Haemon and his wounded companion managed to reach the Yellow Temple of the Giants without incident, the journey surprisingly calm despite their dire circumstances. However, the grandeur of the temple was now a faded shadow of its former self. Partially destroyed and abandoned for a long time, it stood as a solemn reminder of a dying world. The once-majestic structure was slowly succumbing to decay, its halls devoid of worshippers and prayers for divine intervention. But Haemon cared little for the architectural marvels or artistic achievements. He entered the temple, paying no heed to its desolation, his focus unwavering.
Inside, amidst the dimness, Haemon soon realized that the temple was not as abandoned as it appeared. Fires burned in distant halls, and the echoes of various voices pierced the silence. "Go where the fire burns," the huntress, Skadi, said with difficulty, her voice punctuated by coughs as she clung to Haemon's back. Obeying her words, the warrior made his way toward the only source of light in the temple.
To his surprise, the temple had become a sanctuary for many gnomes, seeking refuge from the madness wrought by the Aesir. They had transformed the abandoned space into their haven, constructing makeshift structures within its walls. Yet, they maintained a degree of caution, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to their presence. The stone and mountain children went about their business, barely acknowledging the uninvited intruder. Only a few guards stationed near the entrance hurried toward Haemon, their apprehension evident as they eyed the barbarian's blood-soaked form. Death and violence emanated from him, and the gnomes, attuned to such energies, were wary of this grim stranger.
"Skadi, my girl, are you alright? And who is this with you!?" a dark-haired gnome in heavy armor, named Gunnar, asked with a mix of excitement and concern in his voice. His hand instinctively reached for the weapon at his belt upon seeing Haemon. The gnome's reaction stemmed from the warrior's aura of death and blood, sensations that the gnomes were particularly attuned to. The arrival of this uncouth stranger did not please them, as they already had their share of grotesque beings to contend with. "Calm down, Gunnar. He's with me! He needs to meet Brokk and Sindri as soon as possible," Skadi said, her breath labored as she dismounted from Haemon's back and settled onto the cold stone floor.
"Did you have to blurt it out to the first person you met?" Gunnar exclaimed angrily, his face turning as red as a tomato. Veins throbbed on his forehead, a result of Skadi's thoughtless action. But she merely smiled innocently and scratched her head, saying, "Sorry, but he saved my life and showed mercy. Besides, he's a friend of Ulfrun. You could say he's not a stranger at all!" Her words, intended to pacify Gunnar, only fueled his anger. The gnome grew even more incensed, his frustration evident as his face flushed with rage. He desperately wanted to continue scolding Skadi, but before he could, Haemon interjected, his voice icy and laced with aggression. "Where do I go?" The warrior's words cut through the tension, commanding attention.
Snorting and crossing his arms over his chest, Gunnar replied, "Oh, well, damn it! I'll take you to them myself! Follow me, dark-haired giant, and you, girl, don't even think about moving. The healer will be here soon," he pointed a finger at Skadi, his threat implicit. With a dismissive wave of his hand, Gunnar strode toward the other end of the hall. Silently, Haemon trailed behind him, leaving behind Skadi's well-wishes. The other gnomes, well aware of their insignificance in the grand scheme of things, scattered, avoiding the Olympian's gaze. They had no desire to provoke another formidable lord capable of reducing them to dust. They understood their place as the lowly and knew better than to needlessly anger their rulers, whose wrath was both terrifying and merciless. Observing the mothers clutching their children tightly, a fleeting and foolish thought of his own offspring brought a barely noticeable smile to Haemon's face.
The sudden stench of metallic tang mixed with pungent herbs assaulted the barbarian's nostrils, jolting him back to reality. His acute hearing caught the echoes of quarrels and curses wafting up from below. Gunnar, his frustration mounting, approached a weathered stone wall and sought out a hidden button, hoping to reveal a secret passage. Anticipation hung in the air, but it was not to be. The wall responded with a grating metallic scrape and then fell silent. It stood resolute as if mocking their futile attempts to breach it. Frustrated beyond measure, the dwarf's anger bubbled over, and he unleashed a furious blow upon the unyielding stone. The wall trembled under the force and crumbled like a feeble tree in the midst of a tempest. Turning to the Olympian, the dwarf grumbled, "I've demanded these two imbeciles countless times to fix this damn rusted piece of metal, but they persist in ignoring me. They'd rather squabble endlessly than lend a hand to their own kin for once!" With a scratch of his wiry beard and a contemptuous spit, the dwarf descended the stairs that had been concealed behind the wall.
