Val woke with a start, clutching at his chest, he looked down. Slowly lifting his hand, he noticed there was nothing there. Much to his surprise, his chest felt completely fine. Not even the fading bruises remained, but surprise turned to shock as he looked around.
He was not sure what he was sitting on; it felt flat, but the entire ground was pitch black. Looking around, aside from a thin layer of white fog hugging the ground, he could see nothing but darkness all around. The fog was visible, yet itself did not cast any light.
I suppose I didn't make it then, and this seems too real to be a dream — The cold feels too real here. Val wore a wry smile, conflicted between relief and sadness. But perhaps some friends did not make it either. He could rest, having bet his life.
Standing up, Val still could see nothing around, but the fog seemed to drift in a single direction subtly.
Well, I can't die for real again, can I? He started following the fog, walking a steady pace.
He continued to walk for what felt like several hours, spending the time reflecting on his life and thinking about what he might still do in the afterlife. He chuckled to himself slightly, recalling his suggestion to Huginn of taking up taxidermy.
It was then Val realized the darkness seemed to grow lighter. It was so subtle he was not sure if it was just his eyes adjusting, but he regarded that as impossible. It would not matter if his eyes adjusted if there truly was no source of light. Val quickened his pace, and in the distance, saw a small fire on the ground. He rejoiced, breaking into a run. The dark did not bother him greatly, but the promise of fire and warmth was appealing.
He huddled near the fire; it was a basket-shaped, cast-iron brazier, coals and small logs were burning inside, casting a warm light in all directions.
"Over ten thousand years, and without a word, he sends me a boy, still wet behind the ears, bearing a stolen mark of valor…" A cold voice sounded from the darkness.
Val stood up in alarm. The sound seemed to come from the front, but he could only see darkness. Barely audible, the sound of light footsteps approaching reached Val's ears. In moments, a tall figure, shrouded in darkness like shadows, stood before the fire opposite to him. Val couldn't make out details, but it looked like Val barely reached his shoulders in height. The figure seemed to be missing his right arm just below the shoulder.
"Who are you?" Val asked after a moment. He could not discern much about the figure, but he felt an obvious danger. Beyond doubt, there was no friendliness in the figure's voice earlier.
"If you cannot see my form, then my identity does not matter." The figure answered, though there was the same coldness in his tone.
"Then, where are we going?"
"Going? Where do you think you are?" A slight tone of surprise colored his voice.
"I died, right? That's why I'm here? This is some entrance to the afterlife?"
"You are not dead, not yet."
"What, then I'm dreaming?"
"Not quite dreaming, either."
"Do you know what's happening to me?" Val asked in confusion.
The figure did not respond. Instead, the shadow crouched to the ground, and as Val's eyes widened in surprise, he somehow pulled a sword out. He tossed the sword at Val's feet and repeated the action, now holding a sword of his own.
"You seek valor as your blade, prove you are worthy of the mark." The figure commanded as he held the blade towards Val.
Realizing the apparent course of events to follow, Val quickly picked up the sword and raised it just in time to clumsily block a downward slash from the shadowy figure. Despite swinging with but a single arm, the blow nearly knocked the sword from Val's grip. Val and his brother had taken fencing classes when they were younger. He exercised what little muscle memory was left and retreated a distance.
He noticed now that the blade looked like a long hand-and-a-half sword, longer than a typical sword, nearly a meter, but shorter than a longsword, with a grip long enough for two hands.
The shadowy figure simply observed as Val adjusted his posture, his eyes could not be seen, but he stood with his blade to the side in a completely open stance. The moment Val had taken his stance, the shadow rushed him again. The harsh clanging of steel on steel rang out in the darkness, as blow after blow rained down on Val's blade. The shadow was aggressive, and seemingly tireless, leaving no room for Val to leave his defense for a strike.
After receiving several dozen blows, Val's hands and fingers felt numb as he willed them to grip tightly to the sword. In just a few moments Val was sweating, struggling to focus as adrenaline induced panic threatened to take him completely.
*What is this… He could kill me whenever he wants but instead beats on my guard endlessly.*
Moving even faster, the shadow suddenly lunged forward and swung upwards at an angle, striking Val's blade with a force that carried it out of his hands and into the air, clattering a distance away. Before Val could react to to being disarmed, his face contorted in pain and shock. The last thing he saw before passing out was an arm holding a blade buried deep in his chest.
. . .
Val's woke up again, his vision unfocused, but the muffled sound of running water told him he was awake in reality again.
As he focused, sounds came more clearly, and his vision cleared, but with it came pain all over his body. He realized he was still bound to the boulder, but to his horror, his chest had ugly wounds, seared and charred skin. The brand he had seen was glowing slightly. It burned with painful heat, but whether by adjusting to the pain or the brand being less painful, he could tolerate it. The pain flared every time he breathed deeply, as charred skin stretched and cracked, he took shallow breaths. Looking at his arms, he noticed blood had trailed down from his wrists and dried. It was apparent that in his sleep, he had struggled violently against the shackles. Val grimaced, unsure whether to be grateful for their use if he was going to tear apart his arms, anyway.
