Ragnar and his men moved calmly through the dense forest. The ground was uneven, littered with roots and fallen branches, making the march slow but steady. Ragnar crouched low, his sharp eyes following the tracks that cut through the underbrush. He gestured to one of his men, Haldor, a seasoned hunter with a keen sense for tracking.
"These tracks are getting fresher," Ragnar muttered, keeping his voice low.
Haldor nodded in agreement, his eyes never leaving the trail. "Aye, they've either slowed down or come to a stop. We're close."
Ragnar's lips curled into a sly grin. "They must be preparing to attack Rollo's group," he said, his voice carrying a mix of satisfaction and excitement. "The Jarl's reign will be over soon."
He muttered the words more to himself than anyone else, the thought of finally ending this conflict filling him with anticipation. This whole conflict was started because of the Jarls own paranoia, Ragnar had no desire to sit on the Jarl's throne himself—such a title meant nothing to him. Power wasn't what he craved. Fame, adventure, the thrill of the unknown—these were the things that fueled him. He wanted to be remembered, not as a ruler, but as a man who explored new lands, gained riches from the farthest reaches of the world. While the Jarl rotted and died in his own longhouse, Ragnar dreamed of dying in a distant land, a place where none of their people had been before, a place where the sun set beyond the edge of the world.
"It's nearly time," Ragnar called out quietly to his men. He drew his axe from its holster and unsheathed his sword, the metal glinting in the faint light that trickled through the trees. "We'll take the Jarl first, and then Mikael. After that, we kill anyone who doesn't surrender." After all of this he could finally turn his gaze back west.
Haldor, the hunter, pulled out a small piece of wood he had carved into the shape of a bird whistle. It was meant to signal the other group. The plan was simple: attack from both sides, catching the Jarl's men off guard. The whistle would sound like a bird's call, alerting the others when it was time to strike.
"Keep silent from here on," Ragnar ordered, and his men obeyed, crouching low and moving slowly through the brush. The forest grew even quieter, save for the soft rustling of leaves and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot. They crept forward, their eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of the Jarl's men. Barely a mile from the enemy, Ragnar could hear them now, voices rising in what seemed to be an argument. He grinned, a vicious smile spreading across his face. It was perfect—disorder in the enemy camp meant their attack would go smoother than expected. His grip tightened around his axe as he prepared to move in for the kill.
But before Ragnar could take another step, someone grabbed his shoulder. He spun around, eyes flashing with annoyance, only to see one of his men gesturing behind him. Ragnar turned, and his eyes widened in surprise. Walking through the thick brush, leading his horse by the reins, was Thorfinn. The man had dirt and exhaustion etched into his face, but his eyes were sharp as ever. Ragnar's heart leapt at the sight, and he couldn't help but smile. He stepped forward, embracing Thorfinn with a quiet laugh.
"You're a sight for sore eyes," Ragnar whispered, clapping him on the back. "Good to see you."
Thorfinn returned the embrace. "The same to you. I'm glad I got here in time."
Ragnar pulled back, his expression growing curious. "What do you mean?"
Thorfinn's face grew serious. "You all need to leave. Now. This forest is full of creatures that could tear a man apart."
Ragnar rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly. "I thought I'd be free of these ridiculous stories since Floki isn't here," he muttered, eliciting a quiet laugh from a few of his men.
But Thorfinn wasn't amused. He grabbed Ragnar's arm tightly, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "This is no joke, Ragnar. We're in danger. I've faced one of these creatures before, and it nearly killed me. It was only by the grace of the gods that I'm standing here now." Ragnar yanked his arm free and pointed toward the direction of the Jarl's group. "They're over there, unaware of the ambush. I won't give up this chance to end this conflict over some tales of beasts."
Thorfinn's jaw tightened as he stepped closer to Ragnar. "This isn't just about stories. These creatures—Ulfhednar—are real, and they'll tear your men apart before you even get a chance to swing your sword at the Jarl."
Ragnar shook his head, refusing to back down. "Thorfinn have you so readily forgotten what the Jarl and his men have done. They've beaten, killed, and stolen from everyone in Kattegat. We have the upper hand now, and I won't throw that away because of some creature you claim to have fought."
