Honuse Relaiyent

[Shadowed]

History split because I'm unsure of character limits per post. Also, this site hates my horizontal rules.


http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v467/CryingShadows/HonuseRelaiyent.jpg

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Biographical Information
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Name: Honuse Relaiyent
Primary Element: Bio
Secondary Element: Lightning
Race: Human (Modified)
Alignment: Honorable Evil
Gender: Male
Age: 642
Apparent Age: 47
Eyes: None
Hair: None
Height: 8'3
Weight: 435
Home: Originally medieval Norway, but no home after the age of 65.

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Visage of the Damned
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Appearing as a mostly human giant, Honuse is exceptionally tall, twice as broad as the average man, and much more heavily muscled. His eyes were removed, leaving dark pits in their place. His head is permanently bald; a result of absorbing excessive electrical energy. His body is covered by a network of scars, along with electrically-induced runic tattoos across his entire body. What little skin is visible is extremely pale, though most of it is hidden in tattoos and scars. In addition, very little skin is exposed, due to his thick leather armor.

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The Second Skin
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His armor consists of a matte black bodysuit, gloves, boots, and executioner's mask, all made of dense leather. However, a technique learned during a fight with a giant granted him the ability to grow biological modifications through his armor, allowing it to remain intact.

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Arsenal of the Lawmaker
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His stock of melee weapons was procured by the warrior priests of Eldar Njörðr specifically for Honuse. The arsenal consists of forty small throwing daggers – twenty on each side of his ribs, held horizontally by leather sheaths. A pair of hatchets sit in a cross X fashion along the small of his back, while a pair of five-foot-long swords rest on either hip. A medium-length, thin blade rests in a sheath along the outside of each calf. Each blade is matte black steel, from pommel to tip.

His final sword was one he procured after slaying the Lawmaker. It is a demonic blade of foreign make, incorporating a hilt polished in crimson and gold, a demonic aura swirling about the black cord wrapped around it. The guard juts outward in skeletal fingers of obsidian, surrounding a blade that is invisible to mortal eyes. Only a God may see the terrible designs upon the steel, for it reveals a living image of the souls Honuse has personally sent to Hel, of their weary bodies wading in rivers of blood. From pommel to tip, the blade is exactly seven feet long. The blade is named Alsvid, meaning “All-Swift” - the name of one of the horses that pulled Sol's chariot.

Finally, Honuse has a pair of swords attached directly to his skeleton. The blades extrude from the top of each arm, midway between wrist and elbow, roughly following the plane of his arm, albeit a bit higher in elevation. The tip of each blade stops three inches past Honuse's fingers when the digits are fully extended. As with the rest of his arsenal, the blades are matte black, offering no visible shine. The blades are firmly seated in his skeleton, preventing them from moving or being removed.

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Disciplines of the Abomination
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His strengths include his exceptionally dense muscle mass, granting power equal to five men. His sense of sound and smell have been heavily modified, to make up for his lack of eyes. In addition, he uses abilities that sense biological matter and electrical fields, including bioelectric fields, to navigate. He was granted the Vision of the Wraiths by Odin, for his successful slaying of a giant; the gift grants him the ability to see the world as if through a moderate fog. Colors are difficult to grasp, but shapes become clear when they are within twenty-five feet.

While his body is large and strong, it is not very agile on its own. He has excellent control while fighting, due to modifications and enhancements, but his control is still vastly limited when compared to other skilled fighters. He compensates for this with increased reflexes, and a moderate ability to think through situations, while also relying on instincts.

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Concerning Magic
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Honuse is a master of both the biological and electrical schools of magic. All ‘spells’ stem from the basic pool of knowledge; each iteration is merely a slight restructuring or reinterpreting of the base spells, allowing for moderate changes as the situation requires. The strength of the spell necessitates the casting time, concentration, and energy drain – a simple tweak in adrenaline production requires scarcely a thought, while creating a cage of electrical energy requires extensive focus.

In the field of electricity, Honuse Relaiyent draws upon the wellspring of electricity housed within his skeleton. His entire body was imbued with power after absorbing a lightning bolt cast by Thor; from that time, he was able to wield electrical currents with fair prowess. The primary effects of this school is the ability to create and shape electrical currents, as well as modulating the polarity.

In regards to the biological school, the Lawmaker has the ability to modify the genetic code of himself, and any non-sentient biological entity, as well as the ability to absorb biomaterial and shape it temporarily to his own use.



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The Champion Found
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The village was lost.

At the outskirts of the small hub of civilization, a small farm sat engulfed in flames, the orange tongues of the conflagration caressing the thick fields of wheat surrounding the land. Several boys, not yet considered men, lay dead outside the small cottage, their swords still in hand as they fell. In front of their corpses, a lone woman, the mother of the slain children, hung from a hastily erected post, her head lolling to the side as she struggled to remain conscious.

Her eyes rose from the ground; a small contingent of soldiers approached her, flanking a tall, regal man wrapped in expensive silks, carrying himself as would a king. The man nodded to his left, causing one of the warriors to break away in front of his comrades, unsheathing his sword in the process. Without a moment’s hesitation, he swung upwards, taking the woman’s head from her shoulders, flipping it backwards to roll into the smoldering ashes of the collapsing house.

Taking a moment to survey the warning, the Lord continued his walk, casually observing the carnage his men had wrought. Though the wrath of Thor be risked, such a brazen attack was necessary; his enemies were gaining territory and strength in arms at an alarming rate, requiring him to move ever faster to his goals. The destruction of this village, so small it had not even a name to it, was a vital step in finding another being like him, one with the strength of body and sharpness of mind to master the realm of the biological.

And so the raid had launched to grand success, slaying hundreds of unsuitable men and women, killing the children out of hand, for fear of eventual retaliation. The village had been purged of the unworthy, leaving only the handful his captains had seen fit to bring before their lord. The group of captives sat blindfolded and subdued in the unofficial town center, where the various roads all met as one, leading through the mountains to where true civilization rested along the coast. Many bore the bruises and cuts telltale to a fight taken to the enemy, not of a sheep herded into captivity; those without such marks were slain at the lord’s behest, without mercy nor warning.

One man, whose face and flowing blonde hair was covered in far too much blood to be merely his own, turned his head to face the imposing visage of the lord. Though his blind was as tight as the others were, it was as if he could see, could smell, or taste, or hear the whispers of malice coming from this man, and had offered what further resistance he could. Yes, this one appeared more intelligent, keener of sense than the others; he bore the marks of many blades, and yet did not relinquish himself to the frailty of pain, as had his fellows. His shoulders were broad, his muscles taut, obviously used for work rather than show; his years had been spent working the earth to the crust, and his body to the bone.

Smiling, the lord nodded slowly at the man. Four of the warriors standing guard darted forward, taking the captive under his arms, hauling him forcefully to his feet. The man, who was even taller than he had appeared previously, was led to a waiting cart, where he was forced to sit. A soldier standing in the back of the cart raised a large metal club, and, with a powerful swing, connected with the captive’s head, knocking the farmer unconscious without so much as a groan.

Smiling again, the lord boarded the cart with his newfound champion, to begin the long journey back to his fortress, where his true work waited for him.

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The Betrayal
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He had been betrayed.

Pain. He was pain. The white of pain slowly ate away the black of unreality. The pale gnawing of agony chewed through the ever present gloom of unconsciousness.

He was not unconscious.

Fear. He was fear. The black of fear slowly ate away at the white of pain. The dark gnawing of agony chewed through the ever present glare of life.

He was not alive.

The black, the white, the dark and the light. None of them had coherent meaning.

Honuse Relaiyent had been betrayed.

Honuse Relaiyent was dead.

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The Rebirth
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A lone scream pierced the night. It lasted for one second. Then five. Then ten. As it neared thirty seconds, a wet gurgling sound replaced the scream before falling silent. A lone man lay on a stone altar, bound at wrists and ankles by thick ropes. His eyes were blindfolded, covered by a thick cloth that slowly absorbed the flow of blood from the left socket.

Three men, all shrouded in the dim light of the stars shining through the tower windows, watched in silence as the Damned writhed in plain agony.

“Remove the next one.”

The deep voice echoed across the stone from a shadowed throne on a viewing balcony above the makeshift operating room. Though but four words were spoken, in an utterly mild tone, all three men standing below bowed instantly at the sound. The one closest to the head of the 'patient' picked up a rusted, bloody dagger in his right hand, letting his long, dirty fingernails scratch along the metal hilt.

Plucking the blindfold off the victim's face, the one holding the blade gazed dispassionately at the free-flowing blood already covering the man's flesh. The features of this poor soul were almost entirely hidden in the crimson flow; the dim light of seven flickering ceremonial candles did nothing to enhance visibility. Scarlet blood flowed into his open, gasping mouth, causing a panicked choke to emerge.

As soon as the victim settled back down, the knife wielder raised his weapon, then muttered a soft prayer.

“O Lord Odin, may thine hand guide this, thine blade, as it doth pierce the abomination, cleansing his body and soul, that it may be pure unto thee.”

With a decisive stab, the 'surgeon' buried the blade into the lone eye of the Damned. Blood squirted in a high arc, landing with a gut wrenching splat on the cold stone floor. The jagged metal gouged deeper, scooping around the optical nerves. Muscle tissue was rent asunder, torn decisively under the rusted blade. The sounds of tearing flesh, intermingled with the screams of the abomination, filled the tower to overflowing as it swept across the fortress.

The man dug deeper, tearing clean every bit of matter still attached to the victim's skull. As he made a deep jab, his fingers slipped on the accumulated blood. The tip of the rusted blade sliced dipped into the pupil, exploding the fragile eyeball in a cloud of gore. The man on the table screamed his final chorus before succumbing to agonized sleep.

The knife wielder replaced his weapon on the table before settling his gore streaked digits on a crude metal spoon. He hefted the utensil, then dug it deep into the eye socket, removing the cruor and bits of crushed and mutilated tissue. Satisfied, the man replaced the blood-soaked blindfold over the eyes of the Damned, then withdrew with his companions from the tower.

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Eldar Njörðr
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Honuse Relaiyent was no longer a man.

He was a monster.

He stood atop the same tower he had been in for the last – the last what? Days, weeks, months, years? He didn't know. He couldn't know. A single day and a thousand years had passed during that long, cold winter of agony. After his eyes had been removed, Honuse had slipped into a deep coma. His body had required every available resource to fight the corruption, to fight to simply keep itself alive. Therefore, it had turned off his mental functions, leaving him alone in the tortured wasteland of his mind.

