8.Rotten Corpses

[an.: If you find any mistakes, please leave a comment. I had to edit this chapter in a rush. ]

The wind howled through the towering pines as Magnus pressed forward, the crunch of snow beneath his boots the only sound accompanying him. The forest had been quiet—too quiet. It wasn't the usual stillness of nature but something else entirely, a hushed expectation, as though the world itself was waiting. Magnus had felt the shift in the air for days, the nagging sensation pulling at the back of his mind, demanding his attention.

He needed to explore.

Frey's cabin had been a place of refuge, but he could not stay confined forever. The land beyond was still a mystery, one he had mapped only in fragments. He needed answers, needed to know what this world had in store for him. And so, with a thought, his trident materialized in his grip while the Staff of Karma hummed faintly in his other hand. With his weapons ready, he ventured deeper into the unknown.

The towering trees whispered with unseen movement. Magnus sensed something—not quite a presence, but an energy, faint and pulsing. His eyes scanned ahead, the enhanced clarity revealing something unnatural. Ruins. But not just any ruins—this place had once been a palace. Towering stone pillars, now crumbling, lined what must have been a grand hall. Broken staircases led to nowhere, and shattered statues lay half-buried in the frost.

It made sense why Magnus had never come across it before. It was far beyond the areas he usually patrolled, hidden deep within the frozen expanse. If not for his exploration today, he might never have known it existed.

He moved carefully, stepping onto broken stone pathways long abandoned. The remnants of what had once been something powerful loomed in eerie silence. But silence did not mean safety.

A sound—distant but growing closer. A guttural groan, deep and rumbling like the earth itself was stirring.

Then they came.

From the shadows of the ruins, Draugr emerged. Twisted corpses, their flesh long rotted yet somehow moving, clad in rusted armor and wielding broken weapons. Their hollow eyes burned with unnatural fire, and their movements were jagged, wrong, like puppets with frayed strings.

Magnus didn't hesitate.

With his trident in his grip, its weight familiar, comforting. He knew he could dismiss and recall it at will, but for now, he kept it ready, knowing that every second in battle mattered. As the first Draugr lunged, he twisted to the side, his enhanced reflexes blurring his motion as he drove the weapon through its chest. The creature shuddered, a hollow scream escaping its lips before it crumbled into dust.

But they kept coming.

Magnus twisted the trident in his grasp, feeling the energy thrumming through it. He reached for the floating eye embedded in its center, its gaze unblinking, and pulled it free. Without hesitation, he threw it into the battlefield. The moment it left his hand, a pulse of energy surged outward, and after a few seconds, spectral squids materialized in the frozen air.

Their green bodies shimmered, their tentacles writhing as they latched onto the remaining Draugr. The undead warriors thrashed, hacking wildly, but the squids constricted them with unnatural force. Some Draugr were dragged to the ground, while others were pelted by powerful water bullets, each impact blasting apart decayed flesh and rusted armor.

Even as Magnus continued his own battle, he felt the eye reappearing in the trident, allowing him to summon more squids if needed. The battlefield had become chaos—Draugr falling not only to his trident and staff but to the relentless assault of the summoned creatures. It was a war on two fronts, and the undead were losing. With a sharp thrust, he slammed it into the frozen earth. A ripple of power surged outward, and from the swirling mist at his feet, spectral squids materialized, their translucent bodies glowing faintly in the dim light. Their writhing tentacles lashed out, gripping onto Draugr and pulling them to the ground, constricting with unnatural strength. The undead warriors thrashed, hacking wildly, but the squids were relentless, dragging them into the frozen dirt as if the earth itself was swallowing them whole.

Hundreds. Maybe even more.

Magnus leaped into the air, higher than any normal man should, flipping over an attacking Draugr and bringing his staff down with a burst of golden energy. The blast tore through the creatures, scattering them like dead leaves.

A massive Draugr, larger than the rest, its body covered in ancient runes, raised a rusted axe and swung. The creature swung, but Magnus was already gone—his body moving faster than the Draugr's decayed mind could process. A flickering afterimage remained where he had been, a phantom in the shifting battlefield, while he reappeared at its flank in a seamless motion.

Talons extended.

