Twilight World
Vidar withdrew his blade from the impromptu ceiling and blood gushed forth as if he had removed a stopper from a drain. Jagged teeth jutted around him like stalactites and stalagmites, which were converging on one another. A growing tide of red pooled around his feet, and he splashed as he ran towards the lit exit, firelight flickering in the distance. He dove, then tumbled across the ground as the mouth closed behind him.
Fenrir mewled and collapsed, the ground shaking as its snout settled onto the ground alongside Vidar. An exhale passed from its nostrils, the fowl air feeling as though it left a furnace.
When Vidar stood, he craned his neck to observe the nose, which had grown still. He looked himself over for injuries, but his color was a uniform red, the only variation being the white of his eyes—blinking. He was still deaf to all save the sound of his heart thundering in his ears, the the clash of the surrounding chaos was lost on him as he searched about.
The sun and moon were a memory. If not for the surrounding fires, there would be no light at all. The sky was blotted out by a darkness—a layer of pitch blanketing them like a low cloud layer. The countryside was a smear of white and black, orange and red. Fimbulwinter was peeled back, revealing a landscape dyed with the life blood of both kin and foe—much of the snow replaced by scorch and ash, the fires still pillaging what fleeting livelihood remained.
Vidar’s father, Odin, was dead—devoured by the beast which also lay dead. The sword came free of his hands as he looked at his palms. Blood wasn’t just there, it was everywhere. He might as well have been blood.
He searched the forms clashing around him, hoping to find some semblance of what he once knew. Instead he found two forms crumpled into one another on a lone hill—Hiemdall and Loki finally settling their lifelong rivalry by becoming one another’s demise.
Vidar forced his gaze away, his jaw clinching. His eyes settled on distant hills, a lone figure collapsed before them. For a moment he pitied the man and wondered what might have led to one dying so far away from everyone and everything he might have once loved.
After wiping his eyes, he recognized something resting before the man—Mjolnir, its short handle pointing skyward. Then, he realized what he was actually seeing. The figure was Thor. What lay behind him wasn’t hills, instead they were the looping coils of the deceased Jormungandr.
“All this death,” Vidar lamented, shaking his head. “Was there really no other way?” The ground shook as if a great beast stirred beneath the land. Vidar looked about. “This is it. The end.”
Gouts of tar-like smoke burst from the base of a near mountain as if breathed from the nostrils of a waking dragon. The black cloud layer peeled away from the mountain’s crest as lava bubbled over its upper rim like fingers curling over a ledge.
“Aesir,” rumbled a voice like thunder. It was a sound that came from everywhere all at once—the very land reproaching all that tread upon it. “Vanir. Elves. Dwarves. Giants. All of you murdering for your differences without seeing the single thread that makes you all the same.”
Vidar looked about to see that all fighting had ceased. This wasn’t his mind playing tricks. Everyone was facing the mountain, a collective breath held.
A pillar of red leaped into the sky, a massive form—Surt. The figure swelled in all directions. It immediately launched an attack, a strike that descended on the world like the tip of a burning sword. It threatened to snuff out all existence in a single plunge.
Blue sky twisted oval and hung in the open air, appearing like a singe on paper where sunshine had bored a hole in from another reality. Many combatants discarded both weapons and differences to converge on this new sliver of hope. Another portal opened, then another as more figures forgot their feuds.
Vidar looked up to the descending attack, thinking over Surt’s riddle. He wanted to know the answer. “Something in common?”
As if in reply, an answer came forth. The ground rumbled anew, a great many people losing their footing and faltering in their aim at threading the eyes into a new world.
“Fate. Extinction!”
Reddit Writing Prompt:
"You do know that you're all the same species, right" The Fire Giant said, staring down at the Elves, Dwarves, and dark Elves.
