Fenrir Chapter 1 Old Story

Fenrir


Chapter 1


"They said I wouldn't make it"
They could hear the beats footsteps pounding across the floor above them. The avatar stood seemingly calm. The pair of dark glasses resting perfectly on his nose showed only the reflected fear of the survivors surrounding. "It seems he survived. No wonder Tyr is interested." The avatar said deliberately being overheard by the soldiers around him. "Who do you serve, men?"
"Tyr, our holy god who guides our hands." The reply echoed with a renewed hope. The avatar were not ordinary men. They were the direct disciples of the Gods themselves. This avatar was the left hand of Tyr, the god of war. It became clear to the men why they were here.
"Alright men, Lord Tyr sent us here to give us a taste of battle, the likes of which I have not had in a long time. In his generosity he gave you a free ticket to Valhalla, and the one who kills the beast, may even get to dine with gods before Ragnarok." The silence at the avatar's gift of hope was broken by orders and the reloading of guns. Formations were made, and soldiers were as ready as they could be. The avatar loaded his pistol and removed his glasses. The perfect blue of his eyes were enough to shake any foe and awe any ally.
"What do you think Lloyd?" The Avatar asked.
"I think the beast is an evil that Tyr has sent to us to prove our mettle."
"Cute, Lloyd, but you know I meant what you thought of our chances here."
"My lord?"
"Do you think the beast will fall?"
"I think that the cooks in Valhalla will be busy, either way."
***
I could barely make it. One of the strangest aspects of man is that we seem to run faster scared then we ever will angry. All I can hear is the soles of my boots pounding furiously against the tried concrete. The walls around me watch as I move like a wolf through the obstacles they left me. They always close doors and topple bookshelves. Don't they understand that it is not them I am after. I am not a hunter of fallen men. That is not my place, as I am man myself. I am not foolish enough to say there is no chance that I haven't fallen myself. The blood on my hands makes it impossible to make such a claim. The stairs ahead of me breaks my thoughts.  I can hear the orders and guns at the bottom. They decided to make a stand. Damn. The avatar has figured it out. They know I am after them now. This is the corruption of man. All we men have left is our free will, and the Avatars encroach on our prize with every passing day. So mankind has to fight them. Starting with me.
***
"It's here."  The avatar whispered to Llyod. "I know" was the only response.  Shadow appeared over top of the stairs; a garbage can rolled down the stairs and was knocked aside by a terrified wave of bullets. Then the nightmare moved. The black silhouette leaped into the air, it's feet pressed against the lid to the ravaged can. The screech of metal on metal was drowned by the sound of bullets and screams.
***
I placed my feet against the lid, holding it to the railing beneath me. My balance was unsteady and the pounding in my ears was no help. It took longer than I thought for the effect to sent in. When the bullets did start to appear they were sloppily aimed. For an Avatar of Tyr, he had a very poor warband.