Already downstairs, Haemon bore witness to two dwarves engaged in a heated exchange, hurling blacksmithing tools at one another. "How dare you to claim friendship with the River Mistress herself!?" the rotund gnome with chestnut hair seethed, flinging a hammer at his slender, blond counterpart. The lithe gnome evaded it with a sly grin, his movements reminiscent of a wily fox. He retorted venomously, "Anahita favored my silver-crafted offerings over your wretched goblin dung creations!" In retaliation, the gnome hurled an unfinished dagger, only to be thwarted by the stout one raising a wooden shield, deflecting the weapon hurtling toward him. "It's amusing to hear such words from someone unable to forge a proper sword!" The wiry gnome's eyes alighted upon a nearby club, and he reached out to grasp it. "What was that, you swine!" With a feral cry, the slender gnome lunged at his burly adversary. They collided and crashed to the ground, their hands wrapped tightly around each other's throats, choking the life out of one another.
"I swear upon Imir's majestic beard, I will personally end them one day!" Gunnar muttered wearily, covering his face with a calloused palm. Without much consideration, Haemon rapped on the door, successfully diverting their attention. The two brothers abruptly turned, their grip still locked around each other's throats. "Gunnar, what more do you want? We promised to repair the hidden wall when we had the time! And who have you brought with you?" the siblings spoke in unison, their fingers accusingly pointing at the barbarian. "That wall crumbled to dust before you even had a chance to inspect it properly!" Gunnar bellowed at both of them, venting his frustration by kicking a nearby helmet with his booted foot. "You fool! That helmet was pure silver!" the portly gnome exclaimed, anguish tingeing his voice as he hastily retrieved the cracked headpiece from the ground. "Don't be absurd, Brokk. You've never laid eyes on silver in your miserable existence! It would be just as believable if you claimed to have forged it from mithril," the wiry gnome snickered, observing his brother's futile attempts to mend the damaged helmet. "Sindri, keep your foul mouth shut, or I'll shut it for you!" Brokk seized his sibling by the collar, poised to strike, when Haemon intervened once more. "I seek Mimir. Do you know where I can find him?" The Olympian's voice dripped with an ominous tone, instantly silencing the gnomes. Cold beads of sweat trickled down their trembling bodies as they turned their gaze back to Haemon, scrutinizing him intently, attempting to fathom the enigma standing before them.
"I apologize, but why did you need this decrepit old man?" Sindri dared to ask, stroking his wiry beard. His voice quivered with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
"Hmm, I simply need him," the warrior replied calmly, his footsteps drawing him closer to the dwarves. His red eyes burned like smoldering coals, seemingly capable of peering into their very souls. The intensity of his gaze sent shivers down Sindri's spine, causing him to instinctively cower behind his burly brother.
"To be honest, I never liked the old fool anyway. So I don't think we're doing anything wrong by telling you his whereabouts, right, little brother?" Brock nervously smiled, his voice laced with a hint of malicious glee. He turned his head towards Sindri, seeking validation. And Sindri, in turn, simply nodded silently, unable to find the courage to defy his brother's wishes.
Fearful and trembling, Sindri quickly explained, "Here, take this stone. It will open the door to the World Tree, and from there, you can enter the kingdom of the Dark Elves where Mimir was imprisoned!" His hands shook as he handed the white stone to the Olympian, his eyes darting nervously between the warrior's piercing gaze and the stone.
Examining the item he received, the barbarian nodded in gratitude, his expression inscrutable. Without a word, he turned his back to the dwarves and, wielding the stone, summoned a wooden door adorned with ancient runes out of thin air. The sudden appearance of the mystical portal startled the dwarves, but before they could react, the warrior stepped through the door, disappearing in a blinding flash of white light. The door vanished as quickly as it had materialized, leaving the three dwarves to breathe a collective sigh of relief mingled with trepidation.
