Ragnarok

SIXTY-SEVEN

Gleipnir Facility, Fenris Kystby, Norway

4 November, 0345 Hrs

King and Rook stood from behind their rubble barrier, each with two grenades in hand. One of the White security men, who had already been in mid-leap, immediately tackled Rook. The two bodies sailed past King, but he kept his focus on his target-the colossal monstrosity, whose body still had not fully emerged from the glowing portal. He had removed the safety clips behind the rubble. Now, he pulled the pins for both grenades and let the spoons fly. He counted two seconds and then threw both grenades across the room where they landed near Fenrir’s massive feet. The first to land bounced and disappeared in a crevice, in a pile of white stone rubble. The second landed close to a foot.

Both devices detonated, the first grenade sending up a shower of flame and stone debris. The other grenade exploded near Fenrir’s leg and the creature wailed. When the initial blast of churning black smoke from the explosion cleared, King could see that Fenrir had lost the outermost toe off the foot.

One toe. We’re gonna need a bigger explosion.

Then another of the White security men was firing at him. Bullets ripped into the rubble near his legs and King fell over backward in surprise. He tried to turn it into a roll, but found himself stuck to some jagged pieces of rubble that clung to his armor like oversized Velcro hooks. No matter which way he moved, the armor would not let him get up. He reached his hand under the plating on his left side and found the buckles. He unclasped them and the chest plate was free to hinge open on his left side. He slithered out of the chest and back armor. The lower abdomen and sleeves of armor plating attached to a black neoprene-like suit woven through with impact resistant fabric. Those parts of the armor came with him as he slid out of the chest plate. He stood up and turned to find a jagged piece of metal skewering the back plate of the armor. He slipped his hand behind his back along the neoprene suit and felt a small tear in the suit, but the skin under it was not ruptured. The suit had saved his life. The piece of metal piercing his armor’s back plate would have gone through his heart.

King looked up to see Rook wrestling with the White team member. He raced over to help, but the White soldier that had shot at him was now plowing toward him. He dodged to the side, running up a small hill of rubble, then spun around and jump-kicked at the man’s head. Although the soldier wore the armored helmet, King hoped the kick would at least knock the man unconscious. But the soldier ducked the kick.

As King flew over the man, he saw Beck was up and duking it out against Matt Carrack. And the Russian still fought one of the other White security men. She leapt nimbly and gracefully, while her opponent bull-rushed her.

King landed on his feet, glancing at the woman. She looked incredibly familiar to him. He couldn’t understand exactly why. He had never met her.

The woman slipped up the soldier’s back, wrapping her legs around his upper chest, then her hands quickly found the buckles on his helmet and pulled it off. King saw that it was White Five, a quiet man with blonde hair and an always serious face. Five threw himself over backward with the hope of crushing her with his weight. She unwrapped her legs from his chest, and cartwheeled away from the impact of his body. She arrested her spin, reversed and leapt. A second after White Five hit the floor, her hand chopped at his neck. Then she was up and away.

The neck strike was the same he’d used on Queen.

He tried to remember where he’d learned the move, but couldn’t.

King heard Rook growling behind him and turned to see his friend hefting a massive slab of concrete and dropping it on the armored chest of his opponent. The armored man struggled but didn’t have the leverage or the abdominal muscles to get up from under the slab. Then Rook sat down heavily on top of the slab, adding his 200 pounds of muscle.

King almost laughed.

Then he heard a scream. He looked behind him. Fenrir had stepped further into the room, and as King turned, a giant three-fingered hand swept across the floor, scooping up one of the still-helmeted White security soldiers and flinging him against the wall of the room-over sixty feet up. Then the man’s armored body plunged to the floor, crashing hard again. King hoped the body armor could withstand such blows.

Fenrir stepped further into the room, revealing two more legs and its hind quarters, a stubby lump of loose flesh stained with defecation. Nearly fifty liquid-filled sacks dangled from its body. Some of the creatures inside were waking up, twisting and clawing. With a gust of viscous liquid, one of the pouches ruptured, disgorging a fresh dire wolf onto the battlefield. The creature landed on all fours, shook the fluid away like a wet dog and sprang into action, joining the fray.

King twisted just in time to avoid yet another strike. The White soldier returned, launching himself at King. Up close, King could see a small Chess Piece insignia of a King on the man’s shoulder plating with a number 1 in the center. It was a quick homemade job, but King appreciated the sentiment anyway. White One again ran at King, all power and no finesse. King ducked a swinging punch and came up behind the man, his hand quickly sliding to White One’s neck and the helmet buckle restraints. He only got one before the man turned and kicked. King caught the kick in the stomach. It had been aimed at King’s unprotected chest, but he diverted the blow with his forearms, driving it down to the armor plating covering his lower body. The kick still had enough force to drive King backward, but not enough to knock him down.

Beck was still battling Matt Carrack-her opposite number with the callsign of White Zero-and their battle shifted closer to King’s. She was holding her own, but both combatants looked exhausted to King.

White One again rushed at King, who threw himself forward into the man’s chest. He wrapped an arm around White One’s middle and threw his other hand to the back of the neck, getting the second clasp. As they fell, King wrenched the helmet free, and still gripping it, swung his arm back at the man’s head, smashing the helmet against his head. The man fell and King worried that he might have hit the soldier too hard. He didn’t want to kill him-he was being controlled. King reached down and pulled off his armored glove. He reached for the man’s neck, checking for a pulse.

Before he could, a roar tore through the air, but it sounded nothing like Fenrir, or any of the dire wolves. It didn’t even sound organic.

Two glowing eyes emerged from the portal, followed by a white, boxy creature.

Not a creature, King realized as the shape became clear. A Humvee!

The battered vehicle, covered in white, gelatinous gore, skidded to a stop, flinging a dead dire wolf from its hood. Another dead dire wolf, this one missing it’s lower half, was jammed into the front wheel well. A coil of clear intestines slid down the driver’s side door. The thing looked like it had plowed through an army of the things.

The door flung open, sending the guts to the floor.

Bishop, still wearing his body armor, but no helmet, stood from the vehicle looking like a warrior from some other world. He looked down, saw a grenade launcher one of the White team had dropped and bent to pick it up.

Knight slid out behind him. “Punch line, Bishop. You can’t make an entrance like that and not have a punch line.” When his boots hit the rubble covered concrete floor, Knight didn’t miss a beat. He ran across the room in what appeared to be a loin cloth. His hair was back in a ponytail and whipped around him as he ran. He was covered in white dust. As he ran, he scooped up a discarded rifle.

Despite Knight and Bishop’s sudden arrival being a shock, King recovered quickly enough to notice a familiar shape strapped to Knight’s back.

It can’t be…

Fenrir looked down at the disturbance in time to see Bishop fire a 40 mm grenade right up at her belly, where a curtain of still-growing dire wolves hung in their liquid-filled sacks.

Before the first grenade had hit, Bishop fired another at her ass.