Thorfinn's frustration was growing. He had seen firsthand the devastation these creatures could cause. "You're risking everything! They are stronger, faster than anything we've ever fought before. Your men stand no chance."
Ragnar's face darkened. "We've faced worse odds before. I won't let fear guide my actions. This ends here. Today."
The tension between the two was palpable, the forest around them silent as they locked eyes. Thorfinn could see there was no convincing Ragnar, not like this. Ragnar's hatred for the Jarl had clouded his judgment, and now he was walking straight into a trap.
"Either fight with us, or wait at the camp," Ragnar finally said, his voice cold and firm. "But I won't abandon this fight."
Thorfinn cursed under his breath but knew Ragnar wouldn't be swayed. His stubbornness was legendary. Defeated, Thorfinn reluctantly nodded, turning to grab his supplies. He pulled a bag of silver-coated daggers and oil from the cart, strapping it to his side.
"Let's go," Ragnar whispered, signaling his men to move forward again.
Thorfinn followed, his heart heavy with the knowledge that they were walking into the jaws of death. Hidden behind the thick brush, Ragnar's group crept forward, their steps careful and silent. The dense forest concealed them, its shadowy cover perfect for an ambush. Ragnar raised his hand, signaling his men to spread out, forming a loose half-circle around the left side of the clearing. Thorfinn could feel the tension in the air, his muscles coiled, ready for action. On the right side, the other group moved silently, encircling the rest of the Jarl's men.
As they got closer, the sound of raised voices grew louder. Thorfinn, his sharp eyes catching movement, recognized one of the men in the clearing as Mikael. His frown deepened. What was Mikael doing? Thorfinn motioned to the others to hold back as he slipped through the trees, taking a wider angle to get a better view of what was happening. Through the gaps in the underbrush, he saw Mikael standing before a hulking figure—an enormous man, at least seven feet tall, his broad shoulders covered in nothing but a long, ragged wolf pelt draped over his head.
Thorfinn strained his ears, trying to catch their conversation.
"I told you what would happen if you returned to this forest," the massive man growled, his deep voice sending a shiver down Thorfinn's spine.
Mikael stood unfazed, his expression twisted into a sneer. "Your cooperation is what I wished for," Mikael replied, his voice cold and mocking. "Your acceptance was never of any import."
The hulking figure clenched his fists, muscles bulging under his skin. His lips peeled back into a snarl, exposing sharp, yellowed teeth. "Then it seems the boys won't be going hungry tonight," he said, a wicked smile spreading across his face.
Mikael, unfazed by the threat, reached into his chainmail and pulled out a small amulet, its surface glowing faintly in the dim light of the forest. The giant man instinctively stepped back, his eyes narrowing.
"You will let us pass," Mikael growled, holding the glowing amulet higher. "And we shall do as we please. These amulets prevent you from touching us, beast. Now, off with you." The large man's gaze remained fixed on the amulet, his nostrils flaring. The air in the clearing grew tense as Mikael's men stood ready, hands resting on the hilts of their weapons. A heavy silence fell over the clearing, broken only by the man's slow, steady breaths.
Then, the man began to laugh—a deep, rumbling sound that filled the air.
"You think I can't touch you?" he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "This amulet you bear... it causes me incredible pain, yes." He took a step forward, the grin on his face widening. "But pain means nothing to us."
As he spoke, Thorfinn's ears caught something else. The sound of footsteps—fast, heavy, and coming closer. His heart skipped a beat as he whipped his head toward the treeline. Two dark, hulking shapes moved rapidly through the trees, their forms indistinct but terrifying. Werewolves.
Thorfinn cursed under his breath. He needed to warn Ragnar and the others, but before he could act, he heard Ragnar's battle cry—the signal for the ambush to begin.
"Fuck," Thorfinn spat, frustration boiling in his gut.
His eyes darted back to Mikael, just in time to see the massive man step forward, his grin now a savage smile. He grabbed the amulet in Mikael's hand, his fingers curling around it despite the blackened veins spreading up his arm. With a roar of pain, the man crushed the amulet in his hand, ignoring the sizzling of his flesh. "You'll let us pass or—" Mikael began, but his words were cut off as the giant's other hand shot out, wrapping around Mikael's throat. Mikael's men shouted, swords drawn, the sound of the approaching werewolves was loud now, echoing in the distance, growing closer with every heartbeat.