It was nighttime, but starlight reflected off of the surface of the stream and helped to illuminate the area. Wincing as he lifted his head to look around, he noticed neither Karl nor the ravens were present.
Val grit his teeth, took a deep breath, and tried to call out to them, but his throat burned, and a hoarse whisper was all he could manage.
Everything hurts… I've lost my voice, and I can't move from this rock. I suppose it's too late to change my mind about this.
He stared at the running water and tried to focus his mind on its details. His entire body felt like it was on fire inside and out, he could not even feel the chill of the water despite being submerged up to his waist. Val heard nothing but the sound of the wind through the woods and the running water. He tried his best to distract himself with it, to avoid focusing on his pain.
A whole hour must have passed. When the feeling of hunger came to Val, his stomach churned and groaned, as if intent on adding to his discomfort.
However, as if in response, the brand on his chest brightened. It cast an incandescent light upon the waters' surface, as fiery pain erupted all over his body.
Convulsing and thrashing against the shackles, his wounds reopened, and blood flowed along his arms once more, but he had no voice left for screaming or shouting. A few minutes later, the pain subsided. He was still hungry, but from his haggard expression, he looked too exhausted to care.
For hours into the night, Val endured periods of relative peace, followed by bursts of pain lasting varying durations as the brand flared up.
Near the end of the eighth cycle, he passed out again.
. . .
This place again… Val lay in the darkness, almost covered in light fog, feeling almost grateful for sleep. At least here, his body was intact, and he was free from the torturous cycles.
He stood up and, taking a few deep breaths, suddenly struck himself in the face as hard as he could. Val staggered sideways, his only reward was pain, as he ruefully confirmed he could not escape this dream so easily. He noted the direction the fog was moving in, but this time he turned and started running in the opposite direction from it.
Val ran for what felt like an hour when he suddenly stopped. His eyes widened in disbelief. The same brazier he had seen previously sat in front of him, burning with the same intensity. Wasting no time, the shadow stepped forward out of the darkness opposite him and threw a sword at his feet.
"Look, you've made your point, haven't you? You're stronger than I am, at least here I'm not in constant pain. What's the game? What am I supposed to do?" Val asked with desperation in his voice.
"Prove you are worthy of the mark." Was the shadow's only response, repeating his previous words. Lifting his one arm towards Val, his blade stood ready for another duel.
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me…"
Again Val took up the sword. Again he could do little else but block blow after blow from his attacker. After receiving another few dozen strikes, the shadow feinted and thrust his blade through Val's leg. Val issued a sharp cry as he fell to one knee, his wounded leg failing him. In the next moment, the figure struck the sword from his grip, and the shadow's blade ran through his neck.
The next several days went by in agony as Val struggled to endure pain from the brand in the waking world, trying to hold out as long as he could for fear of returning to sleep to and experiencing another gruesome death. To no avail, he passed out and woke up repeatedly. No matter which way he ran upon entering his dream, he would find the brazier. The shadow would step forward without a word, issuing weapons and proceeding to duel, leaving Val dying in his dreams again and again. Sometimes the shadow would create other pairs of weapons, but always two identical arms as if to prove this made the duel somehow 'fair.' They fought with shortswords, longswords, daggers, axes, spears, maces, hammers, much to his surprise they even once fought with greatswords, and the shadow seemed to have no problem wielding one with a single arm.
At one point, Val attempted to flee when inevitably he was disarmed again, only for the shadow to have no problems in the darkness, catching up and beheading him.
Nearly a week had passed with Val not seeing or hearing from either Karl or the ravens. In another journey into his nightmare world, he tried again to strike a conversation with the shadow.
"Listen, what fun is there in killing me over and over again? I've lost track of how many times you've killed me, but you MUST be bored with this." Val had a haggard look on his face, even in his dream.
"Prove you are worthy of the mark." The shadow tossed a longsword at his feet.
"Oh, COME ON!!" Val shouted in complaint.
Taking up the sword, they began the latest in what must have been over forty duels to the death. Again on the defensive, Val noticed a familiarity to the way the figure moved, as if the shadow moved and attacked with fixed patterns. However, unknown to Val, he was moving on muscle memory alone; he was learning the movements and habits of the shadow, judging from the way his shoulders shifted and feet were placed. He still could not find an opportunity to strike back, but he had begun to deflect and parry the shadow's sword instead of simply blocking them. In response to this, the shadow started displaying more of his speed and strength earlier than he had previously. Again, in less than fifty exchanges of their blades, the shadow dispatched Val in a vicious manner.
Waking to reality again, this time, Val was immediately greeted with the full intensity of the brand. Veins protruded along his body, and his muscles struggled as if to free themselves from his skin. He thrashed against his shackles and tried to yell and curse at the sky to no avail. As time passed, the episodes seemed to grow more frequent and more intense, delivering him quickly to the duels with his nightmare.
In a tree nearby, Huginn observed the struggle, a surprising shadow of worry in his eyes.