Søren Ragnarok: Inn i Sinnet 'into the mind' - By Jana Parnell

43 minutes ago

85 min read

Written By: Jana Parnell

Category: Fantasy (Dark Fantasy / Supernatural Fiction) Novel

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Jana Parnell brings a unique and intense narrative in her work "Søren Ragnarok: Inn i Sinnet 'into the mind'", a piece submitted to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This dark fantasy novel explores the tumultuous journey of its protagonist, Søren, through a world rich in Norse mythology and supernatural intrigue. Parnell's contribution stands out in the Creative Writing category for its exploration of identity, faith, and the eternal battle between man and monster within one's mind.

About the Work

"Søren Ragnarok: Inn i Sinnet" is a dark fantasy novel that delves into the psychological struggles of its main character, Søren. With a rich tapestry woven from Norse mythology, the story examines the dichotomy of man versus beast, and the haunting quest for redemption. The narrative style is both immersive and evocative, filled with vivid imagery and intense emotional conflict, making it a compelling exploration of inner turmoil and existential dilemmas.

Søren Ragnarok: Inn i Sinnet 'into the mind'

Original Submission by Jana Parnell

Søren Ragnarok ‘Inn I Sinnet’

‘Into the mind’

BOOK ONE

By: Jana Parnell

CONTENT ADVISORY

This novel contains fantasy violence, blood and gore, death, grief, traumatic childhood experiences, psychological distress, disturbing transformations, religious and spiritual conflict, and themes of self-worth and redemption. It also includes sexual harassment and threats of sexual violence.

Reader discretion is advised.

Description

Inside the world of SØREN RAGNAROK

Inn í Sinnet — Into the Mind

What makes a monster: the blood it carries, or the choices it makes?

Born into a legacy he was never meant to understand, Søren Ragnarok has spent centuries caught between the man he wishes to be and the monster he fears becoming.

Haunted by a violent past, burdened by the sins that are not his own, and tormented by a mind that offers no refuge, Søren struggles to reconcile his supernatural nature with his belief in God. He has survived cruelty, betrayal, loss, and the consequences of choices he continuously struggles to understand. Yet the one thing he has never mastered is how to offer himself grace.

As captain of the Nephilim, Søren finds himself responsible for a crew of extraordinary beings whose loyalty, secrets, and complicated histories become entangled with his own. Across treacherous seas and unfamiliar shores, ancient powers stir, old debts demand payment, and the line between myth and reality blur with dangerous consistency.

But the greatest danger may not come from the twisted world around him, or the Beast that lives within him.

It may come from the possibility that he has never truly been alone inside his own mind.

In a world shaped by Norse-inspired mythology, supernatural beings, pirate legends, and questions of faith, Søren is forced to confront the past that made him, the darkness that plagues him, and the truth of what he is.

Because sometimes, the most terrifying battle is not the one fought against the world. It is the one fought with oneself. Not every monster is born

Authors note

If one was to ask the question: ‘What makes someone a monster?’, what would be your response?

What would be the first set of memories your mind subconsciously replay before your brain translates the necessary messages sent to it, in order for you to decipher the answer?

Here, take a seat will you? Let us decrypt and decode this question together.

Could it be that a person is deemed a monster on the basis of their origin?

Could their actions deem them such even after repentance?

Could it be the decisions they make? Willingly or forced?

I guess we can easily just simply agree to disagree on which of those is the answer or whether the answer to the question is even there.

Afterall, who are you to judge or place the verdict? I doubt any of us know what we speak of in this regard, maybe even highly.

Our protagonist in this story has the same premise of questions that hang above his head.

And as you might have probably guessed based on the title of this novel, He never really gets a break, but let's be real here, neither have you.

Hmn?, all I ask is you be a good sport and sympathize as much as you can please? It is the very least you could do.

Afterall your not getting some over powered star of the show that runs off into the sunset.

There is pain, there is blood, there is gore, there are consequences for action, and there is hoping that God will have mercy.

Anyway if you do find the answer to the earlier question, be a doll and let Soren know okay? Because honestly even as the author of this series I have no idea what the answers are either.

Even I have to ask:

Am I a monster?

Are you?

Søren Ragnarok ‘Inn I Sinnet’

‘Into the mind’

LAD IN A BARREL

Chapter 1

Do ey know yeh?

That question wasn't a verbal one, because even then, would he have been able to understand me? "Yeh smell absolutely terrified."

That's the part I said out loud. Then I crouched down to his level. He just continued staring at me, his little heart beating fast against the cage of his ribs.

"Surprised yeh haven't gotten a heart attack."

I moved slowly yet smoothly from a crouch to lying flat on my stomach, my chin resting on my palms, one atop the other.

The most fascinating thing about this entire encounter was the fact that he hadn't moved a muscle, just breathed rather... slowly and stared just the same. Again, the poor little thing's heart kept making all that racket in his rib cage. It was rather distracting because the thing that captivated me was his eyes... they sparkled amidst the terror, shone even.

"Sciurus vulgaris," I whispered real quietly, to myself, really. What is up with scientists naming every living thing in Latin?

Sadly, our stare-down was cut short by a growl from my stomach.

"Sorry, little one," I whispered as I grabbed the rodent by the neck and ripped his head off in one satisfying crunch.

His blood was—

"Wait a minute," I mumbled to myself, turning the little critter's body in my hands. The torso was stiff and protruding...

It was a her all along.

And she was pregnant.

I immediately lost my appetite.

How did I not catch that?

Just then, some rustling came from a tree nearby, and I realized we, in fact, weren't alone. An even smaller version of her stepped out cautiously, sniffing around and whimpering.

"You were a mommy," I said to her as if she could hear me.

I felt so sick, but her blood was so warm and rich that I swallowed it anyway.

By the time I had dismembered her, I was on my feet. I slowly crouched again, this time to place the rest of her lower half, bloodied and all, on a bed of grass. Then I turned my attention to her offspring.

It sniffed around again cautiously, making its way over to what remained of the body. It nudged it with its head, and I took a respectful step back.

I think I've done enough.

I then stared at my palms, smeared with blood, and licked them clean before turning to leave. Then I noticed the offspring looking up at me.

That incredibly simple action instantly transported me to the night I looked into the face of Bjorn Ragnarok for the first time. I suppose that was how I looked to him... small, helpless, and orphaned by his own hands, even if he was unaware of that last detail.

It was a twilight much like this one, with a crisp, cold wind, the type that burned your nose. The only difference was that I was wet, weak, and shivering, wine-stained, dehydrated, and cold, possibly delirious after surviving only on the fermented liquid, no doubt mixed with my own bodily fluids, until the moon had completed her course.

But I only did what I thought would almost guarantee my survival.

Wildly fleeing in the midst of an assassination raid by Viking men whose sole mission was to eradicate the ‘cursed’ bloodline from the earth, with no plan or place of refuge in sight?

Or simply running to the one place they’d never look for their enemy?

On their very own ship. Needless to say, I chose the latter, hiding among the many barrels, most of which I presumed—and correctly so—contained wine and ale.

I let a good amount leak out to make room to breathe, then made haste and climbed into the barrel of cool, deep-red liquid.

But then my temporary spot of safety was found.

"Rise, boy," he said, his voice coarse with a pinch of caution, yet I dared not move. Primarily because I was caught off guard.

How could I have expected to be sprawled with my arse bare in the middle of the very Viking ship that had raided my clan just days ago? Also, I couldn't move even if I wanted to. My teeth chattered against my skull, and my bones felt brittle.

Never in my short life had I felt weaker, and as the sun started to peek over the horizon, panic began to settle even further within my heart.

If I don't find a way to get of this ship before the sun reaches me, I'll be even more of an easy target for these old bags.

"I c-c-an-nt-t," I barely managed to force out through my throat.

"It was not a question."

He crouched down to me and grabbed my face forcefully between his massive palms.

"I don' appreciate stowaways on me ship, boy," he said, all while staring directly into my eyes. Maybe it was the cold, or maybe it was the violent shivering, but I could swear I saw a hint of pain in his eyes.

Even to this day, I question what he saw and what I did, but all I know is that I. Stared. Right. Back. Directly into his eyes, devoid of any emotions that would give away my identity. Because what reason would a six-year-old have to be angry at a Viking leader after infiltrating his ship? Unless that six-year-old had something to hide. And I, for a fact, had many things to hide. "I c-c-ant," I stuttered again.

My stomach felt as if there were pins and needles. Being flat against the deck of a ship, naked as the day I exited my mother's womb, was not on my list of "things I must experience before I leave the earth."

But even with all those thoughts running wild in my head, even in my vulnerable, weakened state, I held my ground.

As he stared at me, something in him stirred again. I don't know the origin of that thing, but it made him decide not to throw me overboard in that instant.

Instead, he forcefully picked me up by my shoulders and pushed me in the direction of the other men. "Clean the critter up, will ye?"

The silence on the ship was absurdly deafening, given the fact that just moments ago, I had been watching them through the peephole of the wine barrel I was in, as they celebrated the successful eradication of my clan and had the party of their lives.

If it wasn't for that daft eejit, my hiding place wouldn't have been discovered for at least a couple more days, by which time I might have developed a plan to escape that cursed ship.

"Why not just get rid of tha boy?" the big, barrelly redhead asked, his voice dripping with distaste. "Nae, I know what I'm doin', Porbrandr."

Silence.

"Jarl—"

The beginning of a reply from the same redhead was quickly cut off by another voice. "Dinnae be a numpty. Just do what the Jarl says."

The tension that blanketed the ship that morning was stifling, but I was eventually grateful to have been dragged below deck, cleaned, and wrapped in some animal fur I hadn't been aware of.

I was given bread and scraps of fish to eat until I was to be interrogated again, or at least, that's how it felt. I still remember how soft but dangerous it sounded.

The voice of their Jarl.

Bjorn asked me seven different ways where I was from, who had sent me aboard their ship, and whether I was a spy for the Norse, an enemy Viking ship. But when I remained devoid of emotion and offered few answers, I eventually learned just how dangerous he was and why he was their Jarl aboard that ship.

Eventually, he grew tired of my lack of answers and stripped me of any little comfort I had developed among them.

I was stripped naked and thrown overboard repeatedly.

Beaten.

Thrown overboard.

Reeled back onto the ship.

Then the cycle repeated itself.

One night, when he came to my cell to check on me during one of the "no food" punishments, I had just seized a rodent as big as a puss.

I knew he was there. I felt his presence, but by that point, I didn't care.

I was starved, I was thirsty, I needed to feed.

I needed fresh blood, and that rodent just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I wasn't aware of my blood-soaked arms and face until I glimpsed my reflection in the bowl of water beside me—the bowl I had been given.

Maybe that's why he looked at me with such horror. Then I caught on.

It was my fangs.

I exposed them.

I exposed my identity to the enemy.

And not just the enemy.

No.

I had conveniently exposed myself to the enemy's leader. This was how I would be killed at six years old. Or at least, that's what I thought.

Horror crossed my features at the time, I was sure. For the first time, my face wasn't devoid of emotion. For the first time, I was there and felt like a helpless, orphaned child.

For the first time, I had let my emotions show on my face, and now the enemy knew it had successfully scared me.

He cautiously stepped forward, and I scooched back. I swallowed the mouthful of organs I'd just pulled out of the rodent's belly, then tossed the remains at my feet and continued to scooch back as far as I could, until my bare back hit the wall of the ship.

My fangs retracted, and I buried my face in my knees as I pulled them up to my chest. Then I heard the chains of the door separating us.

I looked up to see him with his hand outstretched towards me, and I just stared at him. 'Cause what was I supposed to do?

Why was he looking at me like that?

Why was his hand outstretched?

Why had he not alerted the men and had me killed right then and there?

He had just found out that I was one of the cursed.

In the minds of humans, I'm an abomination.

He then softened his gaze and said, "Come here, boy. Ey not goin' tae hurt ye."

I remembered thinking he must have thought I was so stupid. Or did he pity me? What would Father think?

The thought immediately made me angry, and I spat at his feet and muttered to him—or maybe it was more to myself:

"Do what you must do. I require no pity."

Then he chuckled.

"So the boy does speak more than a few words, ey?"

I said nothing.

