The J?tnar, their master included, paid little heed to Halfdan for the remaining day. They took their evening meal accompanied by songs and games, which thankfully he was spared from participating in. He ate what was available, knowing it might be a long time before food was ample again. And as soon as he could, he lay down on a bench by the wall and slept.

  When he woke, he found various items next to his boots on the ground. New clothing, but also a great two-handed hammer with a bronze head. Halfdan got on his feet and picked up the weapon, hefting it to get a feel for the weight. Fairly light, easy and fast to swing, but still with a decent pull towards the top end. He would have preferred an axe, but one could not complain about gifts freely given.

  The J?tnar had all awoken before him, as he found the longhouse empty. Yet as if he had been watching, Utgarda-Loki appeared, as did a thrall bearing breakfast. “You’ve found my gifts. Come, eat, and we shall set out afterwards.”

  “Thanks,” Halfdan mumbled. “For your hospitality.” That was as courteous as he could make himself be; while he was indebted to the J?tun, he was irked by the undertone of condescension that ran through everything Utgarda-Loki said and did.

  “Say nothing of it. Come, come, sit.” Together, they broke the fast. Simple fare of bread and porridge, but it would sustain Halfdan well, and he ate his fill. Once done, his host got up and gestured for a thrall to join them. The latter did so, a young lad with a downcast expression, carrying a bag. “Some provisions for you, and a few things we’ll need at the gate,” Utgarda-Loki explained. Together, though the slave stayed three steps behind, they left the longhouse.

  They had not yet left the homestead when Halfdan noticed a small rock lying on the ground. With a quick step, he walked over and swung his new hammer, watching it pulverise the stone.

  Utgarda-Loki observed him with an amused expression. “Did the pebble offend you, Master Halfdan?”

  “Never hunt with an untested bow,” Halfdan remarked simply. The J?tun laughed in response, and they set out on their journey.

  *

  They walked in silence. Utgarda-Loki in the front, leading the way. Halfdan one step behind and to the side, hammer over his shoulder, eyes alert. The thrall three paces further back, carrying the bag.

  Halfdan eyed his guide from time to time. Supposedly a great sorcerer, but he looked like any other J?tun – of whom the berserker had killed quite a lot. He had promised to help Halfdan open the gate but been sparse with the details on how. By his own admission, the J?tnar were not able to travel between the realms.

  Halfdan still felt the sting of recent betrayals, and a voice whispered that Utgarda-Loki was leading him into a place of great danger, controlled by his own sorcery.

  Yet in the end, Halfdan did not doubt his intentions. His ability to smell deceit had proven true with both the other Loki and Freydis. Even J?tnar respected the laws of hospitality. Utgarda-Loki had given him food and shelter, along with gifts such as a new weapon suited for his strength. Lastly, despite his bravado about Odin sending pawns to do his dirty work, the J?tun had a shared interest in seeing his namesake captured once more and returned to imprisonment.

  With all these thoughts churning in his head, Halfdan continued, trudging the same road he had gone just the day prior. And as the sun slowly sank towards the horizon, they approached the barrows holding not only the restless dead, but also the gate that would lead Halfdan to Myrkheim and Sindri’s forge; according to the nornir, his final destination before Hel.

  *

  The sight of the entrance to the subterranean complex unnerved Halfdan momentarily. All the dangers he had faced, the torturous battles, Loki stealing Sif while Freydis watched – he had only evil memories of the place. And all of this had happened the night prior; while the berserker’s physical wounds healed swiftly, his spirit had barely had the chance to mend. But there was no time to dally nor could he ask for a reprieve; the J?tun sorcerer was here, now, and the sooner their dealings were done, Halfdan on his way to Myrkheim, the better. So the berserker followed Utgarda-Loki down into the depths, following the secret tunnel that led straight to the chamber of Midgard.

  It was as Halfdan had left it. Bodies lay scattered across the ground, killed in various gruesome ways. “I should have brought more thralls to clean up,” the J?tun remarked casually as he stepped over the body parts of his warriors.

  Halfdan felt no remorse. They had attacked without warning, and their intervention had disrupted his plans, allowing Loki to escape. Not that he imagined Utgarda-Loki would change his ways or felt any remorse either, given his relaxed manner while surrounded by their mangled corpses. He only stopped once he stood by the carved gate in the middle of the room.

  “So what now?”

  “You needed power, didn’t you?” Utgarda-Loki held out his hand. Halfdan looked at him confused until he saw the slave step past him to hand over the bag. From it, the J?tun pulled out a knife and a bowl; he threw the bag and its provisions into Halfdan’s arms. “For your journey.”

  “Thanks.”

  With a smile, Utgarda-Loki slit the throat of his thrall, catching the lifeblood in the bowl.

  “What was that for?” Halfdan asked in shock. He did not particular care for the slain J?tun or the plight of slaves, but killing someone unarmed and defenceless did not sit right with him.

  “Power comes at a cost.” The sorcerer drank the blood. His eyes glowed red, and he slapped a hand onto Halfdan’s shoulder. “Open the gate, now!”

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  Disturbed, Halfdan hesitated for a moment. Yet the thrall was dead; any refusal would not bring him back, only waste his sacrifice. Stretching out his hand towards the rune of wealth, the berserker spoke its name. “Fé.” It began to glow, as did the entire tree carved onto the ground. This time, the gate held; all of it shone with bright light.

  “Good luck!” Utgarda-Loki spoke with a grin, and his hand on Halfdan’s shoulder turned to a push, sending him stumbling into the gate.