Thorfinn's eyes widened as he saw the two creatures emerge from the shadows, sprinting toward the clearing with terrifying speed. Their forms were massive—hulking beasts with long snouts and thick, matted fur, jaws open wide, revealing rows of sharp teeth. Mikael struggled in the giant's grip, slamming his fist into the man's face with enough force to make him stumble, but the creature's hold didn't loosen. Instead, he let out a guttural laugh and tossed Mikael across the clearing like a rag doll. Mikael hit the ground hard, skidding to a stop in the middle of his men.
"Attack!" The Jarl's voice rang out, and his men charged forward, weapons raised. But before they could even close the distance, the werewolves were upon them.
Thorfinn watched in horror as the first werewolf tore into the group, its massive jaws clamping down on a man's arm and ripping it clean off. Blood sprayed through the air as the second beast leapt onto another soldier, slamming him to the ground with enough force to break bones. The giant man, still smiling, stepped forward and threw his head back. His bones cracked and shifted under his skin, his muscles bulging grotesquely as his body began to transform. His skin tore open, revealing thick fur beneath, his limbs lengthening, claws growing from his hands. The transformation was horrifying, his body contorted, his jaw elongating into a snout, sharp teeth glistening in the dim light. His human features melted away, replaced by the snarling visage of a wolf, his eyes glowing with an unnatural light.
"Supper time," the werewolf growled, his voice now a deep, inhuman snarl.
The clearing quickly become a slaughterhouse. The Jarls' men, once proud and confident, were being torn apart by the werewolves. Their axes and swords clashed against claws and fur, but they were no match for the savage speed and strength of the beasts. Thorfinn watched as one werewolf grabbed a man by the head and lifted him off the ground, his screams cut short as its claws ripped through his skull. Blood sprayed into the air, and the body was discarded like a ragdoll. Ragnar and his men charged from behind, catching the Jarl's soldiers off guard. Ragnar, his axe raised high, shouted orders to his men as they struck down the distracted guards. They thought they were in for a swift victory, but that hope was shattered as they realized what they had run into.
One of Ragnar's men, a stout warrior with a broad shield, was suddenly caught in the jaws of a massive werewolf. With a sickening crunch, the beast bit through his waist, tearing the man in half. His body split apart, intestines spilling onto the ground. His screams turned into wet gurgles, and the werewolf tossed the halves aside as though they were nothing. The screams of men filled the air, panic spread like wildfire through the ranks. Some men tried to flee, but the thick forest trapped them. Others stood their ground, fighting desperately, but every swing of their swords seemed to meet only empty air or thick fur.
Thorfinn moved through the battle, his heart racing. The world around him blurred, and for a moment, he was back in Northumbria, fighting the wolf that had almost killed him. He could feel the terror creeping in, gripping his chest like a vise. His breathing quickened, and his hands trembled as the memory of that fight played out in his mind—the blood, the pain, when the claws dug into his skin. He dreamed of that night often, he hoped he'd never have to fight a creature like that again; despite trying to be brave he still heard whispers in his own mind telling him to run. But he forced himself to keep moving. His eyes locked on Ragnar, who was still charging toward the Jarl, seemingly ignoring the hell breaking loose around him. Thorfinn saw a massive werewolf lunge at him from the side. He ducked low, sliding under its belly as it crashed forward, its claws slicing through the air where his head had been just moments before. Time seemed to slow as he slipped a silver dagger from his bag, and as he stood up, he threw it and the blade sunk deep into the creature's back.
The werewolf roared in agony, its massive body thrashing as black lines spread from the wound. The silver burned it from the inside, searing its flesh. The beast spun wildly, knocking over men who tried to take advantage of its pain. It was uncontrollable now, its strength doubled by the desperation to rid itself of the silver burning inside. Thorfinn didn't wait to see what happened next. He pushed through the fray, dodging swords and claws alike as he made his way toward Ragnar. The Jarl had finally turned to face him, and they were locked in combat, their axes clashing with a ringing sound that echoed through the clearing. Ragnar's eyes were wild with fury, his focus entirely on killing the man who had caused so much pain.
"Where are you going, boy?" a voice growled behind him.
