There is no escaping death. There is no running, no hiding, no bargaining, and certainly no fighting its embrace. By the taking of the very first breath, the day of death was already carved in stone. It haunts us for each and every step thereafter, shadowing every action and judging each choice.


    All men die; this is a simple truth, an inevitable fact of life. Some men refuse it, claiming they will achieve immortality. Some, like the cursed Steelfathers, even manage to stave it off for a time. But all roads end eventually. Nothing lasts forever, not even thrice-damned Steel.


    When a man dies is carved in stone; there is nothing that can change or alter that fact. What is not so immutable is the how and why of your death. That is up to you and you alone.


    Rain falls in heavy sheets, turning the blasted, war-torn hellscape of a once verdant island into a muddy, blood-soaked mire home to nothing but the dead, the dying, and those too stubborn to know better.


    Men sing their death songs as blades rise and fall, cleaving life from limb with every stroke. Corpses and fallen bodies litter the earth, filling craters with the dead and dying, as stone-faced men meet their fates.


    One man stands alone, surrounded by nothing but the bodies of those who would ravage his homeland. With one hand, he wields the hilted remains of his ancestral weapon, Twice-Forged Gram. With the other, he calls upon a flame most ancient, a fire found only in the birthplace of all existence.


    Nine men approach this lonely specter of death; nine Fathers of Steel approach a man they have sworn to kill. Rain falls as storms call, yet these nine men have not the slightest difficulty in crossing such treacherous terrain.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "Hallr Blackhand, Slayer of Men, Master of Flame, and Warlord of Gotland!" The leader of the band calls out, his hands laden with lightning as his voice booms like thunder, "Face the truth and know that you have failed!"


    "It is not too late for our mercy!" Another of the band steps forward, a heavy axe slung across a shoulder. "Lay down your arms and we shall grant you a swift death!"


    "You know you have no chance!" A third Steelfather now lends his voice, "We Jomsvikings are more than your match! Bow your head in surrender and we shall spare your home your fate!"


    "That you think I would ever surrender to the likes of you and your ilk speaks poorly of your sanity," the one called Blackhand answers, his voice giving hope to his homeland as his ash-blackened soul surges with strength renewed, "As long as I stand, as long as I have strength in my bones, you and your Master will never be rid of me!"


    "This I Swear"


    Valkyries circle on high as men go to meet their fates, each more eager than the last to collect the soul of a man as legendary as the Blackhand. They know well that Blackhand is to die this day, and yet...


    They pause as something changes.


    High above the world, in the branches of a tree called Yggdrasil, an old, one-eyed man considers the board as his opponent, his Enemy, takes a fire-blackened piece out of play.


    A sly, toothy smile curls across his face as a raven whispers in his ear. A hand reaches out to right the now-fallen playing piece, its weathered surface charred by countless flames. A single tap and the blackened token shatters as nine fragments scatter to the winds.


    The Enemy frowns.