"Do you even realize how much this stone is worth?" Brock irritably snapped at his brother, his voice filled with frustration. He raised an eyebrow, clearly displeased with Sindri's lack of consideration.
In response, Sindri's patience snapped like a taut bowstring, and he retaliated by delivering a swift blow to his brother's stomach. The siblings' simmering conflict reignited, their disagreement echoing through the surrounding emptiness.
Weakly muttering to himself, Gunnar, the third dwarf, stared into the void and whispered, "Jormungandr, please devour these two fools," his voice laced with exhaustion and resignation.
Yggdrasil.
Haemon found himself thrust into an unfamiliar realm, a place that defied all expectations. He stood at the very genesis of the Nine Realms—Yggdrasil, the colossal World Tree. Its immense branches and roots cradled myriad realms and their diverse inhabitants. This was the nexus from which everything began, and perhaps, where it would all eventually end. Celestial bodies of unimaginable beauty illuminated the skies and the earth, casting a surreal glow that left only the tree untouched. Yggdrasil was a sight beyond mortal comprehension, a place that both fascinated and unnerved the barbarian.
It reminded him of his grandfather's dimension, a domain that possessed a similar essence but held its own unique aura. While Uranus emanated his power solely from within, here, in the presence of Yggdrasil, an omnipotent force pulsed through every fiber of existence. The tree nurtured and sustained everything around it, sharing its boundless power with all the realms linked to its ancient roots. Yggdrasil was a living entity, akin to the primordials—profoundly potent and sentient.
Haemon meticulously examined the tree, his gaze tracing the intricate patterns of its branches, searching for his next move. Standing upon its golden boughs, he couldn't shake off the overwhelming strangeness of his surroundings. The grandeur of the tree made him feel like an insignificant speck adrift in an unimaginably vast ocean, a feeling he found deeply unsettling. But before he could dwell on his discomfort, a shrill cry pierced the air, shattering his thoughts. It was a sound that jolted him into action, drawing him towards the source with the urgency of a true hero.
"Ullr, I truly have no knowledge of the heart's whereabouts!" pleaded the squirrel, folding its paws in a desperate plea. Tears welled up in its eyes as it watched winged Valkyries ruthlessly destroy its once-cherished home. The faithful servants of All-Father showed no mercy, mocking the creature's pitiful pleas. "You're blatantly deceiving me, Ratatosk! Speak up, or I'll fashion myself a hat out of squirrel skin today!" spat the golden-haired man, embedding an arrow into the creature's leg. Ratatosk screamed in agony, unable to contain its pain, providing a sickening spectacle that brought twisted amusement to the Aesir.
"I can't believe this insignificant rodent once bested Lord Thor!" arrogantly exclaimed one of the Valkyries, pointing her finger mockingly at the poor creature. "He was merely fortunate back then. If my father wasn't so tender-hearted, this creature would have perished long ago!" hissed the archer, spitting disdainfully at his captive. "Brother, he's nobody without the patronage of Hræsvelgr! And now that the old eagle has cast him aside, he's nothing more than an oversized rat!" added the red-haired girl, delivering a cruel kick to the defenseless creature's stomach.
"Yes, I'm a nobody compared to you, children of the mighty Thor, the giant slayer. So great that he was defeated in a battle of wits by a rat-like creature," the rodent retorted, unable to contain its sharp tongue in the face of their insults. Instantly, a brutal kick crashed against its face, silencing its audacity. "Ha-ha! You still dare to speak up! I wonder if you'll be able to communicate with one ear less?" The blond man pressed his knife menacingly against the creature's ear, poised to remove it, when a scream abruptly shattered the scene. Two winged warriors now stood heartless, their lives extinguished in a chilling spectacle.
Suddenly, a figure clad in darkened armor materialized out of thin air, casting an eerie presence upon the battlefield. With swift and precise movements, the mysterious warrior tore the still-beating hearts from the lifeless bodies of the Valkyries, their crimson essence dripping down his armored gauntlets. The blond-haired warrior, momentarily forgetting his own task, tightened his grip around his bow and unleashed a relentless barrage of arrows at the intruder in human form. However, the monstrous being remained unperturbed, standing calmly amidst the fallen valiant warriors and nonchalantly devouring their hearts.