Thorfinn barely had time to react before he was grabbed and thrown through the air. He flew nearly ten feet before crashing to the ground, pain shooting through his ribs as he rolled across the dirt. When he looked up, he saw Mikael standing over him, a cruel smile on his face. Mikael was a large man, even more imposing up close. His chainmail clinked as he moved, and his fists were clenched, blood dripping from his knuckles. He stepped forward, his shadow looming over Thorfinn.
"You should be dead," Mikael sneered. "But no matter, I wanted to do it myself anyway," he replied.
Thorfinn barely had time to get his bearings before Mikael was on him. The older man moved with a speed and precision that Thorfinn didn't expect from someone of his size. The first swing of Mikael's sword came fast, a downward strike aimed for Thorfinn's head. Thorfinn sidestepped just in time, feeling the wind from the blade as it cut through the air. Mikael immediately followed up with a horizontal slash, forcing Thorfinn to duck low. His speed was the only thing keeping him from being sliced in half. "You think you can live after what you did to my daughter?" Mikael growled, his eyes wild with rage. "I'm going to rip you apart, limb by limb."
Thorfinn's heart pounded in his chest, anger building inside him. He gritted his teeth and charged at Mikael, slashing with his sword, but Mikael was faster than he expected. With a flick of his wrist, Mikael deflected the blow, pushing Thorfinn back and forcing him onto the defensive. Thorfinn stumbled, regaining his footing just in time to block another strike aimed at his midsection. The force of the blow sent a shockwave through his arms, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. Mikael pressed the attack, slamming his sword down in a brutal overhead arc. Thorfinn blocked it, but the impact nearly sent him to his knees. He quickly rolled to the side, avoiding Mikael's follow-up strike, and came up swinging. His blade met Mikael's, but the older man barely flinched. Mikael was stronger, his blows heavier, and his technique sharper. Every time Thorfinn tried to land a hit, Mikael was already there, parrying or deflecting it with ease.
Thorfinn dodged a thrust aimed for his gut, sidestepping and swinging at Mikael's legs, but Mikael jumped back, avoiding the strike. Before Thorfinn could recover, Mikael slammed into him, his shoulder knocking the wind out of Thorfinn's lungs. Thorfinn stumbled back, gasping for air, but Mikael was relentless. He swung his sword in a wide arc, and Thorfinn barely managed to block the blow in time. The force of the impact rattled his bones, nearly knocking the sword from his hands.
"You're too slow, boy," Mikael sneered, pushing Thorfinn back again. "Did you really think you could defeat me?"
Thorfinn could feel his muscles burning, his body straining under the weight of every block and counterattack. Mikael was overwhelming him, his strength and skill pushing Thorfinn to the edge. He needed to end this quickly, or he wouldn't last much longer. Mikael swung again, this time aiming for Thorfinn's chest. Thorfinn stepped back, the blade missing him by inches, and countered with a slash aimed for Mikael's neck. Mikael ducked under it, stepping inside Thorfinn's guard and driving his knee into Thorfinn's stomach. Thorfinn doubled over, gasping for breath, but Mikael wasn't done. He grabbed Thorfinn by the back of his tunic and threw him to the ground.
As Thorfinn scrambled to get up, Mikael stood over him, his sword raised high. "I'm going to kill you," he hissed. "And then, I'll make sure to cut that disgusting creature out of my daughter's belly ."
Something inside Thorfinn snapped. Rage boiled up from deep within him, raw and uncontrollable. His hands shook, an he summoned the pale blue light which began to swirl around his palms. Mikael brought his sword down, but Thorfinn slapped it with his hand making the metal groan. Mikael's eyes widened in shock as Thorfinn roared, pushing the sword aside and slamming his fist into Mikael's ribs. A sickening crack echoed through the air as Mikael's ribs shattered under the force of the blow. Mikael stumbled back, clutching his side in pain. For the first time, he looked unsure.
But before Thorfinn could press the attack, something crashed into him from the side, sending him tumbling across the ground. Thorfinn rolled to his feet, his vision swimming as he saw Niklaus standing before him, sword drawn.
Niklaus looked hesitant, almost apologetic, but he still moved toward Thorfinn. "I'm sorry," Niklaus muttered, "but I can't let you kill him."
Thorfinn growled, his grip tightening on his sword. "Get out of my way, Niklaus."
