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Dark Powers (Chapter 4)
🕑 Added 2023-07-20 17:31:15 +0000 UTCTried to type up a DIID chap for you guys, but it just didn't happen. Receiving a lot of negative feedback across various sites and it's bumming me out. I wish I could shake it off and keep going, but I'm not that mentally strong.
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Though the ten-year bargain was in Björn’s favor, the Silver Wolves’ champion had his own considerations.
He was powerful, but the world was big and dangerous. Twenty years wasn’t enough to wander unrestrained. He needed more time—to hone his martial skills, and his unique magic.
Starting out, he didn’t try becoming ‘superhuman’. Instead, he perfected what already existed—refining, streamlining and enhancing.
The human body was complicated with many interlinked systems. Producing an overall improvement and maintaining its balance was difficult.
Directed mutations had unintended consequences, so he steered clear. His dark Blessing was an exception, inducing subtle mutations without affecting stability.
However, he knew better than to grow enthusiastic. If that drop of Ruinous blood wasn’t refined and the excess expelled, he would be fertilizer.
The next Chaotic infusion might be less manageable.
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Güdbrand’s position in the tribe was unshakable, greatly displeasing Floki.
He was Björn’s youngest son. The Silver Wolves’ chieftain fathered many since his youth—none but Floki remained.
Like the other children, he worshipped ‘the Sword of the Gods’, the greatest warrior among the tribes. Unlike them, he wasn’t content admiring from a distance.
He wished to grow strong, to fight by Güdbrand’s side as a shield-brother. Being the chief’s son and ‘young leader’, it wasn’t a dream, but eventuality!
However, his childish enthusiasm was met with indifference. He begged to be trained, pleaded for their Champion’s teachings, but it was all for nought.
Nothing moved Güdbrand, not his heartfelt requests, promises of reward or Floki’s status. It saddened the boy, but as he grew older, his disappointment turned to bitter anger.
One night, during his thirteenth year, he stormed into his father’s tent.
“That arrogant bastard, what does he think he is? I’m the future chief—it’s just a matter of time before he serves me!”
He looked at the ailing Björn, indignant. Eight years passed, the once-burly warrior wasting away to skin-covered bone.
The sunken-faced old man glanced at him, faint disdain lingering behind his eyes. His son was strong, courageous and handsome. However, there was nothing between his ears!
It was only a single flaw, but in this harsh world, it was more than enough to separate greatness for worthlessness.
Björn congratulated himself for preparing Sten as a backup—the boy, now man, wasn’t the strongest, but had a far better temperament for ruling.
Seeing his father remain silent, Floki upended a table, scattering dried fruit on the ground.
“Why don’t you say anything? This is your fault, you know! As the chief, it’s your job to keep him in check, not let him do whatever he wants! He’s a sword for our tribe, he doesn’t lead it!”
He finished his rant, his fists clenched and chest heaving.
Björn’s expression was incredulous. This outburst was a new level of stupid, even for Floki. Who did he think Güdbrand was? When he was Floki’s age, he single-handedly slew one of the Raven’s warlocks!
He considered how he might discipline his foolish son, but seeing the self-righteousness in his eyes, the chieftain was suddenly exhausted.
Grabbing his wineskin, he swallowed twice, feeling the strong alcohol burn his mouth and throat.
“Forget it, just leave. I don’t have the patience for your horseshit.”
Despite the drink, his voice was dry, and he coughed a few times.
Dark emotions swirled behind Floki’s eyes, his hand going to his waist.
“You always side with him, you never listen to me! Is he your son, or am I?”
Gritting his teeth, he gripped his mother’s dagger—a thirteenth-birthday-gift.
Björn eyed his movements, his face openly mocking.
“What, you want to kill me? Boy, I see ten feet through you and you’re not a foot deep. Do it if you have the balls!”
Sloppily grabbing a handful of roasted seeds, he stuffed them in his mouth.
Floki’s pupils dilated. Never had his father scorned him so openly! It was more than he could bare, the anger in him turning to cold rage.
Something snapped, and a shout tore from his throat. Pulling the dagger, he charged forward, aiming at Björn’s throat.
The chieftain’s eyes widened, one grey and the other cloudy-white. Shocked, he made no move to defend himself.
The short blade punched through his neck, embedding in the wood behind. There was no fear in Björn’s eyes, his surprise slowly morphing to vague satisfaction.
A thin smile spread on his face, slowly dying in his high-backed wooden chair.
Floki stumbled back, his hands cramped to the dagger. His face was pale as a sheet, shivering like a startled horse. He couldn’t process what just happened.
Björn’s body tumbled from its seat, thumping to the ground.
The boy startled awake, his little dagger slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor. His breathing sped up, eyes flitting left and right, looking for a way out.
Suddenly, the log-cabin’s door was shoved open, a tall figure entering.
He removed his hood, shaking snow onto the floor. A pale, handsome face was revealed, fiery-red hair cascading down his shoulders.
Though eight years passed, Güdbrand hadn’t aged a day.
