Nine runes he wrote. Nine spells he spoke. Nine bones he broke. And Ragnar?k came.

  *

  Halfdan stalked through the forest, crouched to nearly half his height. Being well over six feet, any keen-eyed sentinel would easily have spotted him, but boars used scent more than sight, and Halfdan approached his prey with the wind against him. He kept the tip of his hunting spear low; while the surrounding foliage kept most of the sunlight away, he saw no need to risk the glare from the metal alerting the boar.

  He had followed its trail for a while, easily done given the size of the beast; the very thing that had aroused his suspicion. No porcine creature should grow big enough to leave such destruction in its wake, uprooting trees at will.

  As he saw the boar, he considered his suspicions confirmed. From snout to tail, the beast was longer than the berserker stood tall. The massive tusks held bloody stains, and its bristles made it seem like a hedgehog, armoured with thorns.

  Despite Halfdan’s precautions – perhaps he had underestimated the boar’s eyesight – he did not remain undetected. The entire demeanour of the beast changed. Most importantly, it lowered its head and charged.

  The tusks served as spears to gore and rend even armour made of steel; Halfdan wore only leather, as such costly armaments were for jarls and kings. But he had his own spear, greater in length, with a strong cross guard like any good weapon for hunting.

  Preparing himself, Halfdan placed the end of his spear against the ground to brace it, tip aimed at the charging boar. He knew that such a beast could easily kill a full-grown man; he could well imagine that the blood stained on its tusks did not entirely come from other animals. His own blood rushed through him, pounding in his ear as he watched the boar in full run.

  As usual, staring his possible demise in the face, Halfdan felt a euphoria; to be a berserker meant no fear of death, quite the opposite. Nothing exhilarated him more, and within him, his [Unbridled Fury] longed to be released, as its very name demanded.

  Not yet. He relied on [Wielder of Weapons] to help him. He aimed the spear straight under the boar’s mouth. As it ran at him, full speed, its own strength and charge caused it to be impaled. The cross guard beneath the iron tip was meant to hold the boar back and keep it from reaching Halfdan; it would have done so, except the haft, made from wood, broke.

  Reacting swiftly, Halfdan dropped the broken pieces and grabbed each of the tusks with his hands. Yellow eyes against blue, they stared at each other. The boar seemed possessed of the same gift as Halfdan; it shrieked and squealed in anger as they wrestled, beast pitting strength against berserker.

  Any man possessed of other gifts would have faltered immediately, but like all of his kind, Halfdan had [Strength of Body], which he had augmented more than once. He gritted his teeth, knowing that if he lost his grip or footing, the boar would tear his stomach open, and yet in spite of that, or rather because of it, he enjoyed the contest.

  A contest he was losing. The boar, also gifted with supernatural might, pushed forward inch by inch. Those gleaming tusks threatened to stab into Halfdan’s abdomen, tearing it open to eviscerate him.

  The threat of imminent death summoned Halfdan’s instincts. His eyes turned bloodshot, and [Berserker's Rage] took over. With the full fury of a berserker, he pulled each of the boar’s tusks to opposite sides. A roar escaping his throat, he tore the head of the beast apart, brain and blood splattering across the forest floor.

  Halfdan felt a touch of power come over him, confirming his suspicion; berserkers did not grow stronger killing ordinary animals.

  Some gifts allowed their wielder to understand and recognise attributes on sight; not so for Halfdan’s kind, who had a more visceral approach. He stuck a finger into the slain boar’s wound and then ran it across his tongue, letting the blood activate [Taste Your Foe].

  [J?tun-blooded Boar. Strength, Natural Hide, Charge, Gore]

  Looking at the creature, grotesque in size, Halfdan felt brief remorse; despite the boar being clearly touched by the supernatural, he was not sure whether it had deserved to die. He had killed it to protect the town, or rather the townspeople, who only tolerated the berserker because of his powers. Halfdan suspected he had more in common with this being, living free in the forest, than with those herded behind palisade walls.

  But it was done, and it would be criminal to waste what he had slain. Grabbing the boar by the legs, he slung it over his shoulder, picked up the tip of his ruined spear, and began the walk home.

  *

  A simple hut provided Halfdan with protection from the elements and a place to keep his possessions. After building a fire outside, he began cooking the meat of the boar; the rest of it, strung up and skinned, hung on a post for now. The fur would make for poor leather or pelt, but if he treated it with oil, he could nail it to his roof; it would help to keep water out and heat in.

  That would necessitate going to town, as Halfdan had neither oil nor nails. Tomorrow, he decided; he was in no mood to hurry before the gate closed for the night, as the shadows were already long. Instead, he closed his eyes and summoned the vision of his [Gift of the Berserker] before his inner eye.

