Einherjar

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Blader was caught up in the charge and he rushed toward the jotuns and undead warriors of Loki's army. He heard the battle cries rising up behind him, surging to meet him from his opponents, and let out a yell himself, surprised at how much emotion could emerge from his hoarse throat.

There was pain, and anger, and sorrow, and determination, and Blader felt adrenaline sweeping through him as he realized this would make or break him in the Reenactment. For no matter who was controlling this, no matter if the world outside their contrived one had fallen to ashes already, this was the fight the Reenactment had been building up to. Perhaps this wouldn't be the fight of his life if he won, but it would be if he lost.

The lines collided and Blader lost all sense of organization. All he could see were the beings directly around him, all he could hear was their yells and screams. He swung and stabbed, deflected and parried, blocked blows off his shield and ducked under others. He was constantly in motion, for to stop was to die.

Blader caught glimpses of actual historical events within Ragnarok; he saw Garm and Tyr battling, knowing they were destined to slay each other, and then the warriors around him shifted and fell and he saw them no more. Plunging forward, he lopped the head off one of Hela's undead and darted under a jotun's club.

Then he was facing an undead warrior, holding a rusted sword and a shield. The warrior just charged at him and Blader sidestepped, driving his sword through the warrior's back. The corpse stumbled and collapsed onto the ground and Blader just gave it a look before moving on, seeing one of Odin's einherjar easily hold off two jotuns, ducking and dodging and using his skill and strength to defeat them.

That is the difference between honor and dishonor, Blader thought as he moved on, deflecting blows on his shield and dealing out strikes with his sword. When the dishonorable dead of Hela, daughter of Loki, fought against the honorable dead of Odin, it was clear that the honorable had the high ground.

No matter how this Reenactment is being judged, no matter whether acting honorable will save me or not, I know which side I want to take.

As Blader fought and blocked, working his way through the absolute mayhem, he saw other recruits, fighting their own battles. Some he recognized from his unit, some he recognized seeing around Vigrid, and some he only knew by the same grey fabric of their tunics, the same as his own. But despite everything he'd ever thought about a battle, there was no unity here, only chaos. Despite the recruits all working toward the same ending, they had to fight through this alone.

Chaos doesn't win, Blader reminded himself as he blocked a jotun's axe, the blade glancing off his shield. A new world was born from all of this, my world. We had a beginning after all the chaos. Those of us who make it will have our own new beginning as einherjar.

Blader continued to slash through undead soldiers and jotuns as he moved forward, he knew not where. There was no inkling of "to stand and fight" anymore; there was simply motion. Standing one's ground didn't do anyone any good, least of all Blader. In a battle as chaotic as this one was, there was no notion of fighting from one side, of enemy lines. Not here, not now. Not anymore.

As Blader killed another jotun and moved past his fallen body, he saw Odin, sitting atop Sleipnir, stabbing an undead warrior through the chest with his spear, Gungnir. The king withdrew his spear as the corpse toppled over and wheeled his horse around. The whirl of the eight legs made Blader feel as if he was seeing double for a moment.

"Einherjar, to me!" he shouted as his eyes fell on Blader. A surge of the undead warriors rushed to surround the Allfather and Blader felt himself moving to join them, to be a part of their desperate charge. Then Odin raised his spear and Sleipnir sped forward, forming the center point of the charge, crashing through the jotuns and undead warriors across from them.