.
Odin.
The Giant is still in his guise, an older gentleman, black cane in his hands.
But it is a facade.
There is mere glittering in his eyes anymore.
Where there should be pupils there are seas of fire. The places where his feet touch the ground is throwing up bubbles as it melts and smoke is coming from a hole in his chest. Inside of the wound...there is pure magma.
When he speaks it is with the heat of a thousand suns, every word burning in the ears.
„You....have you too come to steal my destiny from me, BEAST?“
Odin is on the ground, her body crumbled, hands still holding onto the gun that is, without a doubt, Gugnir. Her sole eye is shining with an inhuman light and the other seems to stare through even the King of Fire.
„Shut IT. You goddamn bastard, you used me!“
The words fight itself out of his throat. More a growl than speech.
He steps forward, body still growing, his head now easily dwarfing a car, yet the ever growing branch of the world tree offers them more than enough space.
Around them the carnage continues. Everywhere around them shadow-beasts and flames collide.
From afar they can hear the sound of Gods and Beasts battling.
He bares his teeth.
„You used ME. And for that , YOU DIE! No one messes with me, no one takes the choice from me, Surtr!“
He leaps, over the fallen Odin, moving at a speed that is beyond any concept of time. It does not take mere moments.
If it can be described then as moving „between“ moments.
Time is meaningless between divine opponents.
That is their divine right.
Even if the jump takes no time.
Surtr's body changes in the not-time it takes.
The black suit swells, the cane grows longer and far shaper. The last gray hair disappears in a blaze of fire as the Lord of Fire takes on his real form.
A rush of hot-air, the sheer heat erases any mundane matter around him.
And a scream that sets the air itself aflame all around them.
Such is the power, such is the majesty of the World-Burner. The Ash-Maker. The Land-Defiler.
Giant jaws rip through the molten space, tearing through this realm of absolute heat.
The giant dwarves any other being, but compared to the original beast he is but a child. He screams in rage as his skin is broken and liquid magma pours out. Fenris shakes his head, tearing even deeper into the giants body before the Fire Lord is thrown away.
He flies only for moments, coming to a stop in the empty sky, his feet burning marks into the air itself. The sword in his hands glows so brightly that even the sun pales in comparison now.
Again the beast jumps, but this time the sword is faster. It pierces through the open mouth, cutting through Fenris divine tissue. Poisonous blood pours out, mixing with the magma from Surtr's own wounds.
The blade is lodged deeply in the Wolf's throat, but now he is so big that even that wound is but a scratch. The jaws snap shut, catching both Giant and Sword. He throws his head left and right before spitting the Fire Lord out again, leaving his enemy stunned enough to catch him with one of his paws.
Surtr's body hits the wood of Yggdrassil with a sickening crunch.
His blood bites into the divine wood.
The giant bellows and the world disappears in a storm of fire. The sword is gone, the blade becoming a giant maelstrom of flames that reduces everything to ashes, blackening even the bark of Yggdrassil.
The Fires of Hell descend upon Midgard, but they are high enough, being carried higher and higher the ever-growing branches of the world-tree, that even those flames will take a while to reach the ground.
The beast's fur is but fuel to the flames. They descend upon its sacred body, devouring every inch of skin and fur.
Those flames...should be capable of reducing even him to ashes.
But the Wolf just keeps on growing, the fire that burns away at his being can not keep up with the growth of his freedom.
For thousands of years he had wandered the world of Midgard, caged, silenced, thrice-bound. Not by steel, not by word, but by the impossible itself.
All his being, all his strength, concentrated within one mortal-sized package.
And now he was free.
Free to rage.
Free to kill.
Free to HOWL.
The sound shatters reality. As if made from cheap glasses, it breaks apart. Slowly. Ever so slowly.
Space loses its meaning.
The Maelstrom of Flames should devour the beast.
Instead the beasts opens its mouth to devour the fire.
Jaws that could reach heaven and hell at the same time open up and catch the all-destroying flames within.
As if lit up from within the light shines from his maw.
Fenris swallows the death of the world itself.
And again he howls and this time reality shatters completely.
A million shards float all around them, reflecting the broken image of Yggdrassil to them.
Surtr still stands tall.
All his might has been used, all his strength has been spent.
But he refuses to fall.
He is the one to burn the world.
He will not bow. Never.
The Wolf can acknowledge that much.
In that sense they are the same.
Both have something they simply can not accept.
Beast nor Giant would ever bow to anyone's will.
„It was my fate.“
The words are spoken calmly.
Fenris does not answer.
Surtr will say what he has to say...and then it would end.
„It was my fate and I would have relished it. I am the World-Burner. No flame but mine may incinerate the world. I saw them, those mortals, with their accursed fires. They dared to raise the star's own flames on this world.“
The Giants eyes are glowing as he shakes with rage.
„This World was MINE to BURN. Not theirs. NEVER THEIRS. I AM SURTR.“
The fires flared on last time before they too dissappear, leaving behind only smoldering yet controlled rage.
„It was mine.“
Fenris closes his eyes.
That may have been true.
Certainly, for Surtr that must have been his truth.
But the Fire Lord had forgotten one important thing.
The Beast took the last step, his size beyond comparison now. Even while the giant had spoken he had never stopped growing and now it could not be said if he even saw the tiny giant any more.
And he slowly opened his maw.
Infinitely huge fangs shone in the light of the nearby star.
„I AM FENRIS.“
This time the voice was not a growl.
The words were....truly....coming from the depths of his being. Thoughts traveling over impossible distances.
„IT WAS MINE TO DEVOUR.“
And ever so slowly the jaws closed upon the blue jewel in front of him.