"And what is it ye reckon we do with yah, boy?"

Then I heard a voice say:

Say nothing.

Something in me didn't want to disobey that voice, so I swallowed my words and said nothing more. That seemed to intrigue the Viking, for he then pulled me from my cell against my will and brought me to the deck.

"Soren!?"

A piercing voice cut me out of my past.

"Aye!?"

"Where are ye?"

"Aye, no need to shout, lassie. I'm over here."

A VOICE

Chapter 2

“What were you doing? And who’s this wee fella?”

By the time I snapped out of my thoughts, Yourth had already come up behind me, and I guess the sound of Yourth’s sudden appearance scared it way more than me dismembering its mother under the Rowan tree.

Huh, she’s a girl.

Wait.

I suddenly took notice of how beautiful my surroundings were. Bright orange-red berry clusters on the rowan tree, even though most of its leaves had fallen to prepare for winter. Everything was just a beautiful contrast against the grey branches and, eventually, the snow.

The red berries just… bold… striking… beautiful.

That’s it.

“Rønn, that’s whit ye gonna call yah” The Norwegian name felt right rolling off my tongue.

I was a bit confused though. She was sitting on my shoulder now, as if we were lifelong companions. The angle was a bit inconvenient, but even then, I craned my neck and looked at her, and boy, was she a beautiful creature.

“Are ye sure yeh want to accompany meh?” I asked her softly as I looked into her small, dark eyes, caressing her soft, red, dew-damp fur. Of course, she couldn’t verbally express her agreement.

Yet I understood.

“Ye know, ye will never understand yeh.”

I completely forgot Yourth was there… again.

“Did ye need somethin’, Yourth?” I asked her in reply.

“Dugbeard’s having ye panties in a twist; lost another game he did,” Yourth replied, laughing.

I smiled, still not looking at her, my eye contact with Rønn never breaking. The silent agreement I got from the tiny orphaned red squirrel was something I didn’t understand but accepted anyway.

“Well, teh answer yer first quest’n, Yourth, this be Rønn, and Rønn, this be Yourth.” 12

“Ahh, like the Rowan trees?” Yourth asked, to which I nodded yes.

“Ey see, she’s as beautiful as the berry’s.”

Leaving from amongst the shady covers of the trees of the forest, I pulled my hood up over my head to shade the sun, licking the remainder of blood from my lips and feeling a little strength return to me from my partial feed.

By the time Yourth and I made it back to the dock where the Nephilim was anchored, the sun had already started to kiss the sea. We were just in time to catch the last bit of an obvious disagreement.

“Mark me words, Crub. Ye have but a wee bit of patience left for yeh,” Dugbeard exclaimed as he stormed off the docks and onto the ship.

“Ye guess we know tonight won’ be jolly,” I whispered, leaning over to Yourth, and she giggled in response.

“And I take it he won’t be pleased to learn about our new crewmate either,” Yourth replied, scratching Rønn under her chin.

Then a faint sound, almost like the wind, interrupted my attempt to reply.

Leave.

What?

“Soren”

Leave.

“Soren?” Yourth called me again, her voice edged with concern, but that quickly became irrelevant because I heard it again.

Leave this place swiftly.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned over these years, never disobey that voice.

“Yourth… we best leave.”

I grabbed her hand and yanked her up onto the ship.

“Slow down! Whit’s goin’ on?!”

I ignored her and started shouting orders for “all hands on deck!” as soon as we made it onboard, while I searched for Dugbeard.

“Where’s Dug?” I asked one of the men, and after he indicated that he had no clue, I made my way below deck.

“Again with this!?” Yourth said, racing behind me.

“Ye don’ have time fer this, Yourth. We have to move.”

I pushed men out of my way as I went.

“Soren! Ye think ey been on this vessel long enough teh get a decent explanation!” I reeled around, frustration climbing its way to become evident on my eyebrows, and replied, “And ye been on this ship long enough tah know when tah take a hint, lassie.”

I glared at her, and her features slowly gave way to fear.

I softened my voice just a bit, still keeping its authority, placing my right hand on her left arm. “Have ey ever led yeh astray, luv?”

She gave a slight nod of understanding and left to join the men in preparing to leave the ship.

With silent immortal speed, I went below deck and found Dugbeard sprawled on his back, a half-empty bottle of rum in his left hand and half a loaf of bread in the other, his mouth half open as he snored loudly.

“Wee Kluvyn,” I said under my breath, rolling my eyes as I gave him a big shove off the table he was on. “Aye! Yah bampot, whit tha—”

I cut him off before he could hurl more insults.

“We’re leavin’.”

“Whit?”

“You heard me. We’re leavin’. Now.”

His face got red with anger.

“You aren’t the one to decide that, lass. Remember that.”

I smirked.

“Funny, because what ey seem tah remember is getting you and this entire ship of numpties out of the claws of Rán.”

Dug stood when I said this, coming up into my face, seemingly trying to imbue some intimidation. “Are ya challenging me, boy?”

You need to leave now.

Shyte.

I took a deep breath, then exhaled through my nostrils.

I do not have time for this.

Closing my eyes for a brief second, I breathed through my nostrils while repeating, “We need tah leave, and we need tah do it now.”

I don’t know if it was the seriousness in my tone or him finally sobering up, but he stared at me, then eventually nodded, and we made our way up the deck as fast as we could.

I felt the ship rock and knew we had successfully started to leave.

Thank God.

Dugbeard immediately started taking over commands, staggering but effective.

“Heist that sail, Askel! Yourth, get me something to get me back on me feet. Con! Where in the nits is Connor?”

“Aye! I be over here!” Con shouted in response, running towards us from below deck, trousers in disarray. Not far behind him was Naomi, trying and failing to tame her copper curls and look as though nothing was amiss.

I shook my head.

Strangely, it reminded me of times with my parents.

They often giggled and ran off together at random times, and that’s how they often came back. But a lot happier, like they meant it.

I remember I asked my father:

“What is it that you and mother share father? Is it love?”

A weird question, you might say, for a six-year-old, but not so strange given who my father was and how he raised me.

“Yes, this is what pure humans may perceive as love.”

I looked at him in obvious confusion.

“Do you not believe it is, Father?”

He replied,

“I just believe one word can’t possibly describe such a thing.”

“I do not understand.”

“Son, this kind of feeling can’t be explained with mortal words. It must be experienced. There is no human articulation for its raw power.”

THE NEPHILIM

Chapter 3

"Aye, Captain!"

Con's voice snapped me out of my thoughts, just in time to see our ship's anchor being raised and Yourth handing Dugbeard a cup. As he drank, I watched him immediately straighten to his full height.

"Aye, freakin' luv ye, lassie!" Dug said after gulping the liquid down, tossing the cup back to Yourth before making his way to the bow of the ship as she returned to the stern.

We made eye contact. I gave her a curt nod before walking over to our helmsman. "Stig, I need you to—"

"Ahhhhhhhh!"

I was interrupted by screams and frantic shouts coming from the direction of the coastline.

"Whit in the blazes?" Dug muttered, jumping onto the ship's rail. He extended his spyglass to its full length, gripping the base of one of the masts with his free hand.

"Rurik!"

"Aye, Cap'n!?"

"Get up to yer station, boy'o! Let me know what's goin' on!"

"Aye, Cap'n!"

I watched as Rurik sprang level by level up the rigging until he reached the crow's nest. He pulled the spyglass from his belt and looked towards the shore.

He froze.

The spyglass slipped from his hands and came clattering onto the deck below.

"Well?" Dug shouted. "Whit is it, lad?"

Even before he answered, I could already sense an overwhelming feeling of dread radiating from the island. We hadn't yet sailed far from the shore.

"Attacked!" he shouted. "They're being attacked!"

"Attacked?" I asked. "By who?"

"Wolves."

I froze.

That was literally impossible.

My father's voice echoed through my mind.

"Our blood is unique... ancient. The last evidence of some of the world's strongest creatures, unified and preserved. It is up to us, our generation, to keep it alive."

His words pulled me back into a memory.

“Our blood is unique, ancient. The last evidence of some of the world's strongest creatures, unified and preserved. It is up to us to keep it alive”. He said

"Is it happening again, Father?" I asked. "Are you seeing the future?"

His body went rigid, as it often did whenever he was no longer fully present. His eyes glazed over slightly. It didn't happen often. In fact, it happened less and less the older I got, and neither he nor I knew why.

He didn't answer me right away. I assumed he wasn't there, and I was right. After a while, he turned my head up towards him and looked down at me.

"Son," he said.

"Yes, Father?" I replied.

"The world will forget us. We will become no more than myths, and that will be partially true, until one day it becomes completely true. It will be as though we almost never existed."

I looked at him in horror. I didn't understand.

"But our Beast is our power, Father."

"Wrong."

His voice was calm when he answered.

"Our determination and our belief in God are our power."

I looked away, staring out at the sea from the mountainside where we sat beneath the full moon. 18

Tonight was the night Father had brought me here to establish a link with my Beast, the less dominant side of our Lycan blood, as a means of protecting myself.

It had always been imposed upon me that one day I might be left in this world with nothing but God, my body, and my mind as my armour.

I had to know everything I could. I had no time to be like the other four-year-olds in my mother's clan. "Our Beast will one day disappear for good," he said as he lifted me from his lap and helped me stand. "But your Beast is yours to command. Even if our bloodline disappears, your Beast is still your own." He extended his fangs and reached for my forearm.

Without warning...

He bit down.

Hard.

I screamed as his teeth tore through flesh.

"Ahhhhhh!"

The pain was unbearable.

My head began to spin. My vision blurred as hysterical sobs escaped me.

I watched him spit pieces of my flesh onto the ground while staring at me without blinking. Blood coated his lips, with strands of flesh still caught between his teeth.

"Stop crying," he ordered.

"Get a hold of your anger, and pull." He commanded.

I hiccupped between sobs, desperately trying to wrench my arm free from his inhuman grip. Blood poured from the wound.

"Stop... squirming."

"F-Father... p-please..."

"Pull your hunger. Pull! search for your anger."

I became increasingly angry, but not due to his wish for me to; rather, the feeling took root due to frustration. What was he talking about?

"F-Father... h-help..."

My skin was raw and pink, drenched in blood. The scent drew insects that slowly began gathering around us.

What could only be flies buzzing in the air, I increasingly became more attractive to the bugs that inhabited the area in which we stood.

First a beetle landed on the open flesh, I screamed as more began to swarm me.

And he did nothing, soon I resembled a rotting piece of fruit being overrun by insects.

They ascended my legs first, “Ah! Father please!” I screamed and desperately flinched and brushed them off my person, the action did nothing as they climbed faster and seemed to double in quantity.

My arm burned as the ants and everything else that had legs that were upon me tore into me piece by piece.

“Yes, use the pain! It is a door to your greatness! Trust me child” his voice held nothing but pride as he preached his madness.

Eventually I collapsed and rolled around, screaming and begging the man to see reason and help me. Then he finally opened mouth and said:

"Look at me." as if on que, the insects scattered as if I was the least interesting thing around and disappeared in separate directions all around me, up the trees, into bushes.

Just gone

My skin burned and stung as I curled myself into a ball shaking uncontrollably and wished even harder than usual for death.

I raised my eyes to him. His face remained completely devoid of emotion. "Your Beast won't acknowledge you unless you acknowledge your emotions."

Then he shifted his grip.

His fingers dug into the open wound. Agony shot through my entire body.

"Our vampiric blood may dominate, but you still need to understand your Beast." I pulled again.

He still refused to let me go.

Let me go!

"I'll release you when you've earned it." This time, he spoke telepathically.

I hadn't said those words aloud.

He was answering a thought I had never given him permission to hear.

Something inside me snapped.

Pain exploded through my spine. Every bone in my body burned.

The gaping wound in my arm slowly began knitting itself back together, even as blood continued pouring from it.

Then came the anger. It was unlike anything I had ever felt.

I ripped what remained of my arm from Father's grip, severing it completely at the elbow with a sickening pop.

My bones lengthened, stretching; my skin ripped and knitted together repeatedly to accommodate my legs as they bent into powerful hind limbs.

I screamed, reaching to my father telepathically as the pain made me forget how to form words, begging my father to help me end the unbearable torture.