Arrows pierced the creature's flesh, but it stood resolute, unaffected by the assault, as if impervious to pain. The air crackled with tension as the Aesir warriors stood in shocked disbelief, their minds struggling to comprehend the gravity of the situation unfolding before them. The red-haired girl and her brother exchanged a fearful glance, contemplating retreat as the wisest course of action. They recognized the dire threat posed by this unknown warrior.
However, the third Valkyrie, consumed by a burning desire for vengeance, refused to let her sisters' deaths go unavenged. With a furious cry, she lunged at the warrior, her sword aimed at his neck, determined to strike a blow for justice. But before she could land her strike, the warrior countered with astonishing speed, summoning a two-handed hammer into his grip. With a single devastating blow, he crushed the valkyrie's skull, her demise swift and merciless.
Calmly scratching his beard, the warrior uttered chilling words, his voice laced with dark amusement, "So many flies have multiplied today." Hoisting the hammer onto his shoulder, the barbarian took a deliberate step forward, prompting the two remaining Aesir to flee in sheer terror, their hearts heavy with the weight of their fallen comrades.
"Is this the one our father spoke of?" the girl asked her brother, her fear fueling their hurried escape from the bloodthirsty maniac masquerading as an Olympian. Her voice trembled with uncertainty.
"I have no idea, but it's likely!" the archer replied, stealing a glance backward to see if their pursuer still gave chase. To his astonishment, the warrior made no effort to pursue them. He remained rooted in place, bidding them farewell with an unsettling, almost friendly wave. Unease settled within the archer, sensing that something was amiss, but his realization came too late.
The last words he heard in his wretched existence were, "Beware, brother, a serpent!"
"And here, the mighty hero saves poor Ratatosk from the clutches of Thor's vile swine offspring," the rodent spoke with relief, scurrying towards the barbarian. It swiftly climbed onto the Olympian's body, examining and sniffing him with boundless curiosity. "What a formidable physique you possess, sir, honed in every aspect for inflicting maximum violence. Ha-ha, you're a truly fascinating individual," the colossal squirrel explored the intricacies of the barbarian's muscles with great interest.
Haemon, intrigued by the creature's audacity, grabbed it by its fur, pulling it closer to his face, and inquired, "What are you?"
"I am the former guardian of this magnificent Tree of Life!" the squirrel joyfully proclaimed, but then its voice turned sorrowful. "Or rather, I was the guardian. Now, I am but an ordinary oversized squirrel." Ratatosk shook its head, barely believing its own words.
Placing the creature on his shoulder, the Olympian posed another question, his curiosity piqued, "Where can I find the realm of the Dark Elves?"
"Oh, I'll gladly lead the way," said the former guardian cheerfully, placing two fingers in his mouth and emitting a sharp whistle. Instantly, the branches of the tree intertwined, creating a passage for them to traverse. "Hmm, you could be quite useful, creature. Why don't you accompany me?" declared the barbarian, striding towards the newly formed passage with his newfound companion.
Ratatosk hesitated at first, considering the offer, but as he surveyed the ravaged remnants of his former home, he concluded that venturing into new realms might prove beneficial after all. It was peculiar, though, that someone as bloodthirsty as Haimon would allow a lowly creature like Ratatosk to even touch him. There was an enigma within him, perhaps a glimmer of the innocent boy who once cherished cute and innocent creatures. Alas, the answer to this question may forever elude us.
Svartalfheim.
"So, Thor's children were in search of Ymir's heart?" inquired the Olympian, appearing near the murky depths of the black swamp. "Sir, your hearing is remarkably keen, I must say! Ha-ha, yes, those wretched offspring of their inebriated father indeed sought the heart. And they also wished to settle the score with me for their father's humiliation. You see, Thor is not pleased by the fact that he was bested by a squirrel," revealed the rodent, following Haimon as they ventured into the dense forest of eternal darkness.