Floki’s body turned to a block of ice. Despite his words to Björn, a deep-seated fear was etched in his heart. He never saw their champion’s killing first-hand, but his reputation spoke for itself.
Güdbrand glanced from Floki to the bloody dagger, then the chieftain’s body, prone on the floor. Walking over, he bent down, rolling it on its back. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened.
Though he was surprised, there was no sadness. However, this complicated things. He promised to stay until Floki’s coming-of-age, but Björn was now dead.
His gaze went to the boy, revealing faint interest. A moment ago, he sensed something Dark. Seeing the child, he was sure—it was a Blessing.
However, given his’s good condition, it wasn’t that great. If he received power on Güdbrand’s level, only a smoking skeleton would remain. That or a rampaging abomination.
However, it raised some questions. This wasn’t the Evil Gods’ style, such a careful bestowal. Most likely, it was a demon’s meddling.
Güdbrand stepped closer, and Floki scurried backward, tripping over his feet and colliding with the wall. At some point, he picked up the dagger, now holding it threateningly.
“H-He made me do it! It was father’s fault, if he just-…”
He started rambling, but Güdbrand didn’t care. He wanted to know if there was anything interesting about the kid. No matter how he looked, Floki seemed ordinary—he couldn’t even manipulate the Winds.
Güdbrand bent down, grabbing his’s arm and taking the dagger. Dragging Floki out the door, he deposited him in the middle of a clearing.
The bloody dagger flew out, the hilt embedding in the snow.
They immediately attracted attention, small as the village was. Floki kneeled on the ground, his wrist in Güdbrand’s hand. He didn’t dare look up.
A crowd gathered, circling them and whispering. Before long, a beautiful, thirty-something woman with flaxen hair rushed out, face panicked. She was Floki’s mother, Brunne.
“What’s happening, Güdbrand? Why is my son on the ground?”
Her lips thinning, she suppressed her fear and helped Floki up.
The red-haired man didn’t stop her, regarding the spectators evenly. He might never see them after today, yet his heart was calm.
“For thirteen years, Björn borrowed my sword. Now he’s dead, and the agreement between us no-more.”
Having delivered his parting words, he turned and walked away. Aside from his blade, clothes and knapsack, he had little else.
There was a moment of stunned silence as the tribe processed his words. Björn was dead and the Silver Wolves’ champion was leaving? Such news was nothing less than calamitous!
Brunne looked at Floki, then the bloody dagger. Realization dawned on her face.
Seeing this, the boy clutched her skirts, shaking his head pathetically.
“I d-didn’t. It was him, he-… Güdbrand! The traitor, he killed father! After giving him a home, after everything, he did this…!”
His ravings persuaded Floki’s few supporters, but most looked at him with thinly veiled disgust. Wasn’t it his dagger covered in blood?
Brunne gave her son one last look before rushing inside the log-cabin. Soon, she emerged, Björn’s bloodied, emaciated body in her arms. Tears ran down her face, their authenticity unknown.
The frozen crowd erupted, rushing forward. Some went to Floki, others to Björn and the rest to Güdbrand.
Sten blocked the champion’s way, flanked by his warriors. His expression was distressed.
“There’s no need for this, brother. Only fools would suspect you of killing the chief.”
He stepped forward, trying to persuade Güdbrand.
The fiery-haired man shook his head.
“That is it’s own matter.”
Sten’s eyes flickered, tendons shifting as he clenched his jaw.
“You… were planning to leave.”
It wasn’t a question.
Güdbrand raised his chin.
“Indeed.”
Sten struggled to form words. It was so sudden, he didn’t know how to react or begin persuading the champion.
“Tell me, why? Is there anything you lack? If so, I’ll grant it. The Silver Wolves-…”
His mouth opened and closed, leaving the rest unsaid. He knew never to negotiate while desperate, but the situation was dire.
Güdbrand regarded him dispassionately.
“My fate is different from yours. Stand aside.”
Sten and his shield-brothers shifted nervously, but didn’t make way. The tribe couldn’t afford to lose him.
Güdbrand pulled his sword, showing a section of blade. On its hilt, the Blood Eagles’ sigil was engraved.
The group breathed in sharply, most of them immediately making way. Even if the tribe faced him together, it wouldn’t make a difference.
Gritting his teeth, Sten lowered his head. Since getting to know Güdbrand, he was well used to his personality.
However, only know did he realize how little regard the man had for them.
“Stop!”
Suddenly, a child-like shout rang from behind, the voice faintly trembling. Floki stood there, his fists clenched and his face enraged.
Güdbrand didn’t even turn his head, striding past his once-brothers into the snowy forest.
“I am the chief now, you must listen to me!”
Floki screetched, his high-pitched tone cracking unpleasantly.
When the champion remained indifferent, the little boy’s face turned hideous, brandishing his little knife and storming after Güdbrand.
A level-headed Silver Wolf restrained him, receiving a bloody scar as a reward. Among others, his loyalty to Björn remained, protecting the man’s only son.
Spittle flew from Floki’s mouth, screaming at Güdbrand’s back.
“You bastard, I’ll kill you!”
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