Dark fur burst across my body.

Within seconds, I resembled a miniature humanoid wolf. Then I lunged.

Moving faster than I thought possible, I tackled Father to the ground.

Blinded by rage, I slashed at him over and over.

His eyes.

His nose.

His mouth.

Blood sprayed everywhere.

The more I attacked, the harder he laughed. He simply lay there, allowing my fury to consume me. I wanted him dead.

Dead for terrifying me.

Dead for forcing me to grow up before I was ready.

Dead for making me carry a bloodline I never asked for.

In that moment, I hated everything.

Eventually, he grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, as a wolf would carry its cub, and carried me to the edge of the mountainside, bloody and barely registering what was going on.

It was as if my little mind was split in two, and I could barely keep hold of my thoughts.

"If you don't learn to control your Beast and call upon it when you truly need it, you'll become vulnerable."

He placed me back on the ground. My legs gave way instantly as I detransformed.

It was my first transformation, and some part of me hoped it was the last. I couldn't even stand. At least he caught me before I collapsed completely.

Then he cried.

My eyes wandered over him in confusion. The moon hung above us, its light bathing everything in silver. Or perhaps I was delirious from the pain.

I looked down at what remained of my arm.

My eyes widened.

"M-my arm!?"

I tried to lift it, but Father still held me tightly against his chest. He was now openly weeping, his body trembling. Panic seized me once again.

"Father! I need to see my ar—"

"I apologize, my son... but these things must happen."

He still held me against him.

"Father... please..."

Fresh tears filled my eyes.

Finally, he released me.

I stared down at my arm.

It was whole. Perfect.

As though nothing had ever happened.

"Your Beast produces new cells rapidly," Father explained. "Scars, broken bones, ripped flesh... all of it returns to normal once you leave your Beast form."

Only then did I realize I had completely returned to my normal appearance.

I looked back at him.

"We're all going to die, aren't we, Father?"

His British accent rolled gently from his tongue. "That would be the favourable outcome, my son." He rose to his full height and stared out across the sea as I felt my consciousness slipping away. Just before darkness claimed me, I heard him say—

"If you lose control of the part of your mind that contains your Beast, you lose it all—" I dozed off and woke again.

"—be nothing more than a mindless animal."

His voice faded.

I snapped back to reality.

"Soren! Whit are ye doin'?"

I ignored Dugbeard.

I climbed the rigging, rope after rope, until I reached the crow's nest.

Without hesitation, I snatched Rurik's spyglass and looked towards the shore myself. "My God..." I started.

"It's real," I whispered.

"Spit it out, lad!" Dugbeard shouted from below. "Does the boy know what ye were yappin' about?" "Aye—" I called back. "Ye does."

Then I turned to Rurik and said,

"We have to go, now."

OBSIDIAN

Chapter 4

“What!?”

“Tha wasn’t a question, Yourth. Ye’s an order. Get back to ye station.” I stood unblinking, looking down at Yourth as she glared at me.

“We have to help them!”

“No.”

She attempted to push past me, and I blocked her path.

“Move.”

“No.”

“Soren.”

I stared at her, my jaw set, answering with silence.

“Those people need help! And we can provide ‘em with it!”

Yourth was up to my chest at this point.

“Ye do see what’s out there!? Creatures whose humanity has been brushed off as myths!” one of the men from the crew shouted in response to Yourth’s tantrum before I could answer.

I felt the ripples of nervousness that passed between the selkies and the rest of the crew. Then another added, “Yer on ye own, Missy. Those be nightmares if what Rurik saw be true!”

More men started to nod and grunt their own agreement. I then looked at Yourth again as she glared at the men.

“Ye don’t know what ye doing, lassie,” I said as I reached out and cupped her chin. “Ye know what ye doin’, Soren.”

“Ye never know what ye doing.”

“Whit’s yeh tryna say?”

I groaned in frustration.

“Why do ye be this stubborn?” I asked.

She retorted, “This be what Yuri would’ve done.”

“That’s why she died, dammit!” I yelled in agitation.

Then she slapped me.

The crewmen who had gathered around gasped. Maybe I deserved that, but either way…

“I’ve had enough of this,” I muttered. Then I grabbed her by the collar of her leather jacket and hoisted her over my shoulder.

Con bore through them, saying, “Aye, let’s calm down now. No need for ye to get—”

Then Con got interrupted by a splash. We only had enough time to see Naomi’s long body and waist-length curls flop before she disappeared under the water.

When her head popped back up, she screamed for us to hear, “I don’t know about you scallywags, but I be a woman of heart!”

Then she went under once more, swimming back in the direction from which we came. For crying out loud.

In the distraction, Yourth used her legs to swing her body weight to the opposite side of where I held her, the momentum landing her in a successful backflip off my shoulder.

And I allowed her.

She didn’t stop there.

As soon as she landed on her feet, she made a running start and launched herself off the Nephilim.

Before she could hit the water, she extended her palms, gesturing up into the air, where balls of sand and shells from beneath the sea responded, creating platforms for her to run across, following Naomi into the chaos of screams, ash, and smoke that was now visible from where we were.

I groaned, running my palm across my face.

Do not follow.

I froze.

This is usually when I heed warnings, but I can’t…

It’s Yourth.

I have to go.

“Well, ye heard the lassies. We turn back.” Dugbeard, who was unusually quiet, emerged from behind the men, a bottle of rum from God knows where in hand.

“Ye sure ’bout this?” I asked him.

He chuckled.

“Aye. We are pirates after all! Where there’s chaos, there is space to scavenge, pillage, and plunder.” He took a long swig from the bottle and tossed it at one of the young lasses onboard the crew. “There be chance of booty yet, boy’o!”

He grinned.

Just then, Rønn popped up out of his beard, scurried up his shoulder, and sat cleaning her fur. “Gahh! Soren! Control ye pesky little vermin!”

He swatted at her, and she simply scurried down the length of his beard, over to me, and nuzzled my neck. At least one thing is going predictably.

“Stig!” I called out.

“Aye,” he responded.

He didn’t give me a chance to give the order, as we felt the Nephilim turn, and we went full speed ahead.

We barely made it back to the dock when a cloud of flaming spears came hurtling into the path of the ship. Crub jumped up, and with a loud croak, a big ball of water projected from his elongated jaw, putting out the fire, dissolving the flames, and interrupting their descent, with only a few hitting the ship.

I didn’t stop to assess the damage. I had full faith in Rurik and Crub.

Everything was in disarray by the time we left the ship and made it ashore. I reached out with my mind to see if I could pick up a thought, any thought, and all I got was silence.

They are all devoid of thought.

Oh… oh no.

“They’ve all gone rogue,” I muttered to myself in pure horror.

I pushed my thoughts out into the atmosphere again, trying to pick up something… anything. 26

Again…

Silence.

This was unlike anything I’d seen before. Lycans aren’t new. I thought they were all dead, but rogues? On this scale?

I looked around as my crew jumped into the madness, the selkies of the crew looting what they could in the chaos, a man’s torso being ripped from his lower half. I realized I still wasn’t able to pick up Yourth’s scent, and locating Naomi proved futile.

So I sniffed, but I couldn’t seem to focus. A few of the men from the crew branched off from the task of looting and launched attacks around me, securing my back. Their swords clashed, and an uncanny feeling of dread formed around me.

“Why are me bloody hands shakin’?” I muttered to myself.

The smell was unbearable, and unfortunately, my nose works better than a human’s. And where the hell did those spears come from?

I sniffed the air, but it was impossible to pick what to focus on. The scents were overwhelming.

A woman then ran up to me, shaking my shoulders, her eyes bewildered. She was evidently heavily with the child. She barely managed to whisper, “Please save my bab—”

She cut herself off and looked down, and I felt it: the spirit of the unborn leaving her, and hers grasping at straws. I then followed her gaze down to our feet; her abdomen had clasped in on itself. Clumps of intestines, blood, muscle, and flesh, and what I’m pretty sure resembled the fetus itself, fell as if they weighed nothing onto her bare feet and my leather boots.

The sweet smell of her flesh and blood filled my senses. For a moment, I imagined the taste of the thick liquid down my throat.

Warm. Metallic. Rich.

I forced myself out of the trance in time to hear “God’s above,” the last thing she said before I watched her spirit leave her and what was left of her collapse into my arms.

Hel!

I laid her corpse to rest at my feet and stepped over her. I couldn’t dwell on her for long. All this is bigger than even I.

Something is terribly wrong. I can feel it.

You do not wish to heed my words?

Now is really not the time.

Your blood will die on this island.

What?

“All these damned thoughts are about to drive a man mad,” I grumbled as I dodged a grey, mangy-looking wolf that attempted to attack me.

Another swarm of flaming spears came out of nowhere, but before they could land on the roof of a civilian’s home, Yourth came up from the back of the roof, meeting the ball of fire in the air with her arms open towards the earth, manipulating it to her will. In one fluid motion, from either side of her waist, a shield of dirt blocked and dissipated the fire.

At least I know where she went.

The source of it came into view as I noticed, just beyond the tree line of the forest, a group of native men in the skins of animals, readying themselves to launch their bows again. That's where I realized the projected ball of flames were not directed at the homes but at the creatures climbing them. I caught Yourth heading for the trees in the same direction the flames came.

Before I could think, I was distracted yet again by my sensitive ears picking up bits and pieces of shouts and orders being thrown from the same group in their native tongue.

“Skyt nåi!”

These ones were clearly not as boneless as the rest of the village, running and screaming, not even trying to fight back and protect their women and children against the terrors.

In a flash, I took hold of the arm of one of my crewmates, pulling him out of the line of a spear, just in time for it to lodge into the backside of the attackers.

After letting go, I closed my eyes, pushed my mind out into the atmosphere again, and I heard thoughts, but not what I hoped to hear.

People were running away whilst having flashbacks of their minuscule lives. Dugbeard’s greed rang in the front of his mind. Of course he is enjoying the chaos and distraction so there’s room for the crew to loot booty. He does nothing unless there’s something in it for him.

I had a feeling we weren’t dealing with just Lycans.

No, this was different.

When Lycans transform, they still have some connection with their humanoid features… thoughts, behavioural patterns. The mind is intact.

“—be nothing more than a mindless animal.” My father’s voice rang out in my mind once more. Although my vampiric lineage dominated, I was still required to master my Beast.

So, I know that these are something entirely different.

They almost look dead.

They foamed at the mouth, resembling rabid dogs. With their fur patchy and matted, exposing raw, discoloured skin beneath. Some patches looked scabbed over, others almost rotted away, as though whatever plagued them was eating them alive or they had turned on each other a few times.

They looked so diseased it was a wonder they could still stand. Whatever they were, they looked less like living creatures and more like corpses that had forgotten to die.

In all this, I lost sight of Yourth again.

To make things worse, the sun was about to set any minute now.

And I think my inner voice was right, as it always is.

We needed to go; I could feel it. These creatures would prove to be more than we could manage. These were monsters.

I pulled one of my daggers from my belt, inserting my pointer finger into the hole in the hilt, spinning it absent-mindedly, my golden cuffs glistened reflecting what little sunlight lit the sky as I looked around, making my way across the beach.

There were children drenched in mud, blood, or both as they ran and screamed, the stench of madness pungent in the air.

Something in me stirred.

That deep sense of dread I felt the moment I returned to the docks.

Involuntarily, my skin felt as if a dozen needles were piercing me, goose bumps followed, then patches of fur threatened to emerge.

I could feel it.

The exact spots across my body, where fur- no doubt- now occupied.

All of a sudden, the overwhelming need to transform threatened to overpower me. The mind of my Beast awoke without my probing.

I was about to lose it.

Oh, for God’s sake.

I surged forward just in time to grab a big, grey-furred wolf by the back of its head and pull him off a child who was curled in the fetal position, presumably having accepted her fate.

I slammed its head against a rock with a satisfying crunch, and it immediately lost its life. I felt as if I was operating solely on muscle memory.

I haven’t had to jump into combat in so long I can’t even recall.

Everything was a blur.

Dugbeard shouting at half the crew and swinging his Dane axe, the weapon almost as recognizable as he is, ripping through anything it slashed against with Dug’s fury-filled guidance and precision.