  It appeared like a tree to his mind’s sight. As the root and foundation lay [Unbridled Fury], the core of any berserker. It allowed him to go berserk in battle, and all of his other abilities sprouted from it. The stronger he made his fury, the stronger his other skills could grow.

  Four of those skills grew like separate branches upon the tree. The first, [Strength of Body], made him physically more powerful and in turn had its own two leaves: [Hardier Than Them] and [Swifter Than Them]. Halfdan especially appreciated the former of the two, protecting him from diseases and other ills while improving his constitution. He had already increased that skill as much as currently possible, three times.

  The other three branching skills were [Wielder of Weapons], [Berserker's Rage], and [Keen of Sense], each granting or increasing different powers, and all with leaves of their own, providing further skills. [Twice the Edge] and [Deeper the Cut] rested upon the first, [Pain to Power] and [An Enemy to Sorcery] on the second, with [Mend Your Wounds] and [Taste Your Foe] on the third. Over the years, Halfdan had unlocked and augmented them all, but often only once; life was peaceful in this corner of the Mark, and he rarely had cause or need to kill.

  Today had been such a case, rewarding him with a Seed of Power. The roots of his tree glowed. Those greedy for more of their gift would immediately use it. But nobody knew tomorrow or what challenges it brought; Halfdan preferred keeping it in reserve, like a squirrel hoarding nuts. He already had another such possible augmentation saved up from killing a band of raiders last winter; the new Seed of Power could keep the old one with company for now, until the day came when he needed them. Satisfied with this, Halfdan opened his eyes and looked to his evening meal.

  *

  Around noon, Halfdan made the small trip to town. Some called it Randaros from the hill it lay upon by the river, though it was nearly too small a settlement to deserve a name; a few hundred inhabitants, he would guess. It only differed from a village by having a blacksmith, a temple with a goei, and the occasional peddler travelling through, though few had braved the roads of late. Another token of the times was the palisade, built only last year, to let the townspeople sleep more at ease. And while it would keep wolves out, Halfdan doubted it could do the same for a determined band of raiders. For such enemies, his two-handed axe was the better remedy.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  He had not brought it with him; Halfdan knew his very presence made the townspeople uneasy, and seeing his manslayer slung across his shoulder only made it worse. Nobody felt comfortable around berserkers, given what their rage often made them do; and in Halfdan’s case, had made him do. At least the menfolk would be outside the town, working the communal fields. Nearly everybody in town were farmers, except the aforementioned smith and goei.

  That also meant no watchmen; the gate simply stood open, and Halfdan walked through with no trouble. Rather than go straight for the smithy, he made a small detour to leave the pelt of a beaver in front of a specific house before walking onwards.

  The smith was at work at his furnace; on a hot summer’s day like today, it had to be unbearable, but Halfdan suspected that the man’s gift contained skills to ease the discomfort. The rhythm of his hammer continued briefly until he finished his work – a horseshoe – and he placed both aside to look at his visitor. “What it’ll be?”

  Brusque, but not hostile; the smith was the only person to have something approaching regular dealings with the berserker, and Halfdan took no issue with being blunt in their dealings. “I need a new nail for this.” He placed the old tip of his spear along with a new haft he had carved this morning; all he required was a replacement nail that kept the two attached. “Four more besides, of the small sort you make.” That should suffice to keep the boar’s pelt stuck to his roof.

  The smith nodded. “Payment?”

  Halfdan showed the tusks of the boar. “Both are yours.” A generous payment, but given the scarcity of metal, even for something as small as nails, less would not do.

  The smith repeated his gesture. “I’ll make them now.”

  Their transaction done, Halfdan turned to leave – only to find a goei with an overbearing smile staring at him. “We need to talk.”

  Halfdan regarded the priest with barely concealed dislike. Their conversations never bode well for the berserker, not since the first one where the old man had sealed Halfdan’s fate at ten years old. “Then talk.”

  “Not a conversation for here. Come along.”

  *

  The priest, despite the weather, walked with a cloak, wearing the hood up. He bore the signs of age with wisps of grey hair remaining on his head, though he kept his face shaved. Halfdan could not guess at the true number of his years; the goei had looked thus even in Halfdan’s childhood, and the berserker wondered if having the gift of a god included longevity as a skill. Perhaps once the gods were satisfied with a servant, they preferred to keep them around rather than finding replacements.

  They walked to the small temple; an outdoor shrine made from a circle of upraised stones, with a crimson-stained rock in the centre. The townspeople brought animals for sacrifice, and in darker times, humans as well. Preferably thralls, though this particular settlement had none; nobody in town possessed the wealth to buy or the strength to seize any. Except Halfdan, but his agreement was to protect the people, not bring them slaves nor leave them to go plundering for his own gain.

  “What is it?” Halfdan asked impatiently as they arrived within the circle.