Honuse's mind thought back to the moments before, when his thoughts had returned to him. His body was in constant torment, but he was alive. He could think. Move. Stand. He had done all of that, and more. He had acquainted himself with the rough, scarred pits where his eyes had once been.

Yes. His eyes. His beautiful, soft blue eyes. How the women of his village had adored those eyes. Now they were lost to him forever. His long blonde hair now framed pale skin and empty holes.

In his self-exploration, he had found various other modifications to his body. Whereas before, he had been a normal man of somewhat above-average height, he now reckoned himself to reach over eight feet. His muscle mass had increased a hundred times over, and he instinctively knew that he was much heavier. Yes, Honuse had gone through many changes this past lifetime of torture.

The most remarkable thing, however, was his other senses. He was intimately in tune with the feel of the breeze on his naked backside. He could smell the hint of oncoming rain on that breeze, the distant scent of flowers and food, warmth and liveliness. He could hear the song of insects traveling the walls, the sound of a thousand distant voices.

It was maddening.

Suddenly, a new scent pierced Honuse's nose; it was sharp, so clean and crisp it was almost a painful experience. An equally sharp sound, the noise of two hands coming together in a mocking clap, accompanied the odor. Turning towards the sound, Honuse raised his head, sightless pits staring deep into the eyes of the intruder.

“Very good, Honuse. I'm impressed.” A rich, deep, cultured voice rolled across the tower. The acoustics of the stone increased the volume further, making Honuse wince at the noise.

Finding his tongue, the man who had once been called abomination responded. “And to what honor have I attained to receive such praise, O Lord?”

“Such humble words, from the new Champion of the world.”

Honuse snorted a nervous laugh. “Champion? I am but a humble farmer, O wise King.”

“How do you know that I am king, when ye have not eyes to see?”

“Your words are not that of a man such as I; they are of a manner fit for a lord of these lands.” He genuflected as he finished speaking.

“Arise, my champion. You are correct; I am the lord of this fortress. And perhaps, with your cooperation, I may be the lord of yet more.”

“I find myself abiding in your home, without thought nor recollection of how I came to be here. I presume my debt of life is in your hands, Lord. What would thou command of me?”

“Swear to me your fealty. Swear to my name, Eldar Njörðr, your undying loyalty, your honor above life and death.”

“I swear it, my Lord. I swear upon thy name, Eldar Njörðr, that I will serve thee in life and death, with my honor upon thee.”

The Lord smiled. “Though your eyes may not see it, I am well pleased with you, Honuse Relaiyent. You will commence payment of your debt at once, by learning all that I have to teach you.”

“Yes, Lord. I shall obey.”

Honuse Relaiyent was no longer a man.

He was a servant.

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The Waking Eyes of the Blind
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Honuse Relaiyent was in pain.

His nose burned continually, the result of breaking it several days previously, upon walking directly into the mantle hanging along the far wall of his Lord’s visiting chamber. The heavy wood construct had not yielded an inch when the servant’s face, propelled at a rapid clip, hit the edge. Yet the pain of the injury was a grain of sand to the shame felt over such a mistake.

His body ached, the result of twenty hours of near-constant exercise, learning to utilize his newly augmented muscles fully, as well as teaching himself to compensate for his strength when necessary. It was one of many lessons hard-won, for he had been unable to wield anything less sturdy than a spoon without breaking it.

And yet, after several weeks of nonstop training, he had yet to fully embrace the changes inflicted upon him. His mind seemed unable to reckon the fine-tuning of his muscles, incapable of deciphering the new scents and noises assailing him through every waking minute of his life, even affecting his dreams, the only escape to his past existence that he had. His lack of so much that he took for granted through the years of his life took their toll on his confidence, making him regret swearing the oath upon his honor, to serve Eldar Njörðr with his every breath; life would be easier, would he the chance to leap from his tower.

“Thou art troubled, young Honuse.”

The voice rose from the balcony overlooking the former abomination’s chambers, though it did not come as a surprise; he was slowly beginning to recognize the scent of his master, as told by the exotic scents with which the king adorned himself.

“Yes, Lord. Though I was tasked to undertake rigorous training since my awakening, I have yet to master the basics of controlling the modifications bestowed upon me. My hands crush glass as they would paper, leaving me to beg of another to assist me in such simple tasks as drinking water. I have dented the very walls of this castle with every misstep, and feel deafened at the sound of a bird’s cry, though it be far from my ears.”

“I imagine that is so, child. The changes to thine body are those that can be done by another, yet only thou art capable of changing the mind to accommodate thine newly refined body. Thou must embrace that which I have embraced, and honor that which I honor; verily, thou must become an adept of the earth.”

The thick brows over the pits of his eyes dropped in confusion as Honuse tried to reconcile the words in a meaning he could understand. He had heard of druids, of course; men so close with the earth that they felt they could commune with it, as one would beseech the gods. But to become an adept would imply control over the earth, something that none other than the gods should be capable of.

“I see the confusion in your face, my servant. Come. The realm of the physical is seldom done justice in words.”

Eldar Njörðr led his servant through the corridors of the fortress, exiting into the sunlit courtyard at the rear of the grounds; the area was a paradise, surrounded by tall trees and bushes, with a shallow brook running through the middle, lending a cool, peaceful air to the garden. The former abomination followed, navigating by the sounds and smells of his master, until he felt the refreshing slap of wind across his face, graced by the touch of the warm sunlight.

Suddenly, without making a sound, Eldar Njörðr plucked a branch from one of the nearby trees, slapping it across the face of his servant. When Honuse Relaiyent opened his mouth to protest, the piece of foliage was jammed down his throat, causing him to retch and gasp for air. The calm voice of his master pervaded his panic, winding its way through the fear in a sinuous dance.

“The rough bark of the tree is no different from the soft tissue of thine throat. They are one in spirit, molded of the same base materials. They share the life breath of Odin, for they are alive in his spirit. Do not fight the embrace of nature, mine servant; conquer it as would the gods! Focus yourself on the branch. Force your will into its core, and partake of its life.”

Feeling the dark weight of unconsciousness approaching, Honuse Relaiyent poured his resolve into steeling his will, to do as he was commanded. He thought to the foreign object in his body, feeling the roughness of it on his tissue, tasting it, experiencing it. Still gagging, he pictured small, insignificant portions of matter comprising the severed piece of flora, then pictured the components breaking down.

Something shifted within him. The branch became suddenly malleable; feeling a fresh wave of confidence, the former abomination doubled his efforts, imagining the branch melting. He felt its solidness dissolve into liquid, which he suddenly swallowed in his rush to draw breath, eliciting a hacking cough. Dark brown liquid shot from his mouth, missing his master by inches. Despite his servant’s lack of control, Eldar Njörðr was pleased with the man’s progress.

“So you see, young one, the frail bonds between life; when a man has the will to grasp the power of the gods, the lesser elements of this world bow down in subjectivity. You, Honuse Relaiyent, are now a lord to the plants of this land.”

[Shadowed]

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The Embrace of Hel
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Ten thousand men lined the shores. Ten thousand, bearing all manner of fine weaponry, riding horses gilded in iron and brass, carrying mighty banners that bespoke the heroic deeds of their host. Ten thousand stout warriors, Icelandic marauders come to despoil the lands ruled by Eldar Njörðr.

Standing atop the rocky hills overlooking the coast, Honuse Relaiyent stood patiently by, stretching his growing senses into the distant Viking horde. Through his journey to mastery over life, the former abomination found yet another way to overcome the handicap his lack of eyes presented; his mind was so keenly focused to the harmonies of biological matter that he could discern in his mind the shape, size, and presence of men.

The muscles in his arms bulged as he hefted a terrible standard, shouting in exultation at the encroaching army. Behind him, five hundred of the bravest soldiers in the land answered the cry, adding their own voices to the tumultuous roar. The riotous anger of the defenders spread tangibly across the rocks, a foreboding pall cast over the marauders. With an answering cry, the pillagers broke into a charge, covering the expanse of open sand rapidly.

The waves kicked up into froth as it was churned by the stampede of horses, shifting unnaturally as the ground shook from the punishment of the charge. Far above in the sky, Loki sent flocks of scavengers and carrion-eaters, circling in anticipation of the feast to come. The clarion call of their shrieks joined the sound of trumpets, heralding the slaughter with all speed. The morning sun rose higher in an instant, striving to give Sol a clearer look at the battle. Far out at sea, Jörmungandr hissed in amusement, laughing at the vain conflicts of mortals.

Spinning around to face the men under his command, Honuse Relaiyent flashed the banner left, right, and left once more, signaling the first volley. The air filled with the sharp twang of bows releasing, followed by the shrill whistle of arrows in flight. Dozens of men dropped to the ground, writhing in pain as the sharp metal of the arrowheads punctured their skin, finding unprotected flesh, or else plowing through the weak areas of the armor.

Their screams forced a new dynamic into the charge; the survivors of the volley were no longer running for conquest, but for revenge, to bring honor and victory to their fallen brothers. The rage filled the air with electricity, as though Thor himself were riding to battle this day. The whining of horses grew louder as they approached the steep paths up the foothills, diverging into hundreds of smaller streams, moving to surround the paltry force of defenders. A second volley launched, followed by a third, thinning the numbers of the horde even further.

As sand gave way to grass and brush beneath the invaders, an ancient stirring shook the land; an unconscious will that had remained dormant for tens of thousands of years suddenly awoke, its mind grasped by the will of Honuse Relaiyent. The former abomination turned his face to Sol, feeling the cool ocean breeze across his face. His arms were thrust to the heavens, holding the standard aloft, eliciting a cry from the birds flying above.

“O ancient and powerful earth, I command you to my bidding. I am Honuse Relaiyent, champion of Eldar Njörðr, who is much loved of the gods. I hold your will as my own, and demand fealty on this day.” He screamed into the air, consciously pouring his will into the ground below, feeling the semi-intelligent mass of life serving as a collective consciousness for the land. Though it was without a mind, not truly a thinking being, it had a will of its own; to flourish and grow, whatever the cost.

“You are in peril, great earth. You stand in the face of death itself, staring into the abyss of fire and steel. You will be torn asunder, despoiled, robbed of life. Permit me your strength, and you will feast on the blood of the invader, nourished by their pain. Release unto me your fury, great earth, and rend yourself to their affliction.”

