I
I'm going to try this: one flash fic a day for a month. Don't worry, it'll be hidden in cuts.
Grettir's heel splintered the door off its hinges. It echoed through the still night air, but there was little call for subtlety in such a situation. Besides, Old One-Eye demanded fear, for this was a mission of wrath, not politics.
A shout and a scream came from inside the home. Grettir saw a woman, Harald's wife, clutching her young son as she mewled. The boy stood still and silent in shock, seemingly unaware of his mother's deathgrip on his shoulders. Grettir realized the child was looking at something.
As he followed the boy's eyes, he saw Harald, an aurochs of a man, thrust with his sword as if it was a spear. The blade lanced through Grettir's gut and twisted, but he felt no pain. Grettir was no longer a man, but he still found himself waiting for the blood that had long since flowed from his veins. A look of fright dawned on Harald as he fell backwards, scrambling across the floor.
The man blubbered, "Oh God, no. Save me, God. My family...they need me. Have mercy like God, Grettir. Have mercy..." Harald looked to the cross on his wall: the sacred symbol of mjolnir, upended and profaned by the foreign priests.
Grettir sneered, "You had a God that made you strong, but you forgot him. I have not forgotten, and he has made me strong! Mercy? The Hanged One has no mercy for traitors!"
A desperate fire in his eyes, Harald stood and made the symbol of the Christians. He yelled, "Demon! Back! My God's love shall protect me as Odin never could!"
Grettir spat. He ripped the sword from his own belly and drove it through Harald's torso, down into his lung and through his foul bowels. The Christian fell backward, his lungs filling with his own excrement as he slowly suffocated. A fitting end for a man who'd slaughter his own countrymen.
Grettir turned to the woman and child and walked toward them flexing his bloodstained hands. As he stopped and stood over the cowering family, the woman whispered, "Thor save us."
Odin's warrior responded, "He has." He turned and walked out of the home, ripping the cross from the wall as he did so. Grettir broke it over his knee as he left the village. Some of his intestines began to slink from the wound in his stomach. He covered it with his hand. That'd need to be sewed together when he got back to the temple.
Grettir's heel splintered the door off its hinges. It echoed through the still night air, but there was little call for subtlety in such a situation. Besides, Old One-Eye demanded fear, for this was a mission of wrath, not politics.
A shout and a scream came from inside the home. Grettir saw a woman, Harald's wife, clutching her young son as she mewled. The boy stood still and silent in shock, seemingly unaware of his mother's deathgrip on his shoulders. Grettir realized the child was looking at something.
As he followed the boy's eyes, he saw Harald, an aurochs of a man, thrust with his sword as if it was a spear. The blade lanced through Grettir's gut and twisted, but he felt no pain. Grettir was no longer a man, but he still found himself waiting for the blood that had long since flowed from his veins. A look of fright dawned on Harald as he fell backwards, scrambling across the floor.
The man blubbered, "Oh God, no. Save me, God. My family...they need me. Have mercy like God, Grettir. Have mercy..." Harald looked to the cross on his wall: the sacred symbol of mjolnir, upended and profaned by the foreign priests.
Grettir sneered, "You had a God that made you strong, but you forgot him. I have not forgotten, and he has made me strong! Mercy? The Hanged One has no mercy for traitors!"
A desperate fire in his eyes, Harald stood and made the symbol of the Christians. He yelled, "Demon! Back! My God's love shall protect me as Odin never could!"
Grettir spat. He ripped the sword from his own belly and drove it through Harald's torso, down into his lung and through his foul bowels. The Christian fell backward, his lungs filling with his own excrement as he slowly suffocated. A fitting end for a man who'd slaughter his own countrymen.
Grettir turned to the woman and child and walked toward them flexing his bloodstained hands. As he stopped and stood over the cowering family, the woman whispered, "Thor save us."
Odin's warrior responded, "He has." He turned and walked out of the home, ripping the cross from the wall as he did so. Grettir broke it over his knee as he left the village. Some of his intestines began to slink from the wound in his stomach. He covered it with his hand. That'd need to be sewed together when he got back to the temple.