Niklaus shook his head. "I can't."
Before either of them could strike, a werewolf barreled through the trees, slamming into Niklaus and knocking him aside. Thorfinn cursed under his breath, before using the distraction to his advantage. He spun on his heel and ran, his eyes scanning the chaos around him. Men screamed as they were torn apart by the werewolves, their bodies ripped to shreds as the beasts feasted on their flesh. Thorfinn ducked and weaved through the carnage, narrowly avoiding another werewolf as it lunged at him. He had to find Ragnar. He had to—
A roar of pain cut through the noise, and Thorfinn's eyes darted to the side. Ragnar was on the ground, a massive werewolf looming over him. The beast backhanded Ragnar, sending him skidding across the dirt before it turned its attention to the Jarl, who stood nearby. The werewolf grabbed the Jarl by the throat, lifting him off the ground as he struggled to breathe. Thorfinn didn't hesitate. He reached into his bag, pulling out another silver dagger and throwing it with all his strength. The blade sailed through the air, embedding itself in the werewolf's eye.
The werewolf roared in agony, its body convulsing as the silver burned through its brain. With a final, desperate thrash, the beast collapsed, dead.
The Jarl fell to the ground, gasping for air. "Thank you," he muttered, looking up at his savior.
His eyes widened when he saw who it was. "You..." he whispered, his voice hoarse with anger.
Thorfinn walked up to the werewolf's corpse, yanking the dagger from its skull. "You're welcome," he said coldly.
The Jarl's face twisted in rage. With a sudden burst of energy, he drew his sword and lunged at Thorfinn, but Thorfinn was ready. He sidestepped the thrust, grabbing the Jarl's wrist and twisting it until the sword clattered to the ground. In one swift motion, Thorfinn drove his dagger into the Jarl's throat.
The Jarl gurgled, blood pouring from the wound as he stumbled back. Thorfinn watched as the light slowly faded from the man's eyes.
But before the Jarl died, he leaned in close, his breath hot against Thorfinn's ear. "Your son... is dead," the Jarl whispered, blood bubbling from his lips. "I... killed him."
Thorfinn's eyes widened, a cold fury settling over him. He twisted the dagger, ripping it from the Jarl's throat as the man collapsed, lifeless, to the ground. Thorfinn then turned quickly as he rushed over to Ragnar, who was slumped against the roots of a tree. Blood dripped down Ragnar's face, his eyes dazed and unfocused from the blow he had taken. Thorfinn knelt beside him, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him to his feet.
"Come on, we need to move!" Thorfinn urged, but Ragnar shook his head, still looking around, confused.
"This... this can't be real," Ragnar muttered, blinking hard, trying to clear his vision. "The Ulfhednar... the wolves... is this Hel?"
Thorfinn gritted his teeth, slinging Ragnar's arm over his shoulder and dragging him along. "We're not dead yet, but we will be if you don't start moving."
Ragnar stumbled, barely able to walk straight as they made their way through the forest. Thorfinn glanced around, trying to find a way out while keeping an eye on the battle behind them. As they moved, he reached into his pack, pulling out a pot of oil and pouring it behind them, leaving a trail of it on the forest floor. "Retreat! Fall back!" Thorfinn shouted to the others. It was all he could do for them now. They were losing men fast. His eyes darted over to Niklaus, who had been knocked to the ground by one of the massive beasts. But instead of tearing him apart, the werewolf sniffed him, growling low in its throat before stepping over him and moving on to the next man.
Thorfinn frowned, but he had no time to dwell on it. More werewolves were noticing their retreat. One, in particular, a hulking beast nearly nine feet tall, turned its glowing eyes on them. It was the same one that had spoken to Mikael earlier, only now, its human features had all but vanished, replaced by thick fur, elongated claws, and a monstrous snout. The ground shook slightly with each of its heavy steps as it charged toward them.
"Ragnar, stay with me!" Thorfinn growled, glancing over his shoulder as the massive werewolf roared, its blood-soaked teeth gleaming in the flickering light of the fire around them. Ragnar was still dazed, barely able to stand, so Thorfinn threw him behind, out of harm's way. The werewolf growled, its blood-soaked teeth gleaming in the dim light filtering through the trees. Its fur was matted with gore, and its eyes gleamed with intelligence—not the mindless rage Thorfinn had expected. This one was different, more dangerous. Thorfinn reached into his bag and pulled out a silver dagger, hurling it at the beast. The werewolf slapped it aside with a snarl, the blade clattering harmlessly to the ground.