The warriors at his back stood proud, not daring to show the doubt they felt as only silence answered their champion’s call. The birds continued to shriek, the invaders screaming incoherent rage, the arrows still piercing the air. Their hope fell, though their resolve was untouched. Grimly, they set their full attention to the slaughter to come, notching yet another arrow and taking aim.

As the volley flew to the central column of Vikings, now growing perilously close, the missiles failed to strike any of their intended targets; the ground shook violently, sending up a spray of rocks to assail the riders. Sinewy vines and roots sprung from the ground, ensnaring the hooves of passing horses, bringing the charge to a thunderous halt. Trees swayed and snapped, crushing the pillagers by the dozen in a wave of unmitigated destruction. Nearly three thousand men died in the space of a dozen heartbeats, their bodies cast abroad in a spray of blood and gore, feeding the hungry wildlife below.

With the flora of the hills bent and broken, the ancient spirits of the earth returned to their dormant state, shocked at the pain felt; nevertheless, they understood the worth of their sacrifice, and took solace in that fact. The marauders broke ranks around their fallen brothers, losing much of their cohesion in the mad rush to reach striking distance of the defenders. Arrows sang out at the will of their masters, thinning what numbers they could in the bare seconds left for such attacks; within moments the melee was at hand.

With renewed vigor, the approaching wave of flesh fell upon the ranks of the defenders, slamming shields and swords into armor. Honuse Relaiyent, still holding the banner in his left hand, accepted a polearm from his assistant, the man tasked with ensuring that the Champion did not fall. As the first of the Icelandic invaders reach his position, the former abomination swung the pike horizontally, using the sharpened blade along the tip as a sword with tremendous reach.

The steel tore through the unarmored necks of the enemy, releasing gouts of blood through the air, to land upon the thirsty earth; the ground drank deeply, relishing the rare treat as a means to regain its lost strength. Horses flooded past, their riders too focused upon the line of archers to react to the bulwark of men standing to receive such a rush. Pikes and longswords were thrust upward, spearing the riders through the momentum of their own headlong rush. The beasts, finding themselves without riders and oftentimes injured, fled into the hills, occasionally dragging their former masters along behind them. Blood was everywhere, pooling upon the ground faster than the earth could drink it in, splashing through the air with every body that fell upon it.

As the mounted soldiers broke through the line, they were surrounded, cut down by a second line of archers firing across the lines, striking any target that posed a threat. With the horsemen past, the marauders left on foot continued their approach, bringing the battle to a furious melee. Swords flashed through the damp air, slaying entire waves of the invaders, cleaving the flesh of all who came near. With a thunderous roar, Honuse Relaiyent charged down the hill, his pike twirling over his head as it cut through the soft flesh of every man in his path. He moved with the surety of a seasoned warrior, forged in the depths of Hel’s fury; no man could stop him on this day.

Falling deeper into his rhythm of slaughter, the former abomination recognized that he was now cut off from his allies, closed in from all sides by the invaders. With a touch of his redirected concentration, a strong paralytic wafted from his body, carried by his sweat, turning gaseous in the open air. As it reached the bodies of the men around him, they found their throats closing; unable to breath, many panicked, swinging their swords blindly in confusion. Dozens fell as Honuse Relaiyent moved deeper into the advancing stream, still striking with precision at the strongest points of life he could sense within his enemies. Heads fell around him, spraying geysers of blood upon his armor, though he was too caught up in the slaughter to recognize it.

The battle carried on for hours, finally ending as the few hundred surviving marauders fled into the hills, abandoning their brothers to fate at the hands of the Champion; never before had they seen such unmitigated fury, let alone contained within the shape of a man. The defenders who outlived the battle cheered, offering their deepest respects to the one who had led them to this victory; Honuse Relaiyent, the Champion and servant.

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Of Earth and Sky, of Plant and Power, of Life and Death.

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Many years passed from the day Honuse Relaiyent pledged his loyalty to Eldar Njörðr. Yet, surprisingly, Honuse did not age a day. His body was as toned as it had been the day he had awoken. His face, while no longer youthful – he had been in his forties when abducted from his village – had not slackened with age as he had expected.

Though the days had all blended into one after a while, he was painfully aware of the progression of time. He had spent countless nights awake, unable to settle his mind to sleep. He had sat in his tower, praying to the Gods of Valhalla that he would one day regain his freedom, that he would one day become a man once more.

He had also come to realize that while his body continued to gain in strength, his mind was growing ever more dull. His thoughts were slowing, even while his reactions were increasing. He was becoming a creature of reflex and anticipation, of hunger and thirst. It seemed to be his body reaching a compromise; his now-huge body took up vastly more resources than before, which had to come from somewhere.

His master had revealed the ability to alter genetics of himself and others, so long as they were organic. This even grew to include the realm of plants. The master had shown Honuse how to alter his own genetic structure, increasing blood flow without increasing heart rate. He was no longer at risk of collapsing from poor blood pressure, due to his great size.

His instruction had expanded from there, giving him tremendous control over the realm of biological matter. He had led armies to victory in dozens of battles, always in defense of his new homeland, always at the will of his master. He was ever the servant, a weapon pointed at those whom he grew to despise. And now, finally, he was prepared to receive the last mark of prestige, as his Lord demanded.

Walking through the cold, dank corridors, the giant ducked his head to prevent it from scraping along the ceiling. Turning left, past a wooden door, he entered the armory buried beneath the fortress, navigating by memory. Perceiving the nature of the occupants, Honuse recognized the genetic makeup of three individuals he had come to know.

Unbeknownst to him, those three men were the same who had overseen his modifications. The man closest to him was the very same who had removed his eyes, so many seeming lifetimes ago. They had only been introduced to Honuse as warrior priests, masters of weapons both physical and spiritual. They were the martial arm of the Gods, and had much knowledge to offer a man such as Honuse.

The first of them, the remover of Honuse's eyes, approached the giant, a smile unseen on his face. “Greetings, Master Relaiyent. The blacksmiths have finished your arsenal. The leather workers have finished your suit as well. Your new possessions await you here.” The warrior priest motioned towards the bench where the equipment rested, knowing that Honuse could mentally read the movement of biological matter well enough to notice the direction.

The former abomination nodded, stepping forward. He muttered under his breath, then listened for how the echoes hit his ears. Nodding again, this time absently, he stopped in front of the pile of weapons, which were resting on a stone platform. He quickly removed his thick cloak, leaving his exposed backside facing the warrior priests. Honuse felt no shame, however; one of the methods the warrior priests used was to have their apprentice fight while completely disrobed, in an attempt to throw off his concentration.

Honuse unfolded the thick leather bodysuit to its full length before slipping it on. The leather was matte black, stiff, and seemingly as hard as stone. Next went a pair of thick, matte black leather boots, followed by a similar pair of gloves. Finishing off the ensemble was a black deaths head mask, the kind worn by executioners. His armor gave him excellent mobility, while still protecting him from physical attacks.

Along the sides of his chestpiece were twenty small horizontal sheaths, which he filled from the stock of throwing knives sitting on the stone bench. They fit snugly into their recesses, tight enough not to fall out, but still able to be quickly withdrawn when needed.

Probing the armor, he found a pair of loops along the small of his back, which he slipped two hatchets into, forming an X with them. Next, he secured a five-foot-long sword to either hip, which complemented the pair of medium-sized swords he wore along the outside of his calves. The final piece was a seven-foot-long broadsword, suspended along his back. The hilt reach up just past his right shoulder, and the tip stretched down and to the side, passing just above the hand axes.

Each of the blades were polished smooth, though they didn't shine in the flickering candlelight; every inch of the weapons was matte black, from tip to pommel, matching the leather armor. The sheaths were likewise a dark raven shade, making them blend into Honuse's body.

“I am grateful to all three of you for procuring these weapons in such short order. My gratitude is upon thee, O noble priests.” Honuse said, inclining his masked head towards the three men standing in the back, watching their charge.

Before the warrior priests could respond, the door opened, revealing the regal form of Eldar Njörðr. To Honuse, his Lord appeared as a massively bright center of biological mass; it was obvious the man had used his biological knowledge to enhance himself.

Dropping to one knee, Honuse bowed his head in reverence, honoring the man who was both angel and demon, savior and destroyer.

“Champion Honuse Relaiyent. I see you have discovered your new personalized arsenal. I am well pleased with this, my servant. However, you are incomplete. I have prepared yet another weapon for you to wield, one which will serve you when all else is lost. Come, my servant.”

Honuse was so enraptured by the words of his lord that he failed to notice one of the priests gathering a pair of thin, dense steel blades, black like his others. However, these blades were different; the blade was obvious, but where the hilt would normally be was instead a short, blunt protrusion of metal.

“Lay down upon the bench, Honuse, and prepare your mind to receive this glory.” Eldar said, his regal voice soothing in the ears of his slave.

While the giant did as commanded, the first among warrior priests solemnly moved forward to stand alongside the mighty warrior. Producing a rusted blade from the inside of a sleeve, he raised it above his head as he uttered a soft prayer.

“O Lord Odin, may thine hand guide this, thine blade, as it doth pierce this, thine warrior, cleansing his body and soul, that it may remain pure unto thee.”

The blade crashed down, slicing through the thick leather armor with surprising ease. The blade chewed through flesh, releasing long jets of dark arterial blood. Muscles ripped in two as the rusted metal slipped through the tissue, cleaving a gap along the top of Honuse's arm, angled steeply inward towards the elbow. To his credit, Honuse did not so much as gasp at the pain wracking his arm.

Setting the blade aside, the priest reached for one of the swords his brother held out. Grasping it firmly, ignoring the cuts it caused on his own hand, the man jammed the blunt side into the fresh wound in Honuse's arm. The steel ground against bone, chipping off fragments. A gut-wrenching ripping sound emanated from the gaping hole as the muscle finally snapped.

Stepping forwards, an air of reverence about him, Eldar stretched forth his hand. Realigning the molecules of Honuse's body, Eldar opened a slot in the bone of his Champion's arm. The steel plate slid firmly inside with a loud click. Returning the bones to the way they once were, the Lord of the fortress fused the weapon into his servant. Closing the wound, he worked his power along the arm, repairing the rent tissue around the foreign object.

Nodding to the priest, the ordinance was repeated on the other arm. Minutes later, Honuse was invited to stand.

“How do you feel, my servant?” Eldar Njörðr asked, injecting a hint of concern in his voice.

Dropping again to one knee, the giant warrior solemnly responded. “I feel gratitude for this gift you have offered me, O wise Lord.”

Smiling, Eldar Njörðr nodded, then turned his back to his Champion and walked out of the armory. Only then did Honuse allow his weakness to show.