I finally got sight of Naomi.

Con seemed to have located her before me as they grabbed women and children and escaped with them to safety.

A scent caught my attention.

It was Yourth.

“Finally,” I breathed out, relief washing over me.

But before I could attempt to make her the full bane of my attention, something else did. Something else was there. A presence.

Something big.

Something powerful.

INTO OBLIVION

Chapter 5

No…

Was it someone?

Then I paused in my tracks, sniffing the air.

In my distraction, one of those maniacs had a clear shot and took it, clamping down on my left arm, sinking its jaw in, drawing blood, and pulling in an attempt to take my arm.

“Ahhrgh, Faen!”

I grunted in frustration, placing my dagger’s blade between its teeth.

Then, with one clean swipe, I sliced its jaw open, watching it slacken as its owner fell to the ground, stunned, with a thud, whining and grunting, before I drove my dagger through its neck in another clean swipe.

I quickly turned my attention back to the direction from which I’d picked up the scent earlier. That’s when I saw it.

A big, obsidian-black Lycan.

Not a full wolf like the others attacking on the beach, and yet still not fully transformed, just stuck somewhere in between.

It began to come closer, and I mimicked the motion.

The closer I got, the more I was able to see it…

To smell it.

Its stench resembled something old. It reeked of animal and rotting flesh.

It was about three hundred yards away from me at present, and I observed how its head seemingly split down the middle mid-shift. The left side was still human, the skin pale with a pink-grey tone, the shape of a human cheekbone evident, a human eye socket, and smooth skin, with the dark fur on the chest below it.

The right side was completely beastly, covered in thick, coarse fur that was black and looked wet and matted.

The snout was long, and the fur came down from its temple, over its cheek, and onto its jaw.

Even though this one wasn’t ragged and foaming, aimlessly chasing people and destroying everything in its path, it had still definitely seen better days.

But even as I zeroed in and listened, its mind was quiet.

And this time, it felt as if it was on purpose.

Then it stopped.

It just stood there while the chaos around us occurred.

As if we were the only ones there.

Rogues don’t usually travel in packs.

Rogues don’t follow an Alpha.

But this one unmistakably operated as one.

The others purposely didn’t cross its path.

They ran around, even though, amongst themselves, they bumped into each other as if blind. Wait.

I broke eye contact and punched one of the mangy-looking things that had just attempted to pounce on me in the jaw.

When it tumbled to the ground, I grabbed its head, placing my knee on its neck to keep it still, and lifted its face as it snarled and snapped at me, froth and foam spitting from its mouth.

They’re blind.

I stabbed it in the eye with my dagger, turning it, then yanked it free from its socket as blood oozed out.

“Dug!” I turned around and shouted behind me, towards where Dugbeard and the rest of the crew had now made it.

“Aye!?” he answered.

“They be blind!”

As the words left my mouth, the obsidian wolf howled. Everything stopped.

Every rogue paused mid-action.

Mid-severing of a limb.

Mid-chew.

Mid-sprint.

The obsidian wolf made a low, bass-filled growl.

And something in me responded.

My skin began to prickle, and I felt as if my mind was about to attempt to act on its own. My body just willingly responded to that?

I slowly panicked, and the feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.

Then I heard Yourth’s voice.

“Soren! What are ye doin’!? Get away from there!”

Before I realized it, I had involuntarily moved about one hundred yards closer to the obsidian wolf. My body had responded to its howl, moving on its own without me even noticing that I was drawn to it. You cannot be controlled.

I beg to dif er.

Snap out of it, child.

Wow. You don’t say, hmm?

As if I’m not trying, dammit!

Must my mind, the one place I should be free, choose to plague me too?

The rogues remained frozen in place, and their apparent leader stood there, slightly twitching, its head snapping to the side every few seconds as it stared at me.

Then it crouched into a low, all-fours stance, resembling an animal about to pounce. Then it nodded towards me.

Suddenly, the rogues responded. Every single one of them turned their gleaming eyes towards me. And attacked.

BLOOD OF MY BLOOD

Chapter 6

Oh well, isn’t this just a nifty afternoon?

Run.

I don’t believe I require that directive to be said again.

“Run!” I screamed as the crew stumbled over themselves to get to the Nephilim, deranged monsters giving chase behind us. All except Naomi, who tore behind me as I sprinted towards Yourth, tapping into my vampiric ancestry.

My surroundings became a blur around me.

Dugbeard led the others back to the ship, shouting orders for the anchor to be raised.

Pulling out my second dagger, I spun it on my middle finger before lodging it into the skull of a rogue, a sprawl of blood answering in response to my violence.

In my peripheral vision, I caught Naomi leaping halfway into the air, grabbing one of the rogues and meeting the creature’s side with an electrified knee. Yet they both landed with a heavy thud, as the wolf was bigger than her, resulting in it landing on top of her. She freed herself almost immediately, and I made it to Yourth in seconds.

“Soren, you shouldn’t ha—”

I cut her off by scooping her up in a bridal carry.

It kills me to have put my figurative tail between my legs and scurry away like this, but I must. There are at least a couple of hundred of them. As I predicted, there are too many of them to handle all at once.

She clung to my shoulders, burying her head in my neck as we ran.

We made it back to the docks in the nick of time, only for Yourth to say, “I think I’m hurt.”

She barely muttered it, but it was more than enough for me to hear. I stopped in my tracks, preparing myself to look down at her properly. That was when the blood-soaked state of her torso became evident. It was safe to assume it was hers.

Just then, Naomi stopped beside me, along with Con, who I’m sure had made it back onto the ship with the silkies. Dug’s scent betrayed him as he rushed up to us. Evidently, he had turned back after noticing Naomi had followed me and, as expected, he never left her side for long.

Pulling out his pistol, he fired at a group of rogues advancing towards us, covering us while we stopped.

“Rah!” A war shout came from behind me as Naomi began releasing waves of electricity around herself, disorienting the unsuspecting rogues that meant to attack us.

“Why do yeh insist on raising me pressure, Yourth?” I snapped in anger as I took off my scarf, wrapping it around her injured area.

“Oye, now’s not deh time. We best get out of here now. Go!” Naomi said, and I nodded. She was right.

Clutching Yourth impossibly closer, I took off again as some of the crew, Con and Naomi covered us while following behind.

Rurik, seemingly spotting us, ran down the ramp of the ship, his arms and tail outstretched to take Yourth from me.

Her body tensed, then she screamed, “Behind ye—!”

As if in slow motion, a stinging pain struck me in my lower back, and I lurched forward, Yourth tumbling out of my arms, but Rurik caught her just in time.

Then I was grabbed by the ankle and thrashed to the left, then to the right. My head slammed against the ground. The sticky feeling of blood staining my face, along with dirt and sweat, stung my left eye as I was dragged back from whence we came.

“Soren! No!” Naomi shouted as I was dragged away.

Even though disoriented and caught off guard for a moment, I still happened to remember the voice of my mother, screaming:

“As Esther defended her people, so will I! If I perish, I perish!”

She planted her bare feet in the ground in her signature warrior stance, weapons nowhere to be found, but her arms held defensively to her chest. Her belly protruded, revealing her obvious gestation. Her eyes blazed with fury and determination, as they always did.

Pain pushed me out of my daze as another rogue added insult to injury by grabbing my shoulder in its jaw, digging into my flesh and tugging me in the opposite direction from the one in which I was being dragged.

“Uhhrghh!” I struggled against them to reach my daggers, but the notion soon proved futile. Screw this.

Lengthening my claws, I slashed at my second attacker, and it yelled in agony and released me. But again, the one holding my leg captive thrashed me as if to keep me disoriented.

In the assault, I managed to get my free leg planted. Using my arms and elbows, I pushed myself up and, with that same free leg, kicked my attacker in the midst of being dragged like an inanimate object.

One, two, then three times. The last kick came with frustration and anger, and my leg was released from between its teeth as it tossed me aside and came for my head instead.

But I was ready this time. With both hands, I grabbed the foaming creature by its head, slammed its body against the ground, and struggled against it as I lifted and slammed it again and again into the ground.

Finally, it stopped moving, yet I knew it was far from over. I felt a glare at the back of my head. There he was behind me, staring at me, steadier and more intense than before.

It craned its head to the left, still maintaining eye contact with me, then grunted, almost like a soft instruction. I assumed that was what it was because they stopped, just as they had before.

Only this time, they didn’t attack. They just stood where they were.

Before I could think, he came at me fast.

I had no time to react because, before I knew it, Obsidian was upon me, and I couldn’t raise my arms in time. Con jumped in front of me, pistol raised, and pulled the trigger. I watched as the bullet struck the obsidian beast square in the forehead, the impact disorienting it.

Its head snapped backward, but it still didn’t fall. Instead, it shook its head in anger and came after me once more.

“Whit in tha Kraken is tha thing!?” Con exclaimed.

Naomi moved up beside us, electricity already crackling across her arms, and answered, “How’da think ye would know!?”

The three of us formed a loose line, Con on my left, Naomi on my right, with the creature directly ahead of us. Naomi set herself in a defensive position, and we followed her lead out of reflex.

It charged at me again, barely paying attention to Con or Naomi, even though they were the ones actively attacking. Its golden eyes were furious and fixed on me, and I stood ready for it to lunge.

I was right. It was aiming for me.

It tore through Con’s bullets, taking all of them to the chest, then swiped its massive claws at him. Con took a nasty blow to the face, which sent him flying a few feet away.

“Con!” Naomi and I shouted in unison.

Her electrical charge died as she raced after him, leaving a clear shot for the obsidian nightmare to rain its full fury upon me.

I braced myself as the beast lunged.

I gave it no chance to attack me head-on like last time. I doubled my right fist and punched it square in the jaw just as it reached out to grab me, using enough supernatural strength to send it reeling.

It got up, staggering a bit, then came at me again. I tapped into my vampiric speed, slipped beneath its claws, and countered with a punch to its ribs.

It was bigger than me but slower, stronger through brute force but with no technique. No control.

I can end this.

I kept meeting it with punches. Each blow forced it backward, but it kept coming. Howling in anger, it slashed me across the chest. Blood flowed, and I staggered, looking down.

Four deep gashes had opened across my chest, throbbing and drenching the ground in blood. I staggered back.

Obsidian took advantage of my momentary distraction, tackling me to the ground. Its claws dug into both my shoulders, pinning me beneath its weight and immobilising me with excruciating pain. I gritted my teeth, closing my eyes and using both hands to shove against its chest, trying to force him off me.

The sounds of clashing swords around me made me realise that he must have set off his minions again while we were grappling.

“Take tha, yeh group of wretched monsters!” Dugbeard’s voice came into focus as I continued to struggle beneath my massive aggressor.

He suddenly lifted me as if I weighed nothing and tossed me into the air. I flew several feet before crashing into Naomi.

She was just readying another electrical charge, aiming at a group of rogues attacking them. The electricity was released at the exact moment we collided, and bolts of electricity shot through me.

Pain tore through my entire body in agonising jolts.

My muscles twitched uncontrollably, and soon my entire body did too.

I barely had time to recover.

Obsidian ran up to us, reaching us within seconds.

Again, it lifted me into the air, and again, I was thrown. This time, I landed hard, knocking the air from my lungs. I attempted to stand despite the pain, only for the obsidian monster to grab me by the face, pulling me in close enough to stare into its eyes.

I got a better look at the beastly side of him, in contrast to the humanoid half that hadn’t quite transformed yet.

But—

Wait.

We were now close enough to see it had—

“Fangs,” I said to myself in momentary disbelief, because these were vampiric fangs. But—but Father once told me we were the only Vampcans left. The line ended with us… With me.

His mouth was open, the middle of his face showing human skin meeting fur, and human lips meeting an animal muzzle.

Jagged, yellowed fangs and teeth.

From the neck down, his upper chest was bare and muscular, his skin pale with visible veins, his neck and shoulders framed by the same thick black and grey fur that covered the wolf side of his face.

He breathed deeply, breathing me in.

It was completely dark now, as night had blanketed the shores of the beach. We were on the beach, save for the batches of fire that encamped at random places.