  *

  Darkness enveloped Halfdan, same as his previous journeys across realms. Unlike his arrival to J?tunheim, it was not replaced by sunlight. He was reminded of his first trip instead that saw him inside Urd’s well, shielded from light. Yet his feet had firm ground underneath them, and as he reached out, he found no walls or other barriers. Looking down, he saw the faint, fading glow of runes.

  So this gate goes both ways, Halfdan thought. That made sense; the Dwarves must have built these in each realm, or several of them, at least, connecting them. Unfortunately, Halfdan still lacked the power to control such a gate, but he knew now that it was possible for him, as long as he grew stronger. Not that he foresaw an issue regardless; once he had rescued Sif, she could open any gate as needed.

  Belatedly, it struck Halfdan how he had been greeted when arriving in J?tunheim. In addition, the Dwarven gate on the other side had been guarded and protected with traps. Grabbing his new hammer from his back, he scowled into the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Moments later, [Keen of Sense] alerted him.

  The sound was barely audible. Like pebbles falling into moss. But it continued and grew louder until resembling rocks crashing down. Turning his head, Halfdan tried to make sense of what he saw.

  Before his eyes, the ground itself began to rise, like a molehill. Yet it kept increasing in size until it towered over the berserker, and rather than dirt, this new shape was made from stone. It eventually assumed what could be considered a humanoid form with limbs, though it had no particular head to speak of, let alone a face. In a far more alarming development, it raised one arm and lashed out against Halfdan.

  *

  Despite its origin and the slow manner in which it had taken form, the rock creature was fast. Thanks to [Swifter Than Them], Halfdan was still able to evade, and the ground was torn open where its stony fist struck. The berserker hit back, smashing his hammer against the attacking limb. He managed to chip away a few specks. Cursing and retreating, Halfdan considered his situation. He realised now why Utgarda-Loki had given him a hammer for a weapon for this journey; a sharp edge accomplished nothing against such a foe, but blunt armaments might stand a chance.

  Taking further steps back to buy time, Halfdan glanced around quickly before focusing on his enemy again. He was in a small cave, which explained the dark. Some kind of fungus growing on the walls provided faint illumination now that his eyes had become more accustomed to it; importantly, it gave him a sense of how much room he had to work with. Unfortunately, not much.

  The creature came against him once again. Halfdan had his rage to fall back on, but he decided to delay until he could learn more. He had no idea what manner of monster he fought against, what vulnerabilities it possessed, and if others lurked nearby. Given he could not be certain that victory was even possible against a being made of stone, retreat might be the better option. While it did not lay in a berserker’s nature to flee, Halfdan was up against supernatural enemies, and it had saved his life against the frost J?tun previously.

  As if reading his mind, the rock creature positioned itself between Halfdan and the way out of the room. Great. Having prevented his easy escape, it charged him. He awaited it, jumping aside as it lashed out at him, delivering a blow in retaliation as before.

  Except his enemy was wilier and faster than that. Using the same manoeuvre twice proved a mistake; knowing where he would be, the monster had already moved its other arm to slam it against Halfdan.

  It struck his chest with the force a raging bull. He flew across the cave wall, smashing against it. The only thing worse than the sound of his bones breaking was the sensation. Blood filled his mouth, and pain flooded his mind.

  With no choice left other than succumbing to death, Halfdan let the agony channel into fury and called upon [Berserker's Rage]. Instantly, all pain evaporated. Despite the injuries to his body that would leave an ordinary man crippled, the berserker rose to his feet, his bloodshot eyes glowing.

  As the monster attacked him once more, Halfdan stood ready. He did not try to evade, but struck his hammer where the creature’s head would be, if it followed the shape of humans. Fuelled by his full, rage-enhanced strength and further increased by [Pain to Power], the weapon shattered the rock. The mighty blow sufficed to make the creature stagger backwards, and Halfdan wasted no time delivering a second strike in the same place. He continued again and again, hammering his enemy until it broke apart, crumbling to the ground.

  As he gave the final blow, he roared an unintelligible battle cry born of sheer wrath. Halfdan the berserker had come to Myrkheim, and he would not be denied.

  *

  One day prior to Halfdan’s arrival, the ancient gate in Myrkheim glowed and revealed three travellers. A young skáld and a priestess, both human, in the company of a man, once of Asgard and J?tunheim, now rejected by both. He kept a firm grip on the child’s shoulder as he peered into their surroundings. “Bloody Myrkheim,” he mumbled. “I hate being underground.” He raised his voice to shout into the darkness, “Hail and well met!”

  Born of stone, a creature rose from the ground to stand before them with limbs that would turn their flesh and bones into fine dust. A crack appeared in what might be considered its face. “Hum, hum. Who speaks?”

  “I am Loki, a name that requires no introduction. As an enemy of the Aesir, I am also an enemy to the stunted little bastards that plague your home. I seek a meeting with your elders.”

  “Hum, hum. A foe of fleshling is friend to rock. I will let you pass, hum, hum.”

  “Much obliged. Not much has changed in the last thousand years, eh?” Loki gave a smile and a wink, which the troll was either unable or unwilling to reciprocate. “You should be aware that we might be followed. Tall man of Midgard with an expression like someone pissed in his mead. He serves Odin and absolutely loves Dwarves, those little scamps. You may want to deal with him.”

  “That’s not true!” Sif interjected. “He doesn’t even know –”

  A quick slap across her face silenced the skáld. Loki looked back at the troll. “Forgive me. As said, he’s not someone you want to let through.”

  “Hum, hum. I guard the gate. I deal with intruders, hum, hum.”

  “And fantastic work done so far. Come along, the pair of you,” Loki added at the others, digging his fingers into Sif’s shoulders to force her along. “Let’s leave this spectacular specimen of trollkin to his task.” The deceiver smiled to himself. “We have some new friends to make.”