His body clenched upon itself as the muscles spasmed. No amount of arcane magic could instantly repair such tremendous muscle and bone damage – at least not without a terrible price of pain. Convulsions wracked his body as a hacking cough escaped his throat.

“Are you alright, Master Relaiyent?” The eldest of the priests asked, a touch of concern present in the query.

“Yes, Lord Priest, I am well enough. If you will excuse me, I must meditate, and regain my strength. I fear it will take time to grow accustomed to this change.” He said, opening and closing his hands. The blades protruded outward from the top of each arm, extending out past his fingertips by three inches. Placing his left hand atop the right blade, he tested the strength of the weapon. Despite a slight twinge from his weakened skeleton, he felt no discomfort at the applied pressure, nor did the steel move of its own accord.

Rising to his feet, Honuse made a hasty exit from the armory, moving as fast as his shaking legs would allow.

[hr]

The Culling
[hr]

The crimson light of dawn spread across the face of the castle, painting the stone in majestic hues, bringing vision to the sight held within an outer courtyard. Fifty men and women, of all ages, stood bound to poles protruding from the ground, wearing all manner of torn and dirtied rags; as disparate a group as they appeared, each held themselves with an air of defiance, as if daring the morn to look upon their stricken forms.

Eldar Njörðr walked solemnly through the well-groomed garden inhabiting the first half of the courtyard, trailed by Honuse Relaiyent and the three warrior priests, along with a half-dozen bondsmen. At the sight of the approaching beings, many of the captives fixed their gazes upward, caught up in mighty prayer that the gods would see them and grant their freedom, if for nothing more than to die in battle while attempting to escape. Such would be an honorable death, rather than the presumed execution that awaited them for whatever crimes the Lord perceived they had committed.

With the trace of a benevolent smile upon his face, Eldar Njörðr stopped a dozen paces before the rows of captives, gazing at each one in turn; his approval, though faint, was apparent on his features. He gestured subtly, inviting his Champion to his side. With a surety borne of the years of triumphs under his Lord’s tutelage, the former abomination took his place, curious at the array of bound men and women before him. Nevertheless, it was his duty to attend to his master, not question his motives in gathering this group.

“Every one of you that finds yourself bound here has been chosen. You, above all of your friends and enemies, your family and neighbors, are worthy to receive the highest honor that I might give you. This man beside me was once as you were,” Honuse Relaiyent shifted unnoticeably in discomfort while his master spoke, “a lump of meaningless clay, ready to be shaped and transformed into the greatest warrior in Midgard. Your fate from this day on rests solely in his hands, for it will be by his will that those truly worthy will be selected to serve as his students. Pray that you are strong enough in will and body as to be chosen.”

Nodding to his servant, Eldar Njörðr left the man to choose those he would teach, as he himself had been taught. Honuse Relaiyent moved through the bound ranks of peasants, gazing at them through the base recognition of their composite elements, examining their bodies for imperfections. In every one of them, their physical bodies had the normal collection of impurities and weaknesses that a normal man collected through years of physical labor; yet upon inspection of their minds, several proved themselves to be vastly superior to their peers. Planting his feet before one such prisoner, the former abomination reached out a hand to touch the crown of her head, pouring his will into the body before him.

“Do not fear my touch. I merely desire to observe your mind while conversing. Tell me; from where do you come? And what crime have you committed to find yourself in such captivity?”

The woman was slow in answering, her lower lip quivering in barely-contained rage. “I come from the town of Fåberg, though it exists no longer as such. My crime is one of raising a sword to the defense of my sons, who are not of age to fight themselves.”

“What has become of your town, and to what cause have you to raise sword?”

She spat on his face. “My town is become of dust, and my cause is to ward off the pillaging of your lord; he came to us in the darkest of night, burning the houses and slaying the children, while his army gathered the adults, bound, to be slain unless we proved a desirable quality.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, as her head turned to the earth in shame.

With a start, Honuse Relaiyent found that he knew her story as his own; it still existed, buried beneath the shroud of duty and pain, but he knew the truth of it still. Eldar Njörðr had murdered his friends and kidnapped him away, deceiving him into servitude. And now he was doing it again, taking those who might have a use, and slaying the rest. The fury of betrayal rose up once more in his chest, the buried anguish of memories from the slaughter.

With an incomprehensible roar, he turned on his lord, breaking into a charge as he filled his hands with the broadsword resting on his back. It did not clear the sheath, however, before the warrior priests stepped in his path, swords held out to impale the former abomination. With a grunt, he fell to the earth, blackness taking him.

[hr]

The Betrayal - Revisited
[hr]

He had been betrayed.

Pain. He was pain. The white of pain slowly ate away the black of unreality. The pale gnawing of agony chewed through the ever present gloom of unconsciousness.

He was not unconscious.

Fear. He was fear. The black of fear slowly ate away at the white of pain. The dark gnawing of agony chewed through the ever present glare of life.

He was not alive.

The black, the white, the dark and the light. None of them had coherent meaning.

Honuse Relaiyent had been betrayed.

Honuse Relaiyent was dead.

[hr]

The Death of Eldar Njörðr
[hr]

Honuse awoke to a burning reality. His chest was ablaze in crimson strokes of agony. His mind was beating in time with the tortured screaming of his wounded body. He was a broken man.

Dimly recalling the events that had placed him in such utter torture, his eyes narrowed. Honuse had been betrayed by his Master for the second time. The man had claimed to want a Champion, someone to do his bidding across the land. But Honuse refused to put up with Eldar Njörðr's abuse, torture, betrayal for one more day.

Willing his body to peace, he focused his mind, calling upon the very techniques his master had bestowed upon the giant. Blood flowed evenly through his tremendous frame, carrying with it altered cells, designed to repair the physical damage that had been inflicted. Slowly, painfully, the wounds in his chest, neck, back, and head closed. White scar tissue jutted out of his flesh, creating a sickening topographical map on the canvas of his body.

Muscle tissue knotted and compressed, growing ever tighter in the increased flow of blood. The crimson fluid pervaded his entire body in renewed vigor, carrying life wherever it touched. Not stopping at the reparation of his body, Honuse focused his will to increase his overall strength. The layers of skin doubled and compressed, then doubled over again. He was growing more impervious to damage.

Seeking out his nerve endings, Honuse soothed them, then grafted partial blocks into them, reducing the flow of sensory information such as pain. He would no longer be a slave to pain. He would no longer be a slave.

Satisfied at his work, Honuse rose from the stone altar that had been his bed these past years – ten thousand in his mind, but merely eighteen in reality. Straining his senses, he detected movement. Yes, that was to be expected. Eldar Njörðr was never far away; he was always there, always watching. Surely he had witnessed Honuse's self-restoration.

Clapping. Again, the sharp, mocking sound of two hands striking together.

“Your spirit is ablaze, Honuse Relaiyent. Your body is strong, but your weak mind is clouded with anger. Tell me, do you hate me? Do you feel that you have been dishonored?”

Honuse's face grimaced in blind rage. “The only dishonor to be had is by serving you and your foul schemes, Lord. I hereby remove myself from your service.”

Much to Honuse's surprise, Eldar Njörðr started laughing. It was a soft, menacing chuckle, a sound that made the giant's hair stand on end. “You remove yourself from my service? Have you forgotten, my Champion, that you swore an oath upon my name and upon your honor, to serve me in life and death? Have you forgotten that you owe your very life to me?”

Honuse lowered his face in shame. He had sworn an oath. But that oath would be void, should Eldar Njörðr cease to live...

The corners of his lips rose at the thought. His face rose once again, the blackened pits of his eyes staring into the face of his master. “I will not be led by the nose, nor will I let a man such as you bring me to ruin. My time in this fortress is through, Eldar Njörðr.”

Bending his knees, Honuse sprung upwards, the swords in his arm leading the way. Like a giant insect, he landed softly on the balcony his master had stood upon so many times. Sweeping his left armblade around, he aimed a cut at the head of his Lord, then followed through with a thrust from the right armblade.

The first attack was parried by Eldar Njörðr's arm. The Dread Lord had hardened his tissues to the consistency of steel, and was utilizing them with the same prowess. The thrust was avoided entirely; he had used the force of the first attack to propel him out of the way of the second.

Eldar Njörðr spat on his servant's face, injecting a topical paralytic agent into the giant. Honuse's features screwed into an expression of agony as the muscles froze, yet due to his lack of eyes did no noticeable harm to his fighting ability.

Attacking with renewed vigor, Honuse used his massive size to his advantage. He drove forwards, striking from all angles with his armblades. The weapons circled in and out of contact with his master's hardened arms, keeping the smaller man constantly on guard. Leaning back from the onslaught, the former Champion launched a powerful kick, putting his considerable weight behind the attack.

The kick landed on Eldar's stomach, folding the shorter man over. Honuse quickly pressed his advantage, sweeping in with both blades. The blades met along the back of his masters neck before slicing clean through. The head fell to the ground with a dull thud, followed by the decapitated body.

Panting softly, Honuse stood back, wishing he could see what he had wrought, wishing he could view the lifeless eyes of his tormentor. Slowly, he turned his back to the corpse, then jumped off the balcony, landing hard on the stone floor of his tower.

Quickly, Honuse dressed himself in his leather armor, attaching his specialized weapons about his person. If he was to leave this sanctuary, he would need protection from those who would surely follow, scenting him as hounds.

Hearing a noise, he turned his head back to the balcony. His master couldn't have risen; such a feat was even beyond the great Eldar Njörðr. No, it was something else, something Honuse should have expected, yet didn't. It was the three warrior priests.

He heard their muffled gasps as they saw what befell their master, felt their anger radiating outwards. He heard the rasp of metal on leather as they drew their blades. Sighing in frustration, Honuse stopped his action of returning his final weapon, the broadsword, to its sheath on his back. Instead he swung it into a high guard, menacing the men he had once revered as Elders and instructors.

The priests struck with unnatural rapidity. Their blows came fast as lightning, forcing Honuse to use the least possible movements to deflect and dodge. His actions were tight, restrained, held close into his person in a narrowing arc of protection. The blades of his mentors were long and thin, light as the wind but sharp as his own. They struck in unison from all angles, forcing Honuse backwards towards the open window and a three hundred foot drop.

Snarling, Honuse held his sword in one hand, then grabbed a fistful of throwing daggers – three, to be exact. Sweeping his blade in a high guard, he knocked the tips of the priests weapons out of line, then threw the daggers. Two of them dug into the throat of one of the priests, while the third hit the middle priest in the eye. Both of the men dropped to the ground, writhing and screaming in agony.