Magnus lunged, his razor-sharp claws tearing through armor and rotted flesh like paper. Another Draugr came from behind, but he felt it before he saw it—his heightened senses picking up the displacement in the air. He ducked, pivoting on his heel, and sent a web latching onto a ruined pillar, using it to slingshot himself forward.

The trident spun in his grasp, each movement precise, controlled. He fought like a force of nature—too fast, too strong, too fluid. Draugr fell in droves, their bodies dissolving into mist, but more kept coming.

Then the ground shook.

From the darkness beyond the ruins, a massive figure stepped forward. A Draugr much bigger than any other, with the aura of a commander, a leader, a Lord. Its body was encased in ancient iron, its burning gaze locking onto Magnus. It raised its massive sword, etched with glowing runes, and let out a roar that shattered the silence of the forest.

Magnus exhaled slowly. His veins pulsed neon green, his body humming with power.

"Nothing that I remember from the game but... let's see what you've got."

And he charged.

The Draugr Lord moved like a boulder crashing down a mountainside—slow, but with unstoppable force. Its runic sword carved through the air, the sheer weight of the swing splitting the frozen ground beneath it. Magnus didn't wait for impact. He sidestepped effortlessly, his body flowing like water, his reflexes making it seem as though time itself had slowed.

He struck.

The trident shot forward, aimed for the beast's exposed side. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the air, but the Draugr Lord barely staggered. Its armor absorbed the brunt of the force, only small cracks forming where the strike had landed. Magnus narrowed his eyes. This wouldn't be as simple as cutting down the lesser Draugr.

The Draugr Lord retaliated, swinging its massive sword downward. Magnus twisted his torso and kicked off the ground, flipping over the blade as it struck where he had stood, sending shards of ice and debris flying. His talons extended instinctively, gripping onto the creature's arm as he landed atop it.

A deep, guttural growl rumbled from within the undead beast. With terrifying strength, it thrashed, trying to dislodge him. Magnus acted fast—his fangs sank into the exposed flesh beneath the helmet, injecting paralyzing venom directly into the Draugr Lord's decayed form.

The effect wasn't immediate, but he could feel it taking hold.

The beast roared in fury and swung wildly, but Magnus used its erratic movements to his advantage. He vaulted backward, flipping through the air as golden energy crackled along his staff. A blast erupted from its tip, striking the Draugr Lord square in the chest. The force was enough to send it skidding backward, its heavy frame slamming into a ruined pillar.

Magnus landed smoothly, rolling his shoulders. Not enough. He briefly considered dismissing the staff to free up his movements, but he knew he'd need it in an instant. Instead, he adjusted his grip, feeling the energy pulse within it, ready to strike again.

The Draugr Lord pushed itself up, its movements sluggish but still relentless. The venom was weakening it, but not fast enough.

"Time to finish this."

Magnus dashed forward, his body a blur. The world around him seemed to slow as he left behind an afterimage, confusing the beast as its glowing eyes locked onto the wrong target. By the time it realized its mistake, Magnus was already beneath its guard.

With all his strength, he drove the trident straight through the creature's chest, impaling it to the stone ruins behind it. The Draugr Lord let out one last unholy shriek, its form writhing against the weapon. The runes on its body flickered, fading, as the magic binding it together finally unraveled.

The beast collapsed into dust, its sword crumbling along with it.

Magnus exhaled, pulling his trident free from the crumbling ruin. The battlefield was silent once more, the only sound was his own steady breathing.

The Draugr were gone.

But as the quiet settled in, Magnus took a moment to reflect on the battle that had just passed. His body ached from the intensity of the fight—the sheer force of each blow, the rush of adrenaline, and the toll of pushing his abilities to their limits. His muscles burned from exhaustion, but he wasn't about to let that weakness linger. Gripping the Staff, he used its healing power.

A warm, golden light surged from within Magnus himself, channeling through the staff like a conduit. The pain in his muscles eased as the cosmic energy flowed outward, mending torn ligaments and knitting together bruised muscles. His breathing steadied, and the tightness in his chest gradually loosened. It wasn't just physical relief; it was as if the weight of the battle itself had been lifted, allowing clarity to return to his thoughts.