It knew. It was smart.
"You're a clever one, aren't you?" the werewolf growled, its deep, guttural voice thick with malice. "Any last words, meat?"
Thorfinn's heart pounded in his chest, but he didn't draw his sword. Instead, he reached into his bag again, pulling out more pots of oil. "Just a few," he said, his voice steady. He hurled the pots at the werewolf, and again, it batted them away. But one of them shattered on impact, soaking the creature's arm with the thick, flammable liquid.
The werewolf looked down at its oil-soaked fur, baring its teeth in a mocking grin. "Is that it?" it growled, stepping closer.
Thorfinn didn't respond. Instead, he glanced down at the trail of oil he'd spread behind him. His eyes narrowed, and he raised his. "Forbaerne! Ácwele!"
His eyes glowed gold as a sphere of flame erupted from his palm, igniting the oil. The flames raced along the ground, engulfing the werewolf's arm and quickly spreading across its fur. The creature let out a deafening roar of pain, thrashing wildly as it tried to put out the fire. But Thorfinn had soaked the area well, and the beast's fur caught easily, the flames licking up its body. The werewolf howled, its massive form flailing as it tore at its burning flesh. The thick pelt of fur acted like kindling, and soon the entire creature was engulfed in flames. Its roars of pain echoed through the forest as it thrashed and stumbled, crashing into trees and sending burning branches falling to the ground. The inferno spread quickly, the trees and brush catching fire as well, turning the once-dark forest into a hellish landscape of flames. The werewolf's howls echoed through the trees, a deep, guttural sound of pain and fury as it struggled to escape the flames.
Thorfinn didn't waste another second. Grabbing Ragnar again, he pulled him along, dragging him away from the burning wreckage of the forest. The heat from the flames pressed against their backs, urging them forward as the fire spread faster than either of them could run.
"Move! Now!" Thorfinn shouted, pushing Ragnar ahead of him. Ragnar, still dazed but slightly more aware, stumbled forward, his feet barely finding purchase on the forest floor. However they still continued to run through the thick forest, their footsteps pounding the earth beneath them. Thorfinn reached into his satchel as they ran, grabbing a small vial and thrusting it into Ragnar's hand.
"Drink," he barked, his breath coming in sharp bursts.
Ragnar took the vial without hesitation, downing the bitter tonic. His eyes immediately sharpened, his limbs feeling lighter as energy surged through his veins. They jumped over fallen trees, ducked under thick branches, and pushed past brambles that tore at their clothes. Despite the dense canopy overhead blocking out most of the light, they could still see the faint glow of the setting sun filtering through the trees. But time was running out. Once the forest plunged into darkness, they'd be as good as dead.
"We need to move faster," Thorfinn growled, glancing up at the darkening sky.
They reached the edge of the forest clearing where Thorfinn had hidden the horse and cart. Ragnar scrambled onto the back of the cart, his body still aching from the earlier fight, while Thorfinn grabbed the reins and spurred the horse into a frantic gallop. The forest was too dense for the horse to run properly, and Thorfinn knew there was a real chance they could injure the animal. But what choice did they have? They had to escape, and fast.
The cart bumped and jolted violently as the horse barreled through the forest, the wheels clattering over rocks and uneven ground it would likely break if it wasn't for its divine nature. Thorfinn kept his focus ahead, trying to navigate through the twisted trees and thick undergrowth, but his mind raced with thoughts of the creatures behind them. The werewolves—they weren't far off.
"Thorfinn!" Ragnar shouted, his voice urgent. "Behind us!"
Thorfinn cursed under his breath, turning his head just in time to see the dark, hulking shapes of the werewolves moving swiftly between the trees. They were fast, faster than they were and would catch up any moment. "Take the reins!" he shouted, shoving them into Ragnar's hands. Without wasting a second, Thorfinn jumped into the back of the cart, drawing his sword and pulling out a silver dagger from his bag. The horse struggled to keep pace as Ragnar whipped the reins, trying to outrun the creatures. Thorfinn focused on the closest werewolf, its yellow eyes gleaming in the dim light as it closed the gap between them.