The first among priests dropped back, ready to defend if Honuse pressed his advantage; one priest was no match against this monstrosity.

The large man considered finishing off the priest, and it was during these deliberations that he failed to notice the middle priest stirring. The man pulled the blade from his eye, lifted himself onto an arm, and threw it. The weapon glanced off Honuse's cheek, etching a long scar in the tissue. Only his increased tissue mass prevented a serious injury.

Snarling, Honuse dove forwards, skewering the priest on the tip of his broadsword. The man died in an instant, but that moment of distraction was all that the first warrior priest needed. Removing the rusted blade from inside a sleeve, he murmured a fast prayer.

“O Lord Odin, may thine hand guide this, thine blade, as it doth pierce the abomination, cleansing his body and soul, that it may be purified unto thee.”

Darting forward, the man drove the rusted point deep into Honuse's back, tearing clean through the leather armor, just above the empty sheath. He removed the blade, but before he could plunge it down again, his head flew off his body, leaking a trail of blood. Honuse's sword swept in a grand arc past the falling corpse of his last enemy, then dropped from his hands to clatter onto the stone floor.

Honuse followed suit. He fell to his knees amidst the corpses, smelling the terrible stench of death, the pungent smell of blood. It was everywhere. His hands, his knees, his face, his back. The floor, his bed...the corpses...

He sat there for long moments, before his brain registered that he had to make his escape, before more security forces came up to see what the noise was about. He didn't have time to sit around. Quickly, he set in motion enough healing cells to close his wounds. Returning to his feet, the abomination picked up his sword, grimacing at the biological image of the blood and gore covering the black blade.

Kneeling down, he used the edge of one of the dead priest's robes to clean the incarnadine fluids off, then replaced the weapon in its sheath on his back. Feeling around, he noticed the large gash in his leather suit. The blade that had caused it lay nearby, having fallen from the hand of the first priest. Honuse stared unseeing at it for long moments, instinctively aware of its location, until he heard the sound of men in armor climbing the stairs leading to his tower.

Realizing that he was far too weak to survive a fight with twenty or thirty trained soldiers, the man cast his face about, scouring his memory for a way off the tower. His senses focused on the corpses arrayed across his floor – but more importantly, on their biomatter. He quickly replayed an old conversation in his head, one that showed him a technique that Eldar Njörðr had said he might one day need.

Reluctantly placing each hand on a corpse, the giant focused on absorbing their biological matter into his own, then forcing it out of his back. It seemed like an eternity, but finally something started to grow. A pair of sickly pale wings grew out of his back, out the ragged hole in his armor. The matter kept piling on top of itself, until he had a wingspan that encompassed nearly the entire room.

Just as the fortress soldiers burst into his tower, Honuse was taking a running leap out the open window. He fell for the longest two seconds of his life before the wings caught an updraft, sending him soaring into the open blue sky. Feeling a rush of exhilaration, Honuse couldn't believe what he was doing.

He had escaped his tormentor. He had escaped a veritable dungeon. He was alone. He was free.

Honuse Relaiyent was once again a man.

[hr]

The Anger of Thor
[hr]

”Arise, O Lawmaker. I have need of thine talents once more.”

The mighty voice thundered across the Grand Hall of Bilskirnir, located in the Kingdom of Þrúðheimr. The terrible voice belonged to Thor, God of thunder and war. He sat upon a golden throne, his stern gaze falling upon a man dressed in a black robe. No inch of skin was visible on this supplicant, lending the belief that he was not human.

“It has come to mine attention that a man hath betrayed an elect of the Gods. Eldar Njörðr was slain upon the previous eve by a most foul traitor, one who hath forsaken his honor for freedom. He betrayed Eldar Njörðr, and broke his solemn vow to serve. I desire this man to come before me, that he may atone for his sins. Go, my servant, and bring Honuse Relaiyent before me.” Thor said, his mighty voice thundering across the Hall.

With but a single nod, the Lawmaker turned to depart, prepared to scour the world for Honuse Relaiyent.

[hr]

The Fate of the Lawmaker
[hr]

For ten years, the Lawmaker traveled the Earth, always on foot. He stopped in cities and villages, taverns and inns, caves and peaks and tunnels alike. Everywhere he went, people ran in fear. Those who could not get away were made to stare into the dark recesses of his cowl. Their fear drove them to speak of that which the being desired. Whenever information was to be had, the Lawmaker passed the informant a coin, nodding in appreciation of the words.

The Lawmaker, the veritable bounty hunter of the Gods, did not know compassion, yet he knew gratitude. He would use any force required to carry out the will of the gods, and had what many mortals dreamed as an endless mountain of gold coins, to reward those who gave him information, or procured that which the gods desired.

Hidden in the voluminous folds of his cloak was a sword of foreign make, one unlike that known by any in the land. Its hilt was polished in crimson and gold, a demonic aura swirling about the black cord wrapped around it. The guard jutted outwards in skeletal fingers of obsidian, surrounding a blade that was invisible to mortal eyes. Only a God may see the terrible designs upon the steel, for it was a living image of the souls he had personally sent to Hel, of their weary bodies wading in rivers of blood. From pommel to tip, the blade was exactly seven feet long. The blade was named Alsvid, meaning “All-Swift” - the name of one of the horses that pulled Sol's chariot.

Honuse Relaiyent was an extremely difficult man to catch. The outlaw never stayed in one place, and used his ever-growing knowledge of biological magic to mask his trail. The only thing he could not hide was his tremendous size; everywhere he went, people recognized him as the one sought by the dreaded Lawmaker. The man could not hide forever; the Lawmaker would hunt him until the end of time, if that was what it took to find his quarry.

At long last, he felt he was closing in. The Lawmaker knew not frustration, yet he did know of anticipation. He patiently waited until the day he was close enough to strike, and this was the day. Honuse Relaiyent had passed through a nearby village hours before, headed towards the edge of a large cliff. The abomination seemed to be following the river leading to a waterfall, but the Lawmaker could not be certain.

Striding serenely across the forest floor, the Lawmaker sighted his prey; the giant was unmistakable in his beaten leather armor, tremendous height, and, most telling of all, the sword protruding out of each arm. He was sitting atop a log, taking a long swig from a water bladder.

Maintaining his unhurried pace, the Elect of the Gods closed the distance; however, he was still over a hundred feet away when his target dropped the bladder and rose to his feet, drawing a blade from each hip in the process; the blades were worn from lack of proper care, but looked sharp nonetheless.

Uncertainly, Honuse backed up a few steps, before raising his voice. “Go no further, stranger, or I will be forced to defend myself.”

If the Lawmaker had felt any reaction to the brave words, he did not show it. He continued to walk inexorably towards the honorless man, his hand closing around the hilt of his blade. The blade withdrew from its metal and leather sheath, the whisper of noise sounding as the sigh of a dying man.

Honuse was in trouble. The being advancing towards him was remarkably silent, and had very little in the way of an odor. The most confusing thing was his body; where Honuse expected normal tissue and muscle mass, there was none. It was as if the robe was the extent of his physical form.

Silently cursing the misfortune that had brought this demon upon him, the abomination prepared for the honor of death in combat, regretting the last thirty years of his life. He had never expected his tale to end in such a manner, at the hands of a demon intent on his destruction. Raising each blade in guard, the one in his left hand angled downwards from the chest, the other horizontal across his face, he advanced upon his doom, sorrow in his heart.

The Lawmaker closed into striking range, lashing out with a horizontal swing at chest level. The blade, which would have normally taken a man by surprise, due to the fact that it was invisible to mortals, was countered swiftly by Honuse, who heard the soft whistle of wind as the edge parted the air. A thunderous crash echoed through the forest when the Lawmaker's weapon met the blade in the giant's left hand.

Sweeping the invisible weapon back, he arced it down and back, rotating it into a full swing that launched the weapon with renewed strength towards Honuse's neck. Darting backwards a step, Honuse blocked with a sweep of his right-hand blade, then let loose a counter slash with the left. The five-foot-long weapon screamed in at the demon, but never connected.

The Lawmaker had used the counterforce of the parry to swing Alsvid back around, swiftly intercepting the attack, and launching another now that the weapon was inside Honuse's guard. Honuse jumped backwards, spitting at the hand covering the hilt of the offending weapon. His saliva carried a poison known as the Essence of Fire. It worked as a topical poison, burning the nerve endings to induce a feeling of intense heat and pain on the affected area.

However, Honuse had forgotten that he was not facing an ordinary man. The demon had no nerves to burn, and therefore pressed his attack without hesitation. Sweeping Alsvid across the ground, he drew the blade upwards, fully expecting the counter that followed; the abomination had dropped his guard, letting his blades cross to catch the attacking sword.

Before Honuse could force the weapon point into the earth, the demon rose with tremendous power into the sky, flinging the giant backwards in a grand arc. The man landed on his back with a painful thud, but quickly regained his feet as his attacker pressed forward. Alsvid was thrust straight at Honuse's heart, only to be deflected by an expert twirl of the giant's right hand blade. A counter thrust followed, but Honuse did not stop there.

He drove forwards, then spun to his right, striking down and around with his left hand blade, even as the right one was knocked away. The gambit worked; the edge of the weapon struck the terrible demon, delivering a glancing blow to unseen armor. He sailed past the stumbling Lawmaker, then pivoted back to face his opponent, bringing his swords around in a high and low guard.

The Lawmaker hissed in pain, then responded with increased fury. His sword struck left then right, top then bottom, a never-ceasing onslaught. However, the Lawmaker had made an error. He was constantly aware of his footing, but did not seem to notice Honuse stretching his will into the surrounding flora. Silently obeying his directives, a number of creeping vines rose to snare the feet of the demon, holding him fast as more plants rose to entangle his legs.

Having suddenly lost his footwork, the Lawmaker was forced to fight in place. Honuse, taking full advantage of this, circled around, forcing the demon to defend himself behind his own back. But the movements became more and more frantic as the Lawmaker was faced with the possibility of defeat. Fear overtook his actions, making them sloppy, frantic.

It came as a relief, but not a surprise to Honuse when he sent one of his blades through the heart of his enemy. The Lawmaker stiffened, dropping his sword in the process. He stood rigid as a statue, even while the abomination removed the offending weapon, returning it and its mate to their respective sheaths. Drawing his longsword, Honuse muttered a soft prayer.