I stared into his eyes as my brain ran wild with endless possibilities of what was going on. I was basically defeated, utterly bound and vulnerable. I believed he would have started ripping me apart by now—

“Ahhh!”

Maybe this is what one would say is too soon. My concerns came to life.

Out of nowhere, his massive jaw took hold of my neck, and he bit down with what could only be described as impossibly spiteful force.

Then he pulled, leaving no room for my muscles to remain in their habitat as he ripped a mouthful of my flesh, blood and veins from my neck. He dropped me to the ground, then came looming over me.

My eyes watered, and my vision blurred. The last thing I heard before darkness consumed me was a low grunt, but somehow, it translated in my mind as:

Let go.

Then darkness.

THE BLOOD

Chapter 7

Utter and utmost silence. Outside noise was blocked from my focus, just as it is when one is underwater.

Then, almost instantly after I was back, my body obeyed the command I heard. My skin prickled, and again, pain reinvited itself into my arms, legs, and every other part of my body as patches of fur started to burst out of my skin and legs at random.

It was a command scripted directly into my being; my body felt animated.

“No,” I muttered. My heart raced as I began to panic. “No-No! No!” I screamed and groaned in anguish as I went through the uninvited transformation, but there was nothing I could do.

Not again.

This is not how they were to find out. This is not how they were supposed to see it. Naomi, Con, the silkies—they were not supposed to see this.

To know what I am.

And what are you?

“Shut up!” I grabbed my head, shaking uncontrollably, my now elongated claws digging into my face and the raw flesh that was in mid-transformation. The pain was unbearable. “All wrong! Everything is all wrong!” I screamed.

My bones did what they knew to do, my body accommodating my hybrid Beast form, and I was a backseat passenger in my own mind as my Beast’s ambitions took over, along with an insatiable anger, and I allowed it.

What else was I to do?

I got a glimpse of everything around me, just for a second. Everyone froze, momentarily distracted by what they were witnessing.

By me.

I had lost complete control.

I lost control of everything.

A completely monster-like growl came from my lungs, one that even I was stunned by. Then I snapped. 40

I failed in the one thing I told myself, the one thing I promised.

Pathetic.

My senses became no different from those of a wild animal, my goals now completely in harmony with my Beast.

The pain from the wounds in my chest, face, head, and neck seemingly disappeared.

My body moved down onto all four limbs, and a growl came from the base of my chest. Then I felt myself speak without me.

“Rinn thu gu leòr,” I spat in my mother tongue, a language I hadn’t heard in centuries. My voice was a mixture of my own and the undertones of my Beast, raspy and low.

I could be mistaken, but I could have sworn that he smirked at me, just like Father did. A memory came back to me in that instant.

“Rinn thu gu leòr, a mhic. You’ve done enough, my son,” my mother’s sweet voice purred as she caressed my head.

It was a very vigorous day of training, and I had thought it wise to abandon the last of it while no one was the wiser and go swimming with the rest of the young boys of the clan. My father was the one who had caught me in my attempt to act as a regular six-year-old lad would and quickly put a stop to it, banishing me to my mother’s hut.

“It’s just not fair, Mama,” I huffed, my voice muffled by the fabric of my mother’s clothes as my face was buried in her belly and she continued to rub my back and head.

“But you must remember that this will be your clan one day,” she said.

“But I don’t want it!” I retorted, this time lifting my head to look at her.

“Did I ever tell you how I became the Chieftain of the Chamei?” she asked.

I shot up, sitting straight upon hearing the question.

“No, never! You never speak of it!”

She smiled, but it was not a smile that reached her eyes.

“It was never mine to choose.”

“But you love leading us! You’re a legend, Mama!” I said.

She reached out, touching my face.

“Thank you, my child.”

“My father, your grandfather, was a stern man and a fierce leader,” she began. As she told me the story, I rested in her arms again. “He and Mother, your grandmother, were madly in love, making it even easier for them to lead the Chamei.”

She continued telling me the story about my grandparents.

About how her leadership was not earned through a fight, as tradition dictated, but was a product of greed and jealousy.

She told me her aunt, my grandmother’s younger sister, was madly in love with the chief as well, but my grandfather chose my grandmother, marrying her almost immediately.

“My aunt didn’t take that as a reason to end her feelings; instead, her feelings on the matter grew into a wicked obsession, and she became extremely close to my parents, to whom no one suspected she had secret plots and schemes.”

In our clan, there were many ways to deal with offences, but those who were deemed traitors were dealt with in only one manner.

They were drowned.

“She convinced the clan that their chief and chieftain were traitors, and they were—” “No—” I interrupted.

“Yes,” Mother replied to my outburst, then continued, “They were drowned when I was not much older than you.”

I sat there staring at her in horror. All my life growing up, we had only ever heard that my grandparents met an unfortunate end and that their bodies were in eternal paradise. I didn’t even know I had a grandaunt.

She proceeded to tell me that the clan found out two years later that her parents had been falsely accused. For the first time in Chaimei history, they didn’t choose their next leader through a fight among the worthy. They burned her aunt alive at the stake for her wickedness and betrayal against the clan and, in despair, crowned her: “Katreeohnah Chaimei, the only child of the late Chief, Chieftain of Clan Chamei.”

By the time I was able to process what I had just learnt about my forefathers, my father burst into the hut.

“How dare you?” he seethed, pointing at me as I got up from Mother’s lap and knelt on one knee, my head bowed in respect.

“Mo ghràidh, be calm.”

He ignored my mother’s request. His eyes blazed with fury I didn’t quite understand. “Father, I’m sorry, I—” I started to apologise, but was interrupted.

“That’s not good enough!” He kicked a water can on the ground into the wall.

I remember how upset and confused I was.

“But I know the lesson, Father. I just wanted a wee bit of fun,” I replied with my head still down. “Fun? Fun! You abandon your training for bloody fun!?”

Clenching my fists with my arms close to my sides, I gritted my teeth in frustration.

“I’m tired, Father! It’s the same thing over and over!” I got up off my knees, but with my head still lowered, I continued, “I never miss training. I woke up before dawn. I don’t even have friends! I am tired!”

By the end of that, my head was held up, and I stared my father down. He looked at me with his face devoid of emotion, which prompted me to continue.

“I know every single maneuver, every counter that I’ve been forced to learn ever since I could stand, Father. I—”

“Prove it.”

“What?”

He didn’t repeat himself. Instead, he lifted his right foot and kicked me in the chest as hard as he could, sending me flying across the room.

“A Dhia!” my mother exclaimed, rushing to my side.

I pushed my mother’s hands away, glaring gently at my father across the room.

“You know everything, right? You don’t need training, and you wish to wander about like a bloody fool.” I had fully stood up by now, still glaring at him. “If your mother and I were to perish tomorrow, Clan Chaimei would be left to the mercy of this wretch because of you.”

With that, he stepped out of the hut, and I raced after him.

“I never asked for this!” I screamed, closing my eyes.

“And you think we did?”

He was halfway into the forest on the outskirts of our territory, still walking away from me. I grew increasingly angry.

“I am talking to you, Father!”

He paused, his back still turned towards me.

“I do not speak to cowards.”

“I am no coward, Father.”

“Your mother just now trusted you with knowledge older than your entire generation, and what do you do? Still make a fool of yourself.”

He turned around to face me again.

“She was crowned chieftain before she even fully understood what the word meant, leading our people with efficiency and grace, paving the way for our future without even knowing what that future was.”

He came up to me, continuing:

“And here you are, whining about petty things, and you call yourself a son of mine? Of Katreeohnah Chaimei, the first female and youngest clan leader to exist in Chaimei history, and Vampcan Prince Cenwulf Ragnvald the Second?”

He scoffed, looking down at me with distaste.

“If an attack were to fall upon us right this instant, you’d be the first to die.”

At his final word, I snapped. His insults had successfully gotten to me.

A chief’s son should exude composure and decorum. Words should not have bothered me that easily, but I was the opposite of those things.

My fangs responded to my emotions, and my claws extended. As my father turned to walk away again, I leaped, returning his earlier attack with a powerful kick to his back, landing him face-down on the ground.

Then his shoulders shook as he—

Chuckled—

All too quickly for me to follow, he pushed himself up and spun around.

“Attacking an old man while his back is turned? Does ye have no honour?”

Then he crouched to the ground, taking the stance he always took with me before shifting. “I was taught to use every opportunity that is presented to me, that as long as I’m alive, I can win.” 44

“As long as your mother does not learn the source from which you learnt that, it means nothing to me what you do in battle, as long as you win.”

His fangs showed themselves, and his claws soon followed.

It was now my turn to crouch, mimicking his stance.

He looked at me and then smirked before speaking his next words.

“Again.”

That’s the exact kind of smirk I was now staring at. Confident, jeering, and pissing me of . My Beast didn’t care much for my emotions. Its only interest was to cut down its opponent to size. I felt my body move as my Beast took over.

Merely a spectator in my own body, I was subject to animal instincts that controlled my every move. The night sky, coated by heavenly bodies, bathed us with patches of light as we slowly circled each other.

Our hind legs slid through the sands on the dark beach of Kvalvika.

It tilted its head to the side, then pounced with a roar, and my Beast met the monster with matching fury.

Madness is the only word that could describe what was happening. Standing on our hind legs, with massive claws clasped to either side, snouts almost touching, drool and gnashing teeth—we wrestled to get the upper hand over the other.

We clashed, resembling rabid dogs losing their minds. I had forgotten why I was in this mess in the first place.

Even the voice that usually accompanied me had fallen silent. Maybe it was because it could not reason with an animal, namely my Beast.

Pain shot through my head as I received a blow from Obsidian’s fury. It then grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, slamming my head against the ground. My teeth chattered, and my head had most definitely sustained severe damage.

But that was quickly shaken off, and my Beast had us headfirst in a tussle. Only I seemed to pay attention to the agonising feeling of flesh reconstructing itself at the side of our head where we had last been assaulted.

These details meant nothing to the driver of this vessel, my body leaping into the air to meet Obsidian as he replicated the move, both of our massive claws held above our heads to attack.

My move bested his, landing him a few feet away, disoriented.

My Beast had us move to take advantage of that. Faster than thought, we were upon the obsidian Vampcan, our knees in its chest as we slashed at its face and eyes.

God knows I’m sick of this.

I hated how out of control everything had gotten so quickly, so I pushed my own fury and agenda to meet that of my Beast, moving in sync with its wild desire for bloodshed and flesh.

Obsidian fought with all its weakened might to pry me off, slashing and shredding with no regard for its half-constructed features.

It managed to overpower me and pin me beneath it, its massive jaws holding onto my left arm. With my free arm, I jabbed it repeatedly in the head, resulting in it releasing me for no more than a second before pinning me on my back again.

I grabbed Obsidian by the head, using all my strength to prevent its wide-open, massive jaws from claiming my head between its teeth.

My clawed thumbs, on either side of his face, itched to reach his eyes. My aim was evident.

Slobber and the smell of death and rotten flesh consumed my face as my Beast and I fought with everything in us.

Father would be so disappointed.

In the struggle, I noticed something in its eyes that was… familiar.

Father’s words flashed across our mind quietly: “It means nothing to me what you do in battle, as long as you win.”

Just as the thought came across my mind, it vanished as I managed to get a proper hold, pressing and slowly struggling to get my clawed thumbs into his eyes. I pushed all my emotions into this one act.

My Beast’s aggression and anger met my own, and finally, we sank our claws into the eye sockets, blood gushing and coating my face.

Obsidian’s screams and howls of agony came to a sudden end with the twist of its neck and a satisfying pop.

Tearing its head off was no easy feat, but it was what my Beast deemed necessary. It breathed deeply, then claimed the severed head.

Holding it above our head, we drank deeply, warm crimson liquid bathing our fur. Eyes closed and tongue lapping up our victory drink, I revelled in the momentary silence of our mind.

And just like that, it was over.

We had lost the opportunity to revel in our victory. Just as we tossed the head to the ground, a bolt of electricity struck us from behind. Twitching and seizing, we collapsed to the ground, face-first.

Exhaustion and the electricity shooting through my veins clouded my vision, and I gave in to the darkness that came to claim me.

The Cursed or the Mythics?

Chapter 8

The last time I can remember experiencing this much silence within my own mind is the time I gave up complete control over my Beast.