  “I need you to bring a message to Odinsvi for me and return with the answer.”

  “I’m not your errand boy.”

  Seeing the berserker make to walk away, the goei hurried to add, “It is not a personal matter! It pertains to the survival of the town. Which,” he continued, “you have sworn to protect.”

  An oath taken when Halfdan was little more than a child, and one that he disliked to be compelled by. Yet berserkers already walked the line between civilisation and savagery, and he knew the stories of those who lost touch with their human side. Oath-breakers, whose gifts became cursed and twisted into that of an outcast; little more than beasts at that point. And as much as Halfdan appreciated the solitary life of the forest, he was not yet prepared to lose his last bond to humanity.

  So he stayed and turned back to look at the priest. “What then?”

  “You must have noticed the omens even living on your own. Has winter not arrived early and left late, year after year?”

  Winters had been harsh, true, but this happened on occasion; Halfdan had not attributed this to anything other than the vicissitudes of nature.

  Encouraged by the berserker’s silence, the priest continued. “It is worse here. Each harvest borders on famine, and last summer saw pestilence yet again.”

  Halfdan recalled these events, though he had given them no significance, perhaps because they held none for him; he relied on forest rather than field for sustenance, and whenever disease plagued the town, he simply stayed away until it had passed.

  “What do you expect from me?”

  “You must go to the temple in Odinsvi. Tell the priest of Odin of all these omens and what we should do,” the goei instructed him.

  A journey of two weeks there, and another two back, to a place filled with people that held no interest to him. Though given the presumed danger on the roads these days, perhaps the priest was right to send a warrior rather than a farmer. Halfdan demurred, but ultimately agreed. “Fine.”

  “Another matter,” the priest quickly continued. “It’s time you took an apprentice.”

  Halfdan was hardly a youth, but he had yet to find a grey hair in his beard. “You expect me to die soon? Are the roads that dangerous?”

  “Of course not, but a suitable candidate has presented herself. Show yourself, child,” he called out, and a dark-haired girl of twelve years appeared, stepping out from behind one of the stones.

  Halfdan growled, both at their conversation being overheard, but also at being saddled with this new responsibility. Yet again, he could not refuse. He had a duty to train his eventual replacement, same as Ylva had once trained him. “Fine,” he repeated through gritted teeth. “I’ll take her hunting.”

  “Do so now before you leave for Odinsvi,” the priest demanded.

  “Why?”

  “Because midsummer is in two weeks, and I see no reason to delay her awakening until next year.”

  Demand upon demand, but Halfdan could push back against this. Nothing in his oath or responsibilities said that he had to accept an apprentice the moment one was presented to him. This would also mean an end to his peaceful solitude; it would take at least a year or two before the girlchild could be expected to fend for herself.

  Yet Halfdan knew the location of a bear’s den that could help her awaken a berserker’s gift, and perhaps it was best to get it over and done with. In fact, once the girl was trained, she could take over some of Halfdan’s duties – such as running errands for the priest. The berserker looked at his would-be apprentice. “What’s your name?”

  “Sif Halvorsdóttir,” she spoke in a quiet voice, suggesting an intimidated state of mind.

  If so, Halfdan’s immediate anger upon hearing this did nothing to calm her. He reached out and grabbed the goei by the collar. “You dare bring Halvor’s child to me?”

  Unlike Sif, the priest seemed entirely unmoved by the berserker’s anger. “I examined her. She is of the right age and disposition.”

  “Does her mother agree?”

  “She is dead. Pestilence,” the goei explained in a calm manner. “None of the neighbours will take her in.”

  The news rattled Halfdan sufficiently to release his grasp on the other man’s clothing. He rarely took notice of deaths in the town, but he should have expected this; after all, the goei had also chosen an orphan the last time to take up the role of berserker. This did make Halfdan wonder if his latest presents, left in front of Halvor’s house, had ever reached his widow. He did not put it above the townspeople to have absconded with them.

  Weary from all the news and his own emotions, Halfdan saw no point in further arguing. “Come along.” He turned around and walked away, a twelve-year-old girl hurrying after him. After a brief visit to the smith, the berserker left the town, a spear across his shoulder and a child in tow.

  *

  The priest of Odin watched the berserker of his little domain leave through the gate. With a smile, he closed his eyes and saw the tree representing his [Gift of Odin’s Servant]. Above the crown of leaves, he saw it written in the stars.

  [Task complete: Send the berserker to Odinsvi]

  Thanks for trying out my story. This is a berserker litRPG set in the nine worlds of Norse myth. We start in Midgard, for now. In the course of the story, Halfdan – and any potential companions – will travel far, increase skills and unlock new ones, upgrade their gifts, and pursue a quest across the nine realms.

  This is a standalone novel, already completed, and all chapters will be uploaded to RR.