“O Lord Odin, may thine hand guide this, thine blade, as it doth pierce this, thine foul demon, cleansing his body and soul, that it may be returned unto thee.”

With great relish, Honuse swung his mighty blade, taking the demon's foul head from its body. Smoke immediately erupted from the corpse, and the blade burst into white flame. The giant dropped it in surprise, watching as it burned into ash, along with the remains of his enemy.

The fire lasted three minutes, by which time every trace of the Lawmaker had vanished in the now-prevalent winds. The only thing that remained was Alsvid. Honuse reached down to examine the blade, hefting it easily in one hand; despite the obvious size, it was an extremely light weapon. Noting the sound of the wind moving around it, he estimated it to be the size of his now-destroyed weapon. Shrugging his broad shoulders, Honuse placed the blade in the sheath on his back. It rested comfortably there, a light weight along his muscles.

Honuse Relaiyent was a man.

Honuse Relaiyent was still alive.

[Shadowed]

[hr]

Honor and Thunder
[hr]

Thor sat idly on his throne, observing the sweeping beauty of his Grand Hall. However, the serenity of the moment would not last. A messenger burst through the doors leading into the throne room, walking with an urgent stride, dispensing dignity for speed.

Thor sat up straight, recognizing this to be a bad sign. Something big was happening, and from the look on the messenger's face, it was not good.

“O Lord Thor, I bring tidings from Lord Freyr. He has dispatched me to report on an event he witnessed on the last eve. As he was walking through the forest to visit a small village, he noticed a most remarkable occurrence; two men were fighting with tremendous ferocity. He took mild interest, but did not realize until one of the men slew the other that the fallen warrior was none other than the Lawmaker, working at your dispatch, O mighty Thor.

“Despite his obvious concern for your servant, Lord Freyr did not feel the need, nor desire, to slay the offending warrior, most notably as he was not enlightened of your concerns for this man, should he have been whom the Lawmaker was tasked to find.” The messenger bowed deeply, then hurriedly left the chambers as Thor dismissed him.

This was terrible news indeed. No man had ever stood against his mighty soldier, let alone slain him in single combat. The sheer strength required was shocking, and yet, at the same time, intrigued the God of war. To imagine a mortal with the power to take down a demon...Thor had rarely seen such a thing. He stood from his throne, making for the stables. His goats, Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr, were waiting there with his chariot.

As he walked through the halls of his home, he nearly ran into another being while rounding a corner. Stepping back, he instantly recognized his brother, Tyr. The younger, smaller God, lord of single combat and glory, was not an unusual sight in Thor's halls.

“My brother! It is wonderful to see you.” Thor began, gripping Tyr in a strong hug.

“That it is, brother. However, I must speak to you of a grave concern. I have attempted to summon the Lawmaker to me, but my servants cannot find him across the land. Tell me, have you any word of his whereabouts?”

Thor's face grew long. “Indeed, young Tyr. I have received a messenger from Freyr that the Lawmaker has been bested in combat by a lone mortal, a man I sought for breaking his honor and betraying his lord, Eldar Njörðr, whom he proceeded to slay. I am now on my way to confront this man, for I much desire to see what manner of being may slay mine elect.”

Tyr stood silent for a long moment, taking in the words of his brother. “I shall go with thee, my brother, for I, too, desire to know of this man. By what name is he known?”

“Honuse Relaiyent. He was altered by both himself and his former master, and has surpassed the strength of many men. I welcome your company, my brother. We shall see what devilry this mortal will produce when confronted with the Gods themselves.”

[hr]

The Wrath of Mjolnir and the Potency of Will
[hr]

Honuse Relaiyent was afraid.

He ran as he had never run before, moving swiftly through the forest, attempting to remove himself from the spot where he had felled the Lawmaker, sure in the knowledge that the Gods would send another to apprehend him.

Nevertheless, he allowed himself a small thrill of hope. He had survived where many others would fall. He was of no mind to let the next peril overtake him, thus he fled through the night and the morning, not resting until the heat of the afternoon forced his hand.

Collapsing alongside a small brook, he drank greedily of the pure water, splashing it over his face. It was the single most refreshing thing he had ever felt, and he relished every second of it. So great was his joy that he lost focus on his surroundings, only regaining himself when the first sounds breached his ears.

Leaping to his feet, Honuse drew Alsvid, holding it defensively in front of him, not yet aware of the direction his attackers were approaching from. The sound was not one that he had expected; it was the noise of goats, yet the sound seemed to be coming from the sky. His eyebrows shot up above empty sockets as he realized the implications of the noise; he had awoken the wrath of Thor himself.

Holding Alsvid before him, he strained his ears, extending his perceptions to the sky. Yes, his worst fears were now realized; the Gods themselves were now personally involved in this fight. The flying chariot descended to the Earth several dozen feet away, landing softly on the grass. Two beings of terrible might and stature stepped forward from the chariot, holding weapons aloft.

The taller, more physically imposing of the two – though their actual appearances were lost on Honuse – held a large hammer before him, while the smaller held a long, thin, curved blade. The larger spoke, his voice echoing for miles in a mighty roar.

“I am Thor, God of war and thunder. Art thou the slayer of mine elect, the Lawmaker?” He bellowed.

Honuse flinched at the noise, but quickly regained himself. He stood firm, not deigning to drop to his knees, nor bow his head in reverence. “I am, Dread Lord. My name is Honuse Relaiyent, and I am a free man. I do not know why thou sent a demon after me, but I am not one to meekly submit to fate.”

The smaller of the two, Tyr, snarled in anger. “Silence, mortal fool. I am Tyr, God of single combat and glory. How is it that a simple mortal bests an elect of the Gods in single combat? Yea, I am the Lord of such warfare, and have not witnessed such a feat.”

This time, Honuse didn't flinch at all. He kept his back straight and his shoulders squared, his empty sockets boring into the eyes of the God. “I have been trained in the art of combat for many years, Lord Tyr. I have studied the art of mastery over life at the very hands of Eldar Njörðr. I am older than that which the eyes alone may perceive, yet mine own will prevents me from aging. I am mortal in that I may one day taste death, but I am not a simple man, one who may be slaughtered as a fattened cow.”

“Thou art wretched and honorless in mine sight. I will not suffer thee to curse the Earth with thy presence. May thine torment be eternal in the rivers of blood that await thee in Hel.” Raising his hammer, Mjolnir, he threw it at Honuse. The weapon moved faster than the eye could follow as it closed the relatively short gap between the two.

Tyr watched closely, a smile on his face; as the God of glory, he detested those who forfeited their honor, and was anxious to see this man’s impudence punished. Yet, where he was expecting the sudden death of Honuse, no such event occurred. The abomination raised Alsvid, holding it firmly in both hands, and intercepted Mjolnir. The hammer, which was known for its ability to return to Thor's hand after being thrown, spiraled off to the side, landing with an incredible splash in the creek.

Tyr, son of Odin, was shocked. This mortal had done what no other being, man nor god nor giant, had ever before done. He had stood before the wrath of Mjolnir, and emerged victorious. Tyr looked towards his brother, who was plainly enraged.

Thor raised both hands over his head, summoning a tremendous bolt of lightning. The electricity formed in the air, then cast itself with great rapidity by the wave of the God's hand. The bolt struck Honuse squarely in the chest, knocking him back fifty feet. Smiling in victory, Thor beckoned Tyr to follow him, and together the brothers approached the corpse of the offender.

Not once, in the history of the Gods, had a lone mortal surprised a God three times. Yet it had finally happened. Honuse, his body encircled with electricity, was rising to his feet!

Internally, Honuse's body was ablaze. It took every ounce of concentration to shunt the pain aside. Finally, able to wrap his mind around a much higher plane of thought, the giant focused on absorbing the electricity. He infused his skeleton with it, tattooed it into his muscles, his blood, his skin. Golden runes traced themselves on his flesh, though it was unseen beneath his faded leather armor. His golden hair fell off his head as the runes fully eclipsed his skull.

Having fully regained his feet, Honuse stood in defiance of the Gods, having successfully incorporated every erg of power into his body. He could feel the electricity gathering within his palm, just above his armor. Raising his right hand to his left ear, he loosed a powerful backhanded slap, though his target was still twenty feet away.

The sudden advent of air charged the electricity, loosing a ball of lightning at the peak of the arc his hand made. The attack soared in at Thor, who easily batted it to the side with a gauntleted fist. Yet rather than strike back in anger, the God stared in open wonder at this mortal.

“Thou hast done this day what no man hath done. Thou hast stood before not one, but two Gods. Thou hast survived two attacks, and has grown stronger as a result. And finally, thou hast displayed the sheer strength of courage to dare attack a God. I am undoubtedly impressed, young Honuse Relaiyent.”

Honuse couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had plainly expected to meet his end here, but now it seemed that the Gods themselves were impressed with his abilities. Uncertainly, he lowered his blade a fraction of an inch.

“The blade thou dost wield is testament to thine abilities, Honuse Relaiyent. Thou hast proven thyself worthy in mine sight. If thou wilt accept it, I have an offer to make unto thee; yea, it is a way for thee to restore thine honor.”

Nodding slowly, Honuse returned the blade to its sheath on his back; he knew he could not stand against two Gods at once for long, should this turn into a deception. “I would very much like to regain my honor, if I am but able. What would thou have me do?”

“I find that I am without a Lawmaker, due to thine actions. Wouldst thou serve me in this capacity? Thou wouldst become mine elect, scouring the land for those I seek, either delivering them to me, or sending the wretched beings to their well deserved fate in Hel. What say ye?” Thor asked, ignoring the uncomfortable shuffling of Tyr's feet; his brother was a God of glory and honor, not one to bow before a dishonored mortal.

“I accept, great Lord. I will do as I am able.”

Honuse Relaiyent was a man.

Honuse Relaiyent was still alive.

[hr]

A Taste of Valhalla
[hr]

Honuse Relaiyent was amazed.

He had ridden in Thor's chariot, carried away into Asgard. The land was the most beautiful he would ever have gazed upon, had he the eyes to see it; it was filled with lush, green forests, winding rivers of deep blue, skies reflected in the same color. A tremendous fortress – Valhalla - burst forth from the land, residing atop a steep granite mountain. This was their destination.

The realm of Warriors was alight in activity. The Gods mingled with the souls of those who died bravely, in the glory and honor of combat. Servants roamed the fortress, ensuring that Gods and mortals alike were well tended. The simple perceptions of biological mass and, now, bioelectric fields, was nearly overwhelming to Honuse's senses. His ears and nose worked furiously, taking in the sounds and smells of this fantastic realm.