My vampcan Beast form roamed Scottish forestry for God knows how long.

I can remember how I hunted anything that moved or breathed in the territory that I created in my mind, nothing sated my thirst, nothing soothed my Beast that was roaming the Earth.

Unmatched

No predator above me, A vampcan with no moral leash.

I drank the blood of any living thing I wished and for the longest time I had made peace with it. I believed there was no coming back, after all I had lost everything my Beast and I suffered horrible flashbacks every. single. night. the moon undressed in the sky.

The screams, the fires, the madness.

Bjorns once thought to be invincible body, lifeless at my feet. A second chance of family ripped away from me yet again.

Is this what the Job felt?

Well atleast Job was a sinless man just being tested, a completely different contrast from me A monster

And not just any monster, no one with the probability of destruction, chaos and peril following it at every turn.

One who managed to get the biggest fiercest Viking sanction in its time of the Northern Seas completely annihilated. Along with the man who held the DNA of one the greatest of what was known in that era as ‘cursed’ bloodlines that humans now call the ‘mythics’.

Bjorn Ragnarok

I used to feel so powerful whenever that name was said within earshot, knowing that I was to be his successor he named me his successor because that was my leader, my Da.

The day he found out who I was, the very same day he revealed his reasoning behind sparing my life and allowing me to keep my secret, as the child that kept the bloodline of the very abomination in which they had sought to eradicate that day they raided the Chaimie was the day I knew I was given a second chance of life.

My mothers constant prayers over my life were heard.

When he pulled me from my cell against my will and brought me to the deck, I remembered how I trembled, how my knees buckled under my weight at the thought of what was about to happen next.

Would they behead me?

Would they toss me overboard for God this time?

“A Dhia, ma tha na tha mo mhàthair ag ràdh mu do dheidhinn fìor, sàbhail mi.” I mumbled softly in my mother tongue looking up into the sky as Bjron continued to pull me. When we finally made it to the deck the sun kissed my face and I instantly missed my tiny inhumane cell.

The Viking tossed me on the red hot boards that made up the structure of his ship and I, being too terrified to even look at my surroundings, just laid there.

The sun was particularly bright and annoyingly hot that day, the Kriger rocked with a rhythm that would’ve otherwise been soothing if not for the things that were current.

I laid there, my eyes still closed as they are now, for what must have been hours On top of being warm and uncomfortable, fatigue began to wash me.

I remember how I risked my sanity to open my eyes, my vision now diluted by the heated heavenly body above us, making it impossible for me to see anything. Eventually I pushed my eyes to focus for just a bit and by the time they did I was staring right in the eyes of Bjorn.

“Interesting” , his big hands stroking his beard. He was observing me, testing me. I presumed he wanted to see what effect the sun truly had on me.

Luckily being a Vampcan weaknesses from my Lycan and Vamparic lineage manifests differently.

Silver getting inside the body for Vampcans is just as much as a nightmare, causing extreme sickness,vomiting, cold sweats. Our reaction is severe enough that silver is still a legitimate danger to my Beast, even though it isn't fatal.

Sunlight weakens me, prolonged exposure eventually dulls my senses,weakens me,confuses me. 49

Can even have me operate blinded, pricklying my skin, making it visibly pale and even ashen.. Maybe it was just the thought of that added to triggering these same symptoms and irritably so.

The sun has yet to successfully end me, I simply wish it would stop trying to make me regret surviving it each time we meet.

The puzzling bit about all this is that Bjorn did all this silently. He ignored the questions of the men on the ship when asked what he was doing and grabbed me by the arm pulling me back from whence we came.

This time it was his chambers he took me. “Ye don't burn like they do”. I sat at the foot of the closed door where he left me looking up at his back that was turned to me as he said this.

He sounded almost sad that I didn't.

“A human and Vampcan unbelievable” he had poured something I assumed was ail and lifted the cup to his lips but seemed to have decided against it instead taking the whole bottle and chugging. “Ye cursed thing”.

He then turned and looked at me.

“Your a wee unnatural thing boy” He pulled a chair and sat looking at me. “If me men out there find out ye be the very thing we set to end on that island” He stopped himself studying my features that I tried desperately to control to no avail.

Then he did something I never dreamed would come next, holding his big hands out to me he declared.

“I promise to keep ye secret as long as ye promise tah keep mine and swab the damned deck when ye told”.

At this, I stared at the viking Jarl in confusion.

“Whit? Those blittering fools out there never do it properly.

“Well whatever ye is he’s not human” Crub’s voice interrupted my chain of spiralling thoughts from the past.

I ensured not to move a muscle in any visible area of my body to give away that I was awake and now aware of what's being said.

“It be Soren we're talkin about, no matter what ye's family!” Con exclaimed and what sounded like him slamming his hand against a table before someone else interjected.

“Yah don't bloody care what he is,” the voice belong to Stig said before I could make out that he was walking away Dugbeard added chuckling:

“Aye, been with us long enough we always knew he was no simple mythic, whatever ye is ye's useful” he chuckled and his retreating footsteps also audible as well.

“But ye lied to us capt’n!” this voice dripping with fear and concern belonged to one of the silkies to which dug answered “The lad concerns himself not with meh booty, which always been good enough for meh!” his voice now further away now.

“Did ye really lie though?’ Naomi started in reply, “ Ye'r the ones that assumed ye was a Vættir, a draug, ye never admitted or denied any”.

At this point it made sense I remained with my eyes closed. Apparently the crew had some thoughts about me.

“Are yeh all kiddin meh?” one of the men piped up again, “ Was I dah only one that bore witness to what happened back on that shore?”

Another shouted from further away “He's a freakin monster!” another added “Or a silkie like us?” “Maybe ye be a Troll!” gasps and murmurs began spreading all around me.

Idiots

“Oi ye literally saved our asses, tha big monstrous shyt, tha had all the other raging rabid dogs attackin us would've bested us in seconds, if not for a monsta on our side”.

“Ye mean your ass! None of this would've happened if ye'd just listened and stayed on the dam Nephelum like we said, you and Yourth just had to play heroines” Crub retorted.

“Oi Oi enough! All yeh lots get back to yah ropes and booty, come now shoo!” Con said in annoyance and I heard the eventual fade of multiple footsteps, the last I heard being: "what in dah God's name have we been sailing wit?” from one of the men of the crew.

A faint beating heart gave the lingering person along with their signature smell of Rum and Seaweed oil. “How long have yeh been awake?”

“How long have ye been out of it?”

The last thing I could remember was the seizing of my muscles and my memory flashed in between my point of view and my Beast, Obsidian’s golden eyes, its hot rotten breath in my face.

“Yeh been out for a day now answer meh, how long yeh been awake Soren?”

“Long enough” I answered, returning to laying on my back with my eyes still back in their resting form then added “If you knew why’d yah have 'em yapping so long?”

“Soren” at the sound of the seriousness added to his voice, I finally opened my eyes and turned my head slightly to the left to look at him.

“What”

He then placed my daggers into my hands and asked “What in the Gods are ye?” I closed my eyes again and answered “Does it matter?”

Because does it?. Truly?

The Leader

Chapter 9

“Wha-who?” I stuttered, anger already slightly beginning to embrace me, “I told ye, ye never listen do ye?” I snapped

“ye went- ye went to help a wee lil lad I saw being chased up into the forest and-“

“ye got ambushed, cause ye know ye can handle yeh self”. It was the second day after the fight on Kvalvika and I had finally gotten to see her, and I was livid.

Yourth laid on the bed of her apothecary aboard the ship and as the Nephilim rocked softly she grunted at every slight move.

“Ye could’ve died! Died dammit!”

She held my gaze just for a brief moment then quickly looked away.

“ey’m sorreh”

“No yer not, yer just sayin all tha now”

She didn't say anything else, instead she resumed to give me directions as I navigated amongst her wide assortment of bottles and jars of herbs,

bandages, trying my utmost best not to disrupt her organised mess, with Ronn resting around my neck, she found me as soon as I opened the door to leave my chambers to come here.

“But those people needed our help-”

“We didn’t know them, Yourth! Helvete!” I tossed a bottle and I didn't care what it was. “We’re Pirates, scavengers, For God’s sake, thieves not worriers!”

“But ye are” Did this woman hear a word I just said?

“Aye meh, not you” I replied

“Ye just said it I can handle meh self If I just watched out a bit m-”

“Would ya stop all tha yappin for God’s sake and just listen to meh? Jeg kunne ha mistet deg!” 53

I turned around to look at her, my hands trembling slightly as my grip tightened around the bowl I was holding.

“Ye a surgeon aboard tha Nephilim and ye also happen to run the apothecary thas all yeh do ye not fighting again”.

“But I-”

“Tha was never meant tah be a question, do yah understand meh?”

Stubborn silence answered my command.

That was good enough for me.

Needles, thread, knives and surgical instruments all spread in different directions as I tried to figure out which of the six identical green jars she’s referring to.

“Why isn’t yah using Rurik for this?” I may be old but I had no idea what the hell she was talking about. “Cause ye scared tha lad, poor thing doesnt even wanna be within three yards of yah”. Faen

“Besides if yah gonna come in yer to lecture me least yah do is help meh with a stiff drink”

I paused at this and turned around to glare at her. “Yah lyin bastard, Yah told me this was for a tonic for yah side!” She then had the nerve to grin at me.

“Aye, rum be tha best tonic of all” I but the bowl I was mixing down and walked over to her getting into her face.

“Ye be a real-”

“Aye choose meh next words to dah only surgeon and apothecary on this God forsaken ship real carefully ye would”.

Shaking my head, I didn't bother to retort but simply finished whipping up her ‘tonic’.

“By tha way did Dug or Conner let ye know we got company?” she asked as she threw her head back taking the shot of what she had me make in one gulp.

Company?

“Company? Whit ye on about?” I asked and she answered “aye, ye see soon enough ye will” shaking the last drops of the mixture on her tongue.

She suddenly dropped the bottle to the ground and braised forward clutching her wound groaning in evident pain.

I was by her side in less than seconds, cradling her more to my chest. “It's just tha tonic working, calm yah bits” so it was just a tonic, typical Yourth, “Why must ye insist on inviting terror to meh poor heart Yourth?”.

I breathed deeply enjoying her priceless scent, one of my favorite scents in the world. She then answered, “aye don know, keeps meh alive I suppose”.

By the time I had left Yourth to rest after helping her re-administer one of her many herbal remedies to her wound, and made it out onto the deck of the ship, it was night time on the horizon.

Stig was at the wheel as usual guiding the Nephilim gently along the shores, Rurik asleep at the foot of the crownest with a book on his face, Naomi and Con dancing to their own tune at the bow of the ship. Half the crew being asleep left the deck rather quiet and empty save for the few in their own world.

I watched as Con twirled Naomi with a big smile on his face while Naomi couldn't possibly look more infatuated with the man she loved.

I leaned against the starboard rail, watching the waves as the harsh cold winds of the night whipped my face.

Finally, some peace.

Both within my mind and here in my now, these are the little moments one chooses to cherish after centuries of much chaos, war and strife.

I absent mindedly scratched Ronn under her neck with my thumb after a while she scurried up to rest on top of my head.

“Cant believe meh almost lost her” I mumbled to myself looking out at the sea subconsciously pulling one of my daggers from my pockets twirling it on my left pointer finger.

What would I have done if her injuries were more severe?

What would I have felt?

More than once, I'd wished she possessed the good sense to be frightened.

More than once, I'd been grateful she didn't, the risks she takes are always too great.

Too many possibilities made their way to the forefront of my mind, too many images of her corpse or battled bruised body.

My chest seized in an unpleasant way.

I pushed the thought of fatality reaching Yourth and decided to focus instead on the beautiful atmosphere that surrounded me.

Breathing in deeply I closed my eyes enjoying the smell of the salty sea and the waves hitting Nephilum's side.

A presence and scent I didn't recognize later joined me.

“Þetta er ljúft.”

I understood the words, but the tongue was old. Older than mine.

Ljúft

That last word I knew.

Pleasant. Good.

I opened my eyes and I looked over at my new found company, the first thing I saw was the brown curls flowing behind her. She replicated my stance, with her hands over the railing looking out at the deep as I had been doing.

