Berserkr (boyxboy)

Chapter 1: The Bjørn

This is a work of fiction, all content will not be historically accurate.

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Ber-ser-kr.

Noun.

A Viking, a warrior; one who was said to have fought their battles in a wild, trance-like fury.

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The Bjørn.

Villages far and wide knew of the legend; horrifying stories of the Alpha giant who wore a bearskin across his mighty back.

Gathered together around nightly bonfires, faces would glow with amber embers and the sweat-laden shine of terror as they told of his power – of his otherworldly ability to cause the devastation of entire farmsteads without a single weapon.

The stories were appalling, terrifying, petrifying.

But worst of all, the stories were true.

The land of the Vikings existed under a seemingly constant overcast of rain and dew; mist rolled over the caps of the mountains, and midnight black crows squawked without abandon as they flocked around the grisly sight below them, waiting for scraps.

The ever-too-familiar, acrid smell of coppery blood drifted up into the nostrils of the Alpha as he squeezed the skull of the man unfortunate enough to fall into his widespread path of destruction. The man screamed loud enough for even the circling crows to hear, frantically kicking his feet as the six-foot-seven giant held his body above the ground by his head alone.

The Alpha did not flinch as the man's brain matter squished through his fingers and a splatter of thick, hot blood coated his blank face and chest. Instead, the man just watched, tilting his head at how his victim's left-over nerve impulses made his legs kick one last time. Then, he simply dropped the body into the mud.

Chaos raged all around him, metal clashing and villagers slipping on the muddy ground as they ran for their lives.

The Alpha blinked once as he stepped over the fallen man, a tingle-like instinct making his head swivel to the side.

He didn't bother wiping the gore from his calloused hands when he approached the rapidly burning longhouse – he never did. After all, they would only become re-soiled with blood again... And again.

... And again.

Yet another faceless man screamed in a morbid combination of pain and horror as he stared up at the giant who had just caught him in a macerating grip, one that remained incredibly sturdy even as the man thrashed with all of his might.

"I–It's you!" The man sputtered, teary eyes full of recognition as they flickered to the soulless head of the brown bear that rested atop the ruthless Alpha's brawny shoulder.

The Alpha did not reply. In fact, he barely heard his latest victim above the constant rush in his ears. He just tilted his head to stare blankly down at the man who he'd just caught attempting to free the villagers who were currently burning alive inside of their thatched home. "... The... the...!" The man gulped, stuttering as if the words were caught on his tongue like a barb.

The giant could not hear him, but simply watched as the man's lips moved to form two words that he knew all too well.

"... The Bjørn!"

The giant's hands tightened around his prey as he lifted the man high into the air, and – without a moment's hesitation – brought the center of his back down onto his kneecap.