The chariot landed in a large stable, one housing hundreds of different animals, tended by dozens of servants. Thor stepped off the chariot, bidding his brother farewell before inviting Honuse to follow. Side by side with a God, the giant walked the halls of Valhalla, wishing he could see the sight of so many Gods. As much as he wished to regain his honor, he did not for a moment regret slaying Eldar Njörðr.

The fortress was gigantic. The halls seemed to stretch forever within the impregnable walls of the keep, yet Thor led him deeper into the castle. After what seemed like hours of walking, they came before a grand doorway, the immense wooden construct gilded with gold and iron. A pair of warriors stood outside, opening the grand door for the unlikely pair of mortal and god.

At the far end of the vast hall sat an enormous being, dressed in the finest of robes covering golden armor. A tremendous beard nearly hid the lean face, along with a full cascade of gray hair escaping from beneath a silver battle helmet. In his right hand was a mighty spear, Gungnir.

Cautiously, Honuse followed Thor forwards, stopping as the God did at the feet of the Supreme Lord. Both God and man alike bowed deeply before Odin, prostrating themselves along the floor. A single word escaped from Odin's lips, barely murmured yet filling the hall with the thunder of a thousand horses.

”Rise.”

Honuse returned to his feet, thankful that he did not have to fear looking upon the wizened face of the Lord God.

”What hast thou brought me, my son? This mortal is not einheri; for verily, his visage is foul upon my eye. His lack of honor burns brightly upon his face, yea, verily I would strike him now were he not in thine company, my son.”

Thor nodded reverently. “Verily, Lord Odin, this man has betrayed his honor for freedom. The Lawmaker was dispatched to bring him before me. However, that is not how he came to be in mine presence, O Lord. Yea, he didst slay the Lawmaker in the glory of single combat, claiming Alsvid as his own, which he wields with unnatural strength.

“Upon hearing of this abomination, I set forth to discover this man; my brother Tyr sought to accompany me, for he, too, was curious as to this mortal being. We found this man, Honuse Relaiyent, and stood before him, accusing him of his crimes. I was amazed to find an utter lack of fear before me; verily, he didst overcome not one, but two attacks from mine hand, returning yet stronger to stand in defiance before me. It is for this reason that I have brought him before thee, O Lord, for though he be a man without honor, he has courage and strength for fifty. I seek thine blessing, O Lord Odin, that he might serve us as the Lawmaker, as we find ourselves absent this useful servant.”

Thor stood back, patiently waiting for Odin to bring to pass a judgment. Honuse had the intelligence to show no nervousness nor discomfort, standing as though awaiting a pronouncement on the weather.

”It is with great trepidation and distrust that I pronounce upon thee a blessing, O Mighty Thor, that thou wouldst train this, thy new servant, in the ways of the Lawmaker. If he is not prepared by year's end, his soul will be offered to Hel, to quench her perpetual thirst for the dishonored.” Odin rumbled, before nodding a dismissal to the two.

Thor led his servant away, cheer evident in his step. They left the grand hall, turning onto a different route from the one that had taken them there. As soon as they were beyond the mighty doors of Odin's chamber, Thor began to talk.

“Young Lord Honuse Relaiyent, thou hast been granted honor beyond measure; yea, ne'er before hath a mortal such as thee been given the dispatch of Odin to train as an elect of the Gods. Rejoice this day, for thou hast been offered a very reason for continued existence.”

Honuse Relaiyent was a man.

Honuse Relaiyent was beginning to regain his honor.

[hr]

The Lawmaking
[hr]

Honuse Relaiyent was alone.

He stood before one hundred men, the brave souls of those who died in combat. The men were all mighty warriors in their time, living for the taste of steel on flesh. Their prowess had not been reduced in death, however; Odin himself entertained the souls of the fallen warriors, giving them ale and food, more than one could possibly consume in many lifetimes, that they might fight for him.

Every day, the warriors rose from their beds, filing into a central courtyard, where they spent the day in vicious battle with each other. By the time night fell, most lay upon the field in pieces, before being resurrected anew. They were then treated to the feast, drinking ale until solidly drunk, whereupon they fell into a deep sleep, to start the cycle anew.

And now Honuse Relaiyent stood before one hundred of the bravest, meanest, most cunning and skillful warriors in Valhalla. All of them stood in their ranks before him, ready to do battle. If Honuse felt even a glimmer of fear, he did not show it.

The previous year had been filled with training, both physical and mental. His muscles were at their peak, his body toned to perfection, his mind overflowing with knowledge. His weapons were sharp and his skills were polished. He was ready for this test, ready despite the knowledge that, should he fall, his soul would wallow in agony amidst the other dishonored banished to Hel.

With a mighty roar, the first rank of ten soldiers charged across the three hundred foot distance between them and their target. After they passed twenty feet, the next row followed, continuing until the entire company was afoot. The ground shook under their footfalls, their war cries splitting the air.

Honuse Relaiyent was waiting for them.

His right hand was a blur, traveling from his side to the air in front of him. With every outward motion, a blade flew into the throat of an attacker. Twenty men fell before even having a chance, emptying his left sheath. The following ranks were drawing closer, however, dictating the giant's next move.

Willing his body to draw upon the electrical energy stored there, he bent its mighty power to his will, forming a wall before the front rank of soldiers. The ten warriors hit the electrical field, bouncing backwards as the energy trailed over their prone forms. The men were not dead; the energy was only sufficient to prevent disruption, not kill.

The fourth rank broke trail around the obstruction, readying swords, shields, and spears. They closed on Honuse, who drew the medium-sized blades from his calf sheaths. He held the weapons in a reverse grip, letting the steel rest along the inside of his arm, facing down. Smiling quickly, he burst into motion, feinting towards the left flank before darting to the right.

He dove forwards, armblades leading. The right armblade skewered a soldier in the neck, as his left sword rose to block a thrust, letting the opposing steel slide down his arm and off to the side. A quick reverse of direction sliced the warrior's head off. Before the decapitated body even hit the ground, however, the left flank had regrouped with the right, and began their attack.

The electrical shield dissolved, allowing the trailing row of men free access to the fight. Seeing that he was firmly surrounded, Honuse worked defensively with his steel, even as his body began producing a deadly toxin, delivered via natural pheromones. The toxin was released from his body in a wave of microscopic organisms, which rapidly settled upon the exposed faces of twelve men, those who had gotten close enough to attempt a strike.

The toxin, which seeped through the pores of its victim, clung to nerve endings. Once the organisms recognized that they had reached a target, they activated, distracting and confusing the target's nerves. The end result was that a dozen men suddenly felt their faces erupt into flame, though not so much as a spark had been laid upon their flesh.

Taking quick advantage of the distraction, moving before more soldiers filled the ranks, Honuse struck left and right, tearing open grand wounds in stomach and neck, slaying ten of the twelve afflicted men. The ranks were quickly piling up, encircling Honuse in their wrath. Realizing that his reach was too small, he abandoned his medium-length swords.

Lashing out, he threw the blades at two oncoming men, striking each in the face, skewering their eyes in a shower of sudden gore. A spear was thrust at Honuse in his moment of distraction, glancing off his thick leather armor. Grabbing the shaft of the spear, the giant applied leverage, launching the wielder into the air; he landed on his head, the crack of shattering vertebrae clearly heard over the din of confusion the fight imbued into the air.

Finally wrapping his hands around the five-foot-long swords on his hips, he drew them with a grand flourish, slicing clean through the light armor of four men arrayed in front of him, who had hurriedly rushed in for a killing blow. Letting electrical energy flow through his gloved hands, he created a strong electrical field around each blade. The black steel crackled and snapped with ferocious energy, becoming a demon in its own right.

A long blade soared in from above, nearly slicing Honuse clean in half. He raised an armblade in time to catch it, but missed a swipe from another warrior. The tip of the blade sliced through the meaty part of his leg, opening a ragged gash. Grimacing, he focused his will to close the wound, accomplishing enough to prevent it from leaking blood over the field. Then he was in the thick of it once more.

Striking left, he swept the blade of one warrior into the face of another, before continuing on to behead yet one more man. Spinning around, he brought his left blade closer in to use for defense, then swung an infinity loop with the left, taking off several hands and arms, before sweeping the blade back to finish off the three victims of his attack. A backwards kick toppled one charging warrior into two more, knocking them to the ground, whereupon he leaned back, skewering all three in rapid succession, even as he blocked yet more attacks with his right armblade.

Feeling a touch of panic, Honuse realized that the mountain of bodies was growing, but not so fast that the hordes of his enemies could not climb over them. Drawing a strong current of energy into his weapons, he swung them with great power, slicing clean through four offending warriors. However, that was not the point of the attack.

As the blades pierced flesh, lightning bolts flew from the tips, arcing into the legions of warriors. Every time a bolt hit a solid object, be it flesh or earth, three more bolts would spring forth to wreak total havoc upon the army.

The move was a complete success, killing off twenty warriors in half as many seconds, during which time Honuse continued to slay the men to the opposite side of his attack; all in all, twenty eight men fell in that small amount of time. Twenty one men stood arrayed in a half circle before him, weapons held ready. They appeared to be waiting for something, which struck Honuse as odd; no warrior of Valhalla would hold off an attack out of fear for their wellbeing.

No, it was definitely something else. Extending his perceptions, he heard the sound of the grand doors leading out to the courtyard opening. His eyebrows rose above the empty pits as he recognized the combined physical biomass of hundreds, if not a thousand warriors. A voice bellowed over the now-blood soaked land, saying “Behold thine true test, Honuse Relaiyent. Stand victorious against a thousand men, and thine reward will be eternal.”

Shaking his head, Honuse charged forward, swinging both blades with wild abandon, cleaving the men left from the first group of warriors into several pieces. The field was thick with the stench of death, but Honuse continued regardless; these men would be healed, he would not. Seconds passed, in which the last of the warriors fell in meaty, bloody chunks to the field. Panting slightly, Honuse prepared himself for the thought of facing a literal horde of soldiers.

Noting that the warriors were still a fair distance away – the field had been made for hundreds of thousands to fight upon – he settled onto his haunches, relaxing his mind in preparation of the task he was about to undertake, dropping his swords to the grass in the process. His entire being was infused with the essence of lighting – its energy output was far greater than the energy he had to offer it – allowing him to do what he had in mind.