Her neck hugged by a fox pelt draped across her shoulders, its russet fur catching the blue-ish silver glow of the moon. Beneath it hung layers of wool and linen, the garments falling nearly to her ankles, bound tightly at the waist with a woven belt. Bronze brooches held the fabric at her shoulders, each etched with patterns I recognized but hadn't seen worn in centuries.

Her blonde hair was braided away from her face, threaded with small beads of bone and amber. A knife rested against her hip.

I recognized her clothing, it was similar to the natives I had a glimpse of on Kvalvika. She looked like someone who expected to be obeyed.

She then looked over at me and the fox fur around her shoulders shifted with each step. When she stopped before me, she extended her hand, not for a handshake, but with her palm turned upward.

I understood the gesture and so I clasped her forearm in returned respect.

So this is who Yourth was referring to, a sense of authority followed her lean figure. A leader maybe? A Scandinavian Chieftain?

“Ye lot are a strange set” she went back to replicating my earlier stance and so did I. “Aye, that we are but ye barely know us, whit gave us away?”

She held her gaze on whatever it was that she found interesting in the waters and answered, “so many beliefs existing in one place”.

“For a moment ye thought you were gon mention our amazin cap’n”. I said

She chuckled in reply.

“But whit is it that ye believe in then?”

“My people believe dah gods exist through the world around them, dah mountains, ocean, forests, animals, storms, ancestors, dead” she paused and looked at me then looked away and continued, “They don’t worship every god equally”.

“Ye keep sayin they, ye don't believe in those too?” She made a sound in displeasure I looked away from her and out again, at that moment the waves sprayed me as if in mocking. “I don't believe in anything” her voice sounded devoid of anything other than pain. “Ye don’t believe there is a God?”

She then explained that when the Kvalvika people were attacked by creatures before we arrived they believed they were violations of the natural order.

That the rogues weren't merely monsters to them.

They were something spiritually wrong.

Their bodies were corrupted.

They attacked indiscriminately, and they didn't behave like wolves, humans, or anything belonging naturally to the world.

So their warriors believed the land rejected them and one of them claimed her husband's life like it meant nothing.

As she spoke to me, my understanding of her gradually increased.

She grew up being told that the mountains remembered, that the sea carried the dead, that ancestors remained within the land.

Then her husband dies.

Her daughters, all six of them, refused to leave with her to create the possibility of a new life and suddenly all those things she was taught to see as divine mean nothing to her anymore.

Maybe she doesn't deny that a God exists, she simply doesn't believe he cares.

Well at least not the right one.

“I don't deny the Gods exist”

As I predicted

She looked up into the night sky this time then continued her thought, her voice raw with emotion and cold.

“They say the god’s/god lives in the mountains. I say let em stay there, for they did nothing for my husband”.

I dared not question her or comment on her present mindset. Instead I decided to stare clear of the emotional topic and instead asked:

“And Ye name?”

The woman hesitated.

“Sigrún”

I repeated it quietly, committing the sound to memory.

Sigrún.

There was something about the way she carried herself that made me suspect she had been answering questions from men far more powerful than me for a long time.

“Ye must have questions for meh so go ahead”. No denying I do.

The obvious one is why was she here?

What deal did Dugbeard make with her?

No one is aboard this ship unless they can benefit that scoundrel in some way.

But at the same time who am I to question her?

All this will end, but her speech is true

The voice cut through my mind before I could answer her, I guess that means her intentions are pure? Why do you insist on speaking in broken knowledge?

“Thats tha cap'n's job lass” I returned to subconsciously spinning my dagger, turning away from her. She began saying something then seemed to decide against it mid speech and instead went silent.

But then another thought found me and so I asked her instead.

“Why’dya leave? Ye could’ve led the tribe until they’ve done mourning ye husband, until you did”. I looked at her and noticed how her jaw hardened and set at the question.

I should've kept my mouth shut like I originally decided. I began to take back what I asked until she interrupted me.

“Then ye’d be nothin but a widow who remained until the clan had a new leader, the ‘dead leader’s wife’ even with legitimate claim to leadership”. A single tear rolled down her left eye and she didn't move to hide it or wipe it. Instead she turned and looked at me with haunted eyes, a quite understanding passed through us.

“I simply chose to live for myself now”.

Answers you seeked

Chapter 10

It has been two moons since we left Kvalvika, beginning our long voyage to the pacific and since Sigrun’s been aboard the Nephilim.

She has been a great addition to us thus far, however, the crew doesn't trust her, and neither do I. If you walk in her mind for a moment, in the way she described, some things just don't align.

Creatures thought to be lost to the world, attack your home and your tribe fought back, whilst helping to defend separate locals of your home, in the fray your husband and tribe leader dies leaving you behind widowed with six children and by tradition you have right to claim chieftain.

It was revealed that the Pirates that usually trade on your island have had one of the most powerful beings also thought to be extinct aboard their ship, your clan also attacked then believing they called or cause the devastation to befall the island and you run away and go aboard the same ship that was thought to have brought the same destruction upon the island?

Even if you choose to flee and begin a new life, why on a ‘cursed’ Pirate ship?

Dug also had not brought this to the attention of the crew. We may be a group of misfits, but there was a code. A Pirate code.

Aye or not to Aye

He did not bring her before us as a crew to discuss her being worthy of being here, we might as well take any scallywag and stowaway aboard the ship then.

It was not safe, Captain or not there are ways to do things, and this was not the way.

After staying by Yourth's side after she told me the wounded area from battle seemed to have broken out again, the following day I went to find Dugbeard.

Pulling my hood over my head and my sleeves down, I made my way over to where a table was set up and the silkies, Crub and some of the other crewmates were playing cards.

“Yah lakies don’t know what yah in for aha! I win! Aye!” Fenrie, one of the silkies exclaimed. 60

“Not so fast yah numpty sit back down, cause I just won!” and just like that Crub won another game to all the crew's displeasure. They groaned and cursed under their breaths, Fenrie and Lottus threw their cards on the ground as Crub pulled all the shells, nickels and pieces of meat, bread and anything else that they gambled with.

As I approached, almost everyone left in the area.

Things on the ship have been a bit strained ever since the fight and my identity as a Vampcan was revealed.

Before going to check on Yourth yesterday I was given the floor to speak and I told them everything.

That I was the son of a Scottish Gaelic Chieftain and a British Vampcan noble, that I was in fact the last Vampcan alive, the very mix between the two most powerful mythic bloodlines the world has ever seen that were presently extinct. At least that's what we thought before Kvalvika was attacked.

I told them about my childhood, my lifetime as a Viking, and that just as how Lycans and Vampires aged slowly a mix would mean almost none.

The Nephilim has been the most quiet that it’s ever been with most of the crew avoiding my path like a plague while some started putting little things about me together finding me fascinating.

They started to ask about how significantly slower I was during sunny days and about how I preferred almost raw meat.

Most of them thought I was human, some accepted deep down that I never was and they didn't care.

To others I betrayed them and haven't spoken to me since, by others I specifically mean Rurik. As I thought of him he walked past me, heading back to his perch upon the crow’s nest and kept his head down in his book.

I still remember the look in his eyes as I revealed what I was in great detail and his later revelation of how he felt.

“Thought yed trust meh Sor”

“I do lad”

“Clearly not enough”

There's nothing I could do about how others took this new detail about me. I honestly understand the slight unease they felt now when it came to me.

Living amongst what the world thought existed no more, something so powerful.

But I told them they wouldn't understand my reasons for my secrecy yet they begged me “Make us understand" then when I provide the very details that I mentioned wouldn't be understood I am proved right yet again.

This entire experience just solidified one thing I've learnt over the years of walking the earth. Pure humans are complicated and all creatures are hypocrites.

I'm not the only one aboard this damned ship with secrets.

No one knows Naomi’s story, her heritage, the origin of her powers, we only know as much as the world knows about Merfolke. Different waters held different species, different races meant different abilities.

That’s what she says anyway.

Her ability to produce electricity was much like her, unpredictable. She could turn a battlefield into chaos with nothing more than her hands.

Yet no one questioned her loyalty despite not knowing much about her other than the obvious.

Conner himself knows nothing other than being in love with her, he shared their story on a quiet winter night as the crew camped by a fire after a long day of voyage.

Conner told us he was shipwrecked after a storm from his last pirate family.

He and a crewmate were the only survivors, stranded in a small rowboat with almost nothing to eat, starved, desperate, eventually, they accidentally caught Naomi.

Con's companion wanted to kill and eat her, to which Conner refused.

He cut Naomi loose and fought his companion over it, the fight ended with Con killing the other survivor in self-defense, and Naomi escaped.

Already in terrible condition, starved, exhausted, and close to death he laid in the little row boat and made peace with his fate, but Naomi came back carrying harshly scaled fish and stayed with Con by his rowboat for four days while the boat slowly drifted toward shore. When they finally reached land, she helped him push the boat ashore.

And that's where their relationship began.

Naomi had never stayed on land for more than a week before, she would leave waters presuming her Humanoid form, exploring on her own and yet she chose to remain with Con on the island they washed up on eventually falling in love.

Touching, I'll give them that.

But Naomi always kept her family and history a secret. Con knows she has a past she doesn't talk about, but he doesn't force her to explain it. He accepted her without demanding answers. We all did, neither of them needed to completely understand the other's past in order to choose each other.

A lot still remains uncertain for our helmsman as well, people aboard this ship still question is even human? Stig is a difficult man to describe.

Not because there was anything particularly unusual about him, at least, nothing I could prove.

He looked to be somewhere in his early thirties, tall and unnaturally slender, with dark skin and finely braided black hair. His eyes were black, completely black, or at least they appeared that way in the light. He kept himself covered regardless of the weather, always dressed in long sleeves, long trousers, and that damned scarf of his.

Only his face and neck were ever exposed.

I had sailed with the man long enough to know he wasn't one for conversation. Stig could go an entire day without saying more than a word or two.

Aye.

No.

That was usually the extent of it, and somehow, he never needed more.

When I gave an order, he understood it. I never had to repeat myself, I had no idea what went on behind those black eyes.

Hell, no one was even entirely certain.

Human, as far as I knew.

But knowing Stig, as far as I knew, didn't need to mean much.

I've known men who could talk a corpse back to life namely Crub, but Stig could probably make one wish for death.

He rarely spoke and I preferred it that way, Yet not knowing what he was didn't make the crew uneasy. And what of Sigrún? She was welcomed upon this ship without my say in the matter.

And we knew Rurik ran away from home, none of us knew where home was. Other than the obvious details, a Huldra of monkey affinity, Rurik was young.

Too young, perhaps, for the things he'd already seen.

He was one of the quicker lads aboard the Nephilim, always eager to prove himself and usually the first to answer when someone called his name.

“Aye, Sor!”

He said those words so often I sometimes wondered if he'd been born knowing them.

He was light on his feet and quicker in the rigging than most of the crew, which made him useful whenever I needed eyes above the deck. Give him a spyglass and a clear view of the horizon, and he'd notice things the rest of us wouldn't.

I found myself watching Rurik more closely than the others.

Perhaps because he represented everything I might have been if I was allowed to simply be a boy. The optimism in him sometimes made me sick, other times it was exactly what I needed.

But there was so much we didn't know about him.

About, Crub, about Dug, and the world hasn’t ended.

So why has it seemed to have ended when it exposed me?

The Tale of the Sea (Part 1)

Chapter 11

In my search for Dugbeard, I came across Naomi in her natural element, and no, I refer not to the sea but the kitchen.

“Mmm, mmm, mmmm, Soren! Yeh gotta try this!” She ran over to me as I entered her area of domain, a ladle in her right hand and her left underneath it so as to stop anything from dropping on the ground.

“Whit is it?”

“Jus’ taste it, will yah?” She held the wooden spoon to my lips, steam and all.

“At least let meh blow tha steam off! Faen.” I welcomed the spoon into my mouth, easily swallowing the thick, savoury liquid.

“God, tha was beautiful.” The stew almost brought me to tears. How can one achieve so many successful dishes out of fish?

“Aha! Anotha one for tha books!” She threw her towel over her shoulder, pulled her little leather-skinned book from her pocket, and began scribbling.