Deep down, there was a spark of satisfaction. He isn't the prey anymore, and that's enough to bring a grin to his face.

The memory of the Draugr Lord's final shriek echoed faintly in his mind, a reminder of how close the encounter had been to overwhelming him. But something else gnawed at his thoughts—the Lord Draugr was not part of the game. This creature was an anomaly, something entirely unexpected, something that shouldn't exist.

The realization sent a chill deeper than the cold wind ever could. If this world was producing creatures that shouldn't exist, what else could be waiting for him? The battle against the Draugr Lord hadn't been overwhelmingly difficult—it was more exhausting than anything else, pushing his body to its limits and offering him the first real chance to unleash his full strength. In many ways, it had been valuable training, sharpening his instincts and refining his skills. Still, it had proven something unsettling—there would likely be many more anomalies down the road. And with each unexpected threat, survival would only grow more challenging.

But the world had grown stranger still.

As he ventured beyond the ruins, the landscape shifted, the cold fading into something different. The trees became taller, the air richer. Magnus soon realized—this wasn't just another forest.

This was something more. As several hours passed, Magnus continued to explore and discover concerning but spectacular things.

Creatures from myths and legends stirred in the distance. Giants, trolls, revenants. Fascinating creatures, but extremely deadly. Luckily, Magnus had enhanced senses, 

allowing him to explore and observe without having to engage in battle. 

After all, he now had an idea that had been in the back of his mind ever since he passed through the ruins.

Apart from being a bit lazy after the last hour and a half. 

Magnus turned back, but this time, with a new purpose.. The ruins, despite their decay, were more than just a battlefield—they were shelter, a place of foundation. Even in its broken state, the palace was still far superior to sleeping in the open wilderness.

For months, he had lived among the trees, surviving day by day in the frozen forest. But here, within these ancient stone walls, he saw potential. The structure was strong, the space vast. If he could clear out the remaining threats, reinforce what still stood, and adapt it to his needs, this ruined palace could become something more than just a place to rest—it could become a home.

. . .

The battle had left the ruins eerily silent, the cold air thick with the lingering presence of what had transpired. Magnus took a deep breath, steadying himself as the last traces of exhaustion faded from his muscles. His body felt lighter now—stronger, more capable, as if the process of adaptation of the last battle, had already begun. But rest was not yet an option.

He looked around, eyes narrowing at the ancient stone and weathered walls that surrounded him. The palace had withstood time's cruelty, and though it had been a battleground today, it still stood resilient. Curiosity gnawed at him—if this place was going to be his home, he needed to understand it.

Gripping his staff and trident, both ready at a moment's notice, he began to move deeper into the ruins. Every step echoed through the hollow halls, a reminder that the palace had stories buried in its bones. His pulse quickened, not from fear, but anticipation.

What secrets had this forgotten place been guarding for centuries?

As Magnus ventured deeper, a chilling realization settled over him—this was no ordinary ruin. The air grew heavier, thick with an ancient presence that seemed to seep from the very stones. It wasn't just the decay of time or the echoes of past battles. There was something more—a lingering aura of death.

The carvings on the walls began to reveal their secrets:

depicted in a decaying mural a woman in the image exudes an eerie yet regal presence. Seated on a dark throne with an air of decayed majesty, her long, pale hair frames a face with a beauty beyond compression, but with a small part of the left side beginning to rot. A stark reminder of her dominion over the dead. Clad in somber robes adorned with gold jewelry, her hollow gaze and ethereal beauty mark her as Hela, the Asgardian goddess of death. The realization struck hard—this place had once been dedicated to her. The people who had lived here had worshipped her, and their devotion had left a mark that time could not erase.

Magnus could feel it—an expectant presence woven into the very air, sharp and commanding, radiating authority. It wasn't hostile, but it carried the weight of inevitability, like death itself was sizing him up, evaluating his worth. As if Hela herself, the ruler of Helhein and Niflheim, was watching from the shadows—her cold, calculating gaze measuring his every movement, waiting to see if he would prove himself worthy of something didn't know what it was. The weight of her gaze wasn't oppressive—it was patient, as though she anticipated something from him that even he couldn't yet understand.