Chanting a mantra, he extended his will to the oncoming army. They stood shoulder to shoulder, rank upon rank, making Honuse's task much easier. At the giant's behest, a wall of energy settled before the advancing horde, then another, and another, and another, until two hundred were boxed in by walls of electricity. A roof was added, and the carnage had begun; bolts of lightning flew rampantly between the walls, tickled off by the opposing magnetic forces.

The pure, focused lightning did not so much kill a man upon contact as it caused him to explode. The energy output was so high that simple contact with the stray ergs of electricity was fatal a dozen times over. Within seconds the entire group of soldiers was dead, two hundred in total, their bodies laying in puddles of gore, clouds of evaporated blood rising into the air.

Though the energy drain had a strong negative effect on Honuse, he felt it was worth it, to slay so many enemies with no danger to himself. Calling on an ability from an entirely different field, he increased the production of adrenaline in his system, giving him temporary fuel to overcome the affects of fatigue.

Feeling new strength coursing through his body, Honuse returned to his feet, preparing himself for the battle to come. Again, he repeated his use of the throwing knives, emptying the right side sheath this time; twenty more men fell before they were even given a chance to defend themselves. Yet still, the advancing waves came without hesitation, showing neither fear nor discomfort.

Retrieving his blades, he charged the front ranks at the same time they darted towards him. The former abomination met the line with a clash of steel and leather, beheading two men with an expert twirl of his blades. A polearm was redirected into another man by an armblade as Honuse swept through the horde, striking left and right. His armblades were used almost entirely for defense, while his five-footers pierced flesh with wild abandon.

Dozens fell to the earth in pieces, creating a virtual bow wave, breaking around Honuse's charge. He ignited his own flesh in electrical energy, throwing back any man to get within a foot of his body. His weapons moved with serpentine fluidity, never staying on one target for more than a second as they glided through flesh. Honuse was a wolf among sheep, striking and defending, running and fighting, every muscle acting in beautiful concert.

His mind continued to race, surpassing even the speed of his feet as he prepared his next trick. A simple pheromone was released, one that carried a powerful paralytic agent. Everywhere around the giant, men fell to the earth, unable to move as the agent froze muscles in arms and legs. The cloud of toxin lingered in his wake, taking down all those foolish enough to turn in pursuit.

At long last, Honuse reached the far side of the horde, leaving roughly four hundred and fifty corpses in his wake. Though the attacking warriors fell as rain, their sheer advantage of numbers pressed upon Honuse's strength, wearing him down ever farther. Turning back, he charged once more through the thick of the flock, utilizing speed and shock as his weapons, wielding them with greater efficiency than his dual blades.

As he breached the new front, a glancing blow gouged a chunk out of his bicep. The sudden shock forced him to drop his weapon, veering to the side of the injury without meaning to. This led him into yet another blade, one that pierced his forearm just below the onyx blade protruding from his flesh. Stifling a scream, he felt his second weapon drop.

Working quickly, he shut off the pain receptors in his arms, giving him control once more over his limbs, along with more refined control of his brain. Realizing that he was without a weapon, save for those attached to his arms, he focused a ball of lightning into existence in each hand, lending his will to its design. The electricity folded into the shape of a broad, mighty shield, encasing his left hand and forearm. In his right, a wickedly curved blade of growling, snapping energy was formed, which he immediately used to strike five warriors who had strayed too close.

Holding the shield before him, Honuse plowed forward, killing any man who fell upon the electrical barrier. The lightning blade struck to great affect, supercharging the biological tissue it encountered, creating grand explosions of gore with every sweep. Men fell by the dozens, thinning the crowd ever more.

However, the drain of keeping the form of the weapons was proving too much by the time he reached his original entry point into the horde. Dropping the electrical weapons, they released their stored up energy in wrathful waves of death, felling twenty men in the blink of an eye. Honuse reached behind his back, pulling out the hatchets stored there. A fast swipe with the left tore a man's throat out, while a strike from the right opened a warrior's brain case, spewing three others with a spray of blood and brain matter.

Spinning around, Honuse recognized a man charging, spear held before him. Hurling the right hand hatchet, the weapon pierced the oncoming soldier in the gut, flinging entrails across the battlefield, escorting the weapon as it continued through the decimated warrior to strike another man in the crotch; the afflicted soldier fell to the earth without a sound, unable to speak.

Realizing that this move had emptied his right hand of a weapon, but unwilling to sacrifice his second ax to draw Alsvid, he bent down, scooping for a weapon. However, he instead closed his oversized digits around a dismembered arm. Shrugging mentally, he hefted the limb, swing it into the face of another Norse soldier. The fleshy appendage struck upwards into the nose of the attacking man, sending bone fragments into his brain. The man was dead before he hit the earth.

The numbers were now much more reasonable; it appeared that only a hundred warriors or so remained. However, having stopped his mad charge, the warriors were able to surround him, attacking him from all sides, forcing him to fight entirely on the defensive. Hurling the arm and the hatchet into another pair of men, he drew Alsvid, sweeping in a full circle; a dark jet of arterial blood sprayed onto his masked face, coating it in a gruesome death's head image.

Honuse moved as he had never before moved; his blade seemed to fly of its own accord, directing his arm in random, varied locations. Body parts flew hundreds of feet backwards after every hit, creating a virtual hailstorm of limbs, heads, torsos, and the accompanying incarnadine fluids. Before Honuse even realized it, he was standing alone on the field, surrounded by the corpses of eleven hundred brave soldiers, all of whom had gone willingly to their death to serve as an adequate challenge for this honorless man.

Honuse Relaiyent was no longer a man.

Honuse Relaiyent was a Lawmaker.

[hr]

In Search of Vafþrúðnir
[hr]

Nearly two hundred years had passed since that day. Honuse had readily accepted the title of Lawmaker, and set about to do the will of the Gods. He had traveled the world, seeking out those who had betrayed their honor, who had betrayed the Gods, and those whom the Gods personally sought, for whatever reason they held.

His current target was Vafþrúðnir, a giant who had set about killing travelers through a local mountain pass. The exact whereabouts were unknown to Honuse, but he had received word that men from the local village were aiding Vafþrúðnir for a share of the profit. It was those men who the Lawmaker was currently looking for, as they would know where to find the rogue giant.

Stalking calmly through the village, people fled in terror before him. Those who did not flee dropped to the ground, offering prayers to the Gods, asking for their divine protection against this walking demon. Every time Honuse was sighted by the Norse people, they would all fear he had come for them, come to exact payment for some past crime or ill deed.

Those who did not weep in terror struck out at their fears instinctively, as did three men who Honuse passed by. They drew steel, positioning themselves around the Lawmaker, sure in their belief that they could win. These were three of the men Honuse was looking for, yet only one needed to live.

With slow, purposeful movements, he withdrew Alsvid from its sheath, the invisible blade parting the air before him. The three criminals shifted uneasily, until one attacked. The old, partially rusted sword shattered as it hit the demonic steel of Alsvid, which passed through the attacking weapon, not stopping until it had bisected the man wielding it. The man's legs collapsed as his upper body slid to the side, making a terrible slurping noise before landing with a dull thud.

Before the second man could move, his head was severed off by a quick reverse thrust of the demonic blade; it flew backwards thirty feet before landing. The last of the criminals, his eyes wide as he watched his comrades gruesomely destroyed, thought to flee; only his sheer terror kept him rooted in place.

Returning Alsvid to its sheath, Honuse reached a hand out towards the terrified man, grasping him by the neck. Effortlessly, he hoisted the rodent into the air, the dark pits of his eyes boring into the almost glassy pupils of his prey.

“I am seeking your business associate, Vafþrúðnir. Tell me where to find him, and I will release thee, with payment for services rendered.”

The man refused to speak. He only stared into Honuse's face, the look of terror hiding an undercurrent of defiance. Shrugging to himself, Honuse cast the man face-first onto the ground. Leaning forwards, he sliced the tip of each armblade behind the man's knees, severing his tendons to prevent him from attempting to escape.

The prisoner screamed momentarily before clamming back up. Shaking his head at the stupidity men such as this one so often exhibited, the Lawmaker reached down to grab the rodent's arm, then flung the man onto his back. A few deft cuts of the armblade opened up his stomach, letting entrails slide out of the gaping hole.

Smiling, Honuse decided to get more creative. He used his mastery of biological matter to keep his victim fully conscious and aware. Next, he stabbed deeply into the man's left eye, exploding the sensitive organ under the pressure. A quick slice cut off one ear, and another opened a wide slit from lip to torn ear.

Not finished there, Honuse used both blades in conjunction to rip off each finger nail, then removed each finger as one would slice a carrot, working back from joint to joint. The man's blood was everywhere, and his vital organs were beginning to slide free. Stretching his will further, Honuse blocked off the neural activity that promoted resistance; the man screamed forth answers until his throat was raw.

Having heard all that he needed, Honuse took great relish in sending this wretched being to Hel. Slowly, purposefully, he drove an armblade into the man's throat, causing the victim to choke to death. With a judicious twist, the head popped off of the spinal column, causing it to loll to the side.

Rising to his full height, Honuse inspected his armor, ensuring that no blood had managed to stain it. Satisfied, he set off for the mountain dwelling of his true quarry, Vafþrúðnir.

[hr]

In Final Ascension
[hr]

Honuse Relaiyent stood before Odin, holding his head aloft in pride. He had returned to Valhalla, carrying with him the head of Vafþrúðnir, whom he had slain for its attacks on men. The fight had lasted for three days, and had only ended when Honuse broke down the last barrier between himself and true mastery of biological magic.

Now he stood before the Supreme God, having reported on his success.

”Behold, my Lawmaker, that I am well pleased with thee. Thou hast at long last regained thine honor in my sight. Because thou art like unto me, missing thine eyes – though mine affliction be but one, and yours total – I have seen fit to bestow upon thee a great gift, one that will serve you well. For behold, I grant thee the Vision of the Wraiths; thine sight hast been restored without seeing, for thou art able to look upon the souls of man and earth alike. Take this, mine gift, and go on thy way in my service, O Lawmaker, thou fair and noble warrior.”

Honuse Relaiyent was no longer a man.

Honuse Relaiyent was a God.

[Taskmienster]

Wow. Holy mother of all histories! I feel like I know the character through and through though, and that's what that's for. Oh, and I give you props, you've taken a Norse man and turned him into an undead ninja (or something along those lines, hahaha)

The only thing I have to say is that you should be very careful with the spells. Remember to keep them at a moderate level, and should you create something large that it should drain you accordingly. Though, you seem to have that already understood, just making a precautionary note!

Anyway... You are approved!

Good luck with the tournament.