"Flíeh fǽgð!" Thorfinn muttered under his breath, his eyes glowing faintly. The silver dagger flew from his grasp, spinning through the air before embedding itself in the werewolf's chest. The creature let out a deafening roar, its massive form tumbling to the ground as the silver spread through its veins, turning its flesh black. But the others were undeterred. One of the werewolves lunged at the cart, claws extended, trying to drag Thorfinn off. He barely had time to raise his sword, catching the creature's strike and slashing it back. It snarled, saliva dripping from its jaws as it swiped at him again, but Thorfinn ducked under the blow and slashed across its chest. Blood sprayed across the cart as the werewolf howled in pain, stumbling back.
Another werewolf charged from the side, slamming into the cart and nearly toppling it over. Thorfinn staggered but managed to catch his balance, his hand already glowing with destructive energy. He struck out with his fist, hitting the werewolf in the face. The force of the blow shattered its skull, sending shockwaves through its body. The beast was sent crashing towards his tree whimpering as it shook on the ground.
Ahead, Thorfinn saw a massive slanted tree in their path. "Ragnar!" he shouted. The man nodded and began to speed up.
Thorfinn raised his hand toward the tree. "Astryce!" he roared. The spell caused the wood to explode outward, splintering the massive trunk. The tree began to fall just as the cart sped forward, the horse galloping as fast as it could. They barely made it past before the tree came crashing down behind them, crushing two of the werewolves that had been chasing them. However the mental strain of using so much magic hit Thorfinn like a wave. He nearly collapsed, his body shaking from exhaustion, but he forced himself to stay upright. There was no time for weakness.
Suddenly, the cart lurched violently to the side, sending both men flying through the air as another werewolf crashed into them from the side. Thorfinn hit the ground hard, the breath knocked out of him. His vision blurred, blood pouring from a gash on his forehead. He tried to push himself up, but his limbs felt like lead. Through the haze, he saw the werewolf—massive, hulking, and bloodthirsty—stalking toward him. Its eyes gleamed with malice, its jaws dripping with blood. It was ready to finish him off.
But before the beast could strike, another figure leaped out of the shadows, crashing into the werewolf and sending them both tumbling across the forest floor. Thorfinn's vision cleared just in time to see the fight unfolding. Arwyn, in her werewolf form, had pounced on the larger wolf, her claws ripping into its flesh as they rolled through the dirt. Her movements were swift, ducking under the beast's heavy blows and circling around it.
The larger werewolf snarled, trying to shake her off, but Arwyn was relentless. She slashed across its back, tearing chunks of fur and flesh away before lunging at its throat. With a savage bite, she ripped out its neck, blood spraying across the forest floor. The beast collapsed, twitching for a moment before going still. Thorfinn groaned as he crawled out from under the wreckage of the cart, his body aching and his head spinning. He looked around, seeing Rollo, Floki, Torsten, and Arne emerging from the bushes, weapons drawn.
"Thorfinn!" Rollo shouted, rushing over to help him to his feet. "You're alive, thank the gods, what in Hel are you doing here."
"I was about to ask you the same," Thorfinn muttered, wiping the blood from his face. His vision still swam, but he managed to stay upright.
Floki let out a laugh, though his eyes darted nervously between the bodies of the fallen werewolves. "This forest truly is cursed. Did I not say it? Monsters everywhere!"
Arwyn, now back in her human form, approached Thorfinn. She was covered in blood, her breath ragged, but her eyes were bright. Without a word, she threw her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.
"I thought you were dead," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
Thorfinn returned the hug, his body finally relaxing for the first time in what felt like days. "I'm not that easy to kill."
Rollo, Floki, and the others gathered around Ragnar, who was still dazed but alive. Floki knelt beside Thorfinn, looking him over. "You took quite the beating, didn't you?"
Thorfinn smiled weakly, his body aching. "It's good to see you too."
(AN: So we've finished this chapter. The next one will be the last chapter in this mini arc and will bring us to the last part of this entire arc as a whole. After that we have the time skip of four years before they sail to England again. Things are gonna be a bit different than canon but I'm sure you guys can expect that from me now, I hate rehashing canon, it's a nightmare for me when I have to write something so similar to the plot. Anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter.)
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