In death they rolled, breath to breath, striking at each other in a storm of burning blood that left a smoking black cloud behind them. And Thor knew nothing more, nothing but the monstrosity before him, the blood and the battle that he would not lose, no matter the cost, no matter ...
Colossal, the Dragon surged.
It was of no avail.
Thor matched it, screaming and howling and, measure for measure, lifting the battle-ax in smoking blood only to bring it down again. And finally they grappled in utter darkness, all strength exhausted, only hearts rising to the collision of souls that had brought this titanic battle to the world.
Thor struck again at the Dragon, no sight, no sensation to draw him through the conflict. He had lost it all, lost all that he had ever been. For now there was only this final conflict to end his life. But it no longer mattered because nothing mattered but this – this fight between what cursed the world and what defended it.
Old guardian of the people …
Then there was a slow throe of the Dragon and Thor found himself suddenly on top and strangely distant from the world as if all his life had been this moment, as if this moment was all there had ever been and all he had ever been. And with a savage, bloody roar Thor brought the battle-ax high, pausing to aim straight and true, and the Dragon lay still, smoking and blood-drenched in black and Thor hammered the steel once more, lifting his entire body into the blow with all that remained within him.
The blow struck deep, deep, and the Dragon received it with a convulsive rise of its head and an instinctive reaction of its body, twisting.
But it did not strike back.
White and faint, Thor watched the air smoke, as it had always smoked with the blood of the beast because this was all there had ever been—this moment, this battle. He dragged the thick smoking blade through the wound, watching. And then, with the sheer force of battle, he lifted the battle-ax again and brought it down once more upon the wide blackened cleft in Leviathan's neck.
The battle-ax struck clear to the spine, biting deep. And Thor, with the last reserve of a strength he never knew he possessed, tore it free, twisting away to fall heavily across the cavern floor.
In darkness Thor rolled, for this was no longer the world he knew. This was a world apart, a world that had always existed but was only known by those who had defied the Dragon.
Everything was dark and bloody and deathlike as Thor rose to his knees, leaning forward upon his forehead. But he still held the battle-ax, the battle-ax in his hand. And behind him lay the Dragon.
In a light haze, Thor struggled, lifting his head.
Darkness, darkness everywhere.
Thor moaned in the white pain of dark, dark death. But he knew he had claimed the victory, though he could feel no victory. He cried out, his hand locked so solidly around the ax that he could not release it. For his hand was the ax, all his soul there, in the hold.
In sheer defiance, in victory, Thor brought a foot beneath him, and stood, all his remaining strength in the effort. Then he swayed above the monstrous, black-scaled beast on the floor. But as he caught again the sight of it Thor stood even straighter, staring down.
Leviathan lay still.
No breath escaped Thor. He no longer commanded breath. Something had gripped him, something he could not resist and which he no longer held any will to resist. In some inner heart, he knew.
It was over.
Leviathan lay at his feet, as was fitting.
Thor took a step back, gaining distance from the beast. But it lay still, unmoving. He took another step in darkness, watching, raising the battle-ax in a dead arm. But it did not move.
With fading, fading strength, Thor stepped back, counting— six, seven, eight, and then nine steps from the beast. He stood his ground, hovering between life and death, staring. But the Midgard Serpent did not rise, did not stand or pursue.
It was dead.
As it was meant to be.
Thor did not grimace or smile, cast no illusion of joy. He raised his head, seeing the hazy, thickening darkness around him, closing in from the edges of all that he was.
Dark, dark; it was there.
Death...
A familiar voice, a brother's voice, brought him around.
Thor turned to see a face, a strange, familiar face. The man was staring tragically upon him, tears in his eyes. Thor gazed numbly at the sight, beholding someone that he knew, but couldn't remember. Then the man stepped forward, reaching out, his face in pain, tears falling.
Thor grimaced, glaring.
“An age of heroes,” he whispered.
Death struck Thor in the knees, bringing him to the ground. And Thor finally fell, leaning on a hand, the other hand frozen round the ax. Then he collapsed, teeth clenched through darkness ...
To light ...
Connor kneeled numbly over his friend.
It was over, and Connor leaned his head back with a groan.