"You defeated Thor?" With a dismissive wave of his hand, the warrior cleared their path through the thick veil of trees. "Not in contests of brute strength, of course, but in battles of intellect, I have often emerged triumphant. He desired to prove to his father that he possessed more than mere brawn, aiming to showcase his intellectual prowess. Ha-ha, what folly!" Ratatosk smirked, tapping his temple with a clawed finger.
"Dear sir, could you inform me of the purpose of our presence here?" The squirrel skillfully climbed onto its owner's back. "We are here because of him!" The warrior pointed his finger at the old man fused into the oak tree.
Mimir, the all-knowing sage of the nine realms and the keeper of the Well of Wishes, had fallen victim to a cruel twist of fate. His body was bound to the oak tree, slowly merging with the wood, a grotesque transformation that condemned him to a terrifying existence. With each passing moment, his flesh melded with the tree, sealing away his vast knowledge, dooming it to be lost forever.
"Mimir, is it truly you?" Ratatosk asked curiously, darting towards the oak tree. "Well, well, you've finally arrived, old friend, and you've brought an Olympian companion," Mimir greeted them cheerfully, lifting his head and waving at the two visitors after an eternity of solitude. "Do you recognize who I am?" Haemon approached the tree, crossing his arms over his chest. "I only possess the knowledge accessible to all, and yes, I am aware of why you're here—to gain strength to thwart Odin's tyranny. And I, in my current state, happen to be the one who can provide it," Mimir divulged, peering into the depths of the Olympian's soul. His words were tinged with an intense loathing for the one-eyed king.
"Then instruct me on how to become stronger," Haemon's voice dripped with an insatiable thirst for power and dominion. Mimir recognized in the young boy before him the same hunger he had once seen in Odin—a youth yearning for might, willing to sacrifice anything to ascend to greater heights of power. They both belonged to the same lineage, despite their denial of it. Yet, Mimir saw through the façade and discerned the true nature of the individual standing in front of him. Should he entrust the fate of the nine realms to this emerging madman, or should he remain passive, refraining from intervening at least this time? It was a weighty decision that could unleash new catastrophes, but the opportunity to exact revenge upon his ancient tormentor stirred his half-dead heart. He simply couldn't stand idly by, not this time.
"I will assist you, but I ask for a small favor in return," Mimir raised his index finger, his eyes filled with genuine hope as he gazed at the barbarian before him. The shadow emerged from behind the warrior, vehemently protesting, "No, this is going too far! We never signed up for this! Haemon is not the Lord of mercy and kindness! He is the Lord of blood and destruction, nightmares and horror!" The shadow's voice boomed with a menacing tone.
"First Skadi, then this rodent, and now an old man too! We've endured enough! We won't play the role of heroic saviors. To hell with goodness and all this nonsense," the demonic voice thundered in the barbarian's ears as the creature of darkness attempted to drag its master away. However, the warrior dismissed his servant without hesitation. With a curious tilt of his head, he asked Mimir, "What does your soul thirst for?"
Mimir calmly replied, "I want you to sever my head and then implore your wife to resurrect me." The rodent was so taken aback by these words that he nearly choked on his nuts. Coughing to regain his composure, he managed to ask, "What do you desire?"
"You heard me," Mimir responded curtly, his face devoid of emotion. Undeterred, the determined Haemon coldly declared, "Very well, but first, you must reveal to me the path to becoming stronger." He conjured a black blade in his hand, ready for action.
Chuckling softly, Mimir acknowledged Haemon's unwavering determination. "As always, the young are brimming with resolve. So be it, my brother. Behind that tree lies a well of desires, but to obtain the power you seek, you must sacrifice your eyes." Haemon followed Mimir's gaze and indeed spotted a well concealed there. Swiftly, he beheaded Mimir with a single motion, clutching the severed head and tossing it at Ratatoskr's feet. "Hold this," he instructed his rodent companion.
With a mixture of horror and reluctance, the rodent lifted Mimir's head and silently trailed behind his master. As they approached the well, Haemon resolutely tore out one of his own eyes, muttering, "This is gradually becoming a habit," before casting it into the depths of the well.