She often did that, especially after claiming a new dish she had created was worthy.

“How’d ye do it? Whit yah putting in these damn pots?” I asked as she chuckled, returning her pocketbook to its place in her shorts and moving to dip water from a barrel. She then added some more water to the pot, used the rest to rinse her trusty ladle clean, and returned it to the pot, stirring again.

“Whit yah doin’ in here, anyway? I never see yeh visiting meh,” she asked, ignoring my earlier question. “Aye, ye be lookin’ for Dug. Have yah seen tha tyrant?” I asked. She gave a displeased grunt in response. “Why would anyone actually wanna find tha? Whit is it, then?” she asked.

I hesitated at that. I really didn't want Naomi on his arse too because she is a bit... passionate. This is something I’d rather handle on my own, but knowing her, she is going to want to help.

Then again, not telling her would not help either.

“Sigrún’s aboard tha ship.”

“Aye, was wonderin’ when ye was goin’ tah address tha. Tha whole thing’s got too many holes.” She knocked the wooden spoon against a corner of the pot, then closed it and put out the fire beneath it before walking over to me.

Here we go.

“Don’t worry, ye won’t be goin’ in on this.”

What? Since when?

“Whit?” I asked in disbelief.

She held up her hands in surrender. “Yer the quartermaster. Ye trust yah.”

Absolute lies. She has plans.

“Pfft, ye jus’ has yer own lollygaggin’ agenda.” She grinned at me, her eyes shining with mischief, as she passed me.

My search eventually brought me to the cabin we had emptied and given to our guest, Sigrún.

And immediately, the unmistakable stench of bodily fluids, mixed with Dug’s familiar smell of peaches and pirate wine, engulfed my senses. Moans of pleasure, though uninvited, soon hugged my ears.

“Fordømte idiot…” I muttered under my breath and gave the door to our beloved guest’s cabin one hefty push.

Everything went silent after I entered.

I refuse to describe the—must I say?—complex position both parties were tangled in.

“Whit dah nits is yer problem, boy!?” he shouted at me, still in the position they were in, his genitals lost within where the female began, his long, unkempt beard tossed around his neck, resembling a scarf.

With breasts glistening in sweat, Sigrún barely glanced at me, her face not showing one bit of the embarrassment you’d think one would display in a setting as this.

“So thas why ye agreed to an addition so quickly?”

“Whits it to yeh?”

“Ye’re tha cap’n aboard this damned ship. Tha least you can do is keep yehself in check a wee bit longer when exposed to a new lassie,” I spat.

Ignoring my comment, he grabbed Sigrún by the throat and reassumed his position, staring into my eyes as he mercilessly pounded into her. She moaned, though I wasn't even sure it was pleasure at this point.

“Ye keep tellin’ yah—” he groaned, cutting himself off, then continued, “I be dah cap’n aboard this damned ship.”

He forcefully grabbed Sigrún’s chin, angling her so she could look at me.

“Look at him! Remind him who tha cap’n of this ship is!” He went faster as sweat dropped from his brows, the sight making me sick.

I looked into the eyes of someone I could just imagine had once led a fierce group of people. Her eyes silently pleaded, devoid of emotion and even more devoid of purpose, of life.

This is what humans would describe as one’s last straw.

I have just about had enough of this so-called captain of ours.

I didn't expect much from him, or from anyone aboard this ship, myself included. We were pirates, for God’s sake, and I still don't expect much.

Pillage and plunder, big adventures, but there's one thing this daft redhead keeps forgetting. Loyalty.

He said it himself: all he cares about is his booty. To hell with us and our safety. Dug’s loyalty was to himself and himself only.

He has proved this multiple times, even in my earlier days, when he accepted Yourth, Yuri, and me onto the Nephilim.

We were on the plains of Andøya, its scattered rocks, low shrubs, and boggy patches greeting us as we followed the foul-smelling pirate.

A tattered map in hand, stolen from who knows where, was what he led us with.

He learnt of my ability to navigate and used me as a compass alongside the map, but even knowing this, I didn't care. Yourth and Yuri needed food.

They needed to be aboard the Nephilim.

Yuri, with her apothecary knowledge, and Yourth, with her skills, could provide them with a surgeon. As for me, with this knowledge and more that I've gathered over my long life, I played my cards right. I displayed enough for the occupants aboard the Nephilim, especially their captain, to deem me worthy of room and board, but not so much that I seemed like a threat to his leadership.

I never had any desire to lead, but somehow, the task always befalls me.

So I helped him. Dug found his precious chest, his greedy thirst finally quenched for a few seconds of bliss, before one great detail was revealed that he had failed to mention about that particular treasure hunt.

He failed to mention that this wasn't like the other escapades he'd hauled us off to do. No, this was no ordinary theft. This was us stealing from the joined hands of Rán and Ægir.

The chest we had found was filled with treasure, but also a key. And when we left Andøya, he had us scouring the sea in search of the ‘great beings’.

A sailor who survives a peaceful voyage across the sea might speak of Ægir.

A sailor whose companions disappear beneath the waves might whisper Rán.

But what humans didn't know was that there were never two, but one great thing.

Anything belonging to them should not be tampered with, nor should anything belonging to any being with the sea as its domain. I have learnt that the hard way.

There was no ‘key’ to open the hands of Rán and Ægir. They demanded sacrifices: one of a terrified soul and one of calmness, a replica of Rán, the consuming, drowning, merciless sea, and Ægir, the welcoming, generous, feast-giving sea.

The tale that Dug followed was ‘The creature that gifts what Husband and Wife of the deep seek opens their hands to endless life and bounty, one soul of peace, one soul of grief’. But, as per usual, humans remember what is convenient to them. The tale doesn't just end there, because the ending also says, ‘Give and give Ægir may, like give and give Rán will still bite; the one that leaves the wife’s net unscathed is kissed indeed’.

By the time I had realised all he had planned, what he had led us into, it was too late.

We stood aboard the ship, far away, as the fool presented the ghostly being with the golden trinket, whispering words I couldn't make out in any shape or form. What use would that be for something so ancient and powerful?

The key was tossed into the ocean, and for a moment, all was still. Even the waves paused their rhythm. Then, within seconds, the skies darkened, the waves thrashed and shook the ship, and I could only watch as what seemed to be Rán separated from her husband in fury.

The big, ghostly figure rose into the air, then disappeared as if into thin air, across the waters.

Everyone froze, neither of us making a sound. Even Crub understood that this was no time to chatter about.

Almost unnoticed, a Nykur appeared beside the Nephilim, looking almost beautiful. The massive silver-black water horse stood on the surface of the ocean as if to have us marvel at its beauty.

Then it neighed and, in one swift motion, dived.

Moments later, a loud, thunderous boom sounded from beneath us. Spirits of almost all the sea-origin mythics I could think of attacked the ship, and it could only be Rán’s command.

The Tale of the Sea (Part 2)

Chapter 12

Panic took the Nephilim, and Yourth ushered everyone she could to safety deeper into the ship.

Merbendills began taking over the ship: pale, strangely coloured humanoid spirits with webbed hands, sharp teeth, gills, and long, seaweed-like hair. They attacked strategically, climbing the hull and pulling men off the ship and into the waters, while some sabotaged the ship from its sides.

I pushed my mind out to meet the chaos as I cleaved through them, my daggers blessed to damage even the dead and unfeeling. Their minds were not empty but organised. Only one sentence rang over and over.

“Lengi lifi djúpið… djúpið tekur.”

“Long lives the deep… the deep takes.”

Helvete.

I fought with Yuri, Con, Naomi, and even Crub beside me. In the chaos, I could only watch as Dug grabbed his former quartermaster, and a crewmate threw them overboard.

Then I remembered the tale: ‘one soul of peace, one soul of grief’.

“He’s sacrificing them!” I shouted in realisation.

But in doing so, they went overboard as well.

In no time at all, Yuri moved past me.

“Whit yah doin’—Yuri, no!”

She jumped overboard after them before I could go after her. Naomi bested me to the railing. “Aye, ye got her.”

Naomi followed.

Everything after that seemed like a blur. I wasn't worried about Naomi, as she is native to the seas; they would not harm her unprovoked.

I fought my way to the railing, looking into the waters. There was no sign of anyone who had gone in. The Nephilim bucked and groaned as war raged between the creatures aboard the ship and those below.

With fear festering in my heart, I called out to the husband and wife of the sea in a plea for mercy.

I know what you are. I don't worship you. But I know you have power over this place, and I'm asking you to show mercy, I said.

One by one, the spirits left the ship, never breaking eye contact as they returned from whence they came. The waters quieted, and the sun began to re-enter the sky, but there was still no sign of them.

So I pleaded again. I concentrated on revealing the intentions of my heart as I opened my mind space, inviting them to listen.

“Rán… Ægir… miskunna þeim.”

“Rán… Ægir… have mercy on them.”

Again, I chanted, this time closing my eyes.

“Miskunna þeim. Þeir hafa ekkert gert yðr.”

“Have mercy on them. They have done nothing to you.”

I promised the ancient force that I would clear whatever debt our meddling might have created. For we are the ones who came out here and disturbed their slumber.

“They are not deserving of your wrath, husband. Spare them, oh wife,” I said.

Acknowledging their power but not submitting to them spiritually, I pleaded again, “I know what ye are… now show mercy.”

“Ek veit hvat þér eruð… miskunna þeim.”

As the last line left my mind, I opened my eyes to find that there were four of us: me, Naomi, and two others.

Somewhere within my mind, I heard the distant agreement, the ancient voice entering my mind with the words, “Mjök vel.”

A breath of relief left me, but I immediately regretted it as I looked around the ship, searching for something to assist her back onboard.

Severed limbs were scattered across the deck, which was now decorated with blood and inky green seaweed.

Men curled up in corners, rocking back and forth, holding their heads and covering their eyes. I shuddered as thoughts of suicide and trauma surfaced easily, showing themselves to me.

Turning back to the sea, I saw Con toss a rope down the side of the ship, pulling Naomi up. That's when I noticed it was just Naomi and the crewmate. The very one Yuri had jumped in to save.

“Where is sh—” I began, but stopped myself from asking the dreaded question as Naomi shook her head, burying her face in Con’s big shoulders. Even though she was physically taller than him, in that moment, she looked so small. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed in his arms.

“Where’s Yuri?”

Shyte.

“Yourth—” she cut me off.

“Soren, where is she?”

I finally turned to face her, mustering up the courage to say the dreaded words.

She didn't give me the opportunity to. A petrified, soul-wrenching scream left her lungs before I had the chance to confirm what she must have read in my eyes.

She ran over to the railing and screamed Yuri’s name over and over as loud as she could, tears streaming down her face.

“Yuri, where are yeh!? Yuriiiiiii!”

I hugged her from behind as she crumbled, wailing and shaking.

Then I noticed bubbles coming up from the surface, but no happiness entered my heart. All that was left of my sliver of hope was trampled yet again as red curls surfaced before the head of their owner.

“Don’ jus’ stand there, ye numpties! Help me up meh bloody ship!”

Bastard.

The crewmates helped him up as Naomi and I rounded on him. Naomi punched him in the face before I could take a swing, with Con holding her back.

“You sacrificed them! Ye monster!”

“Better them than us, lass.” He shrugged, combing water from his face and beard. “Ye were innocent! Does loyalty mean nothin’ to yah?” I shouted in question and grievance. 72

“Ye stole from meh.”

“So they deserved death, yeh bloody husk!?” I shouted in an angry question.

“Me treasure was on tha line, and me damned ship. Besides, loyalty is for mehself and mehself alone,” he answered, reaching into his pockets and pulling out a flask. He tipped it to his mouth, drinking deeply before releasing a resounding belch.

Working his jaw where he had been punched, he then said, “Ye got a good right hook on ye, lass.” He had the gall to chuckle, holding his flask up to Naomi.

She spat at his feet in response, to which he laughed even more.

At the revelation, Yourth seemed to find strength in her legs, pushing past us.

“Ye did this?”

“I don’ know whit yah are talkin’ about. She be tha fool for jumpin’ in after them. Pity,” he said, with no remorse in his voice.

Hold her back.

The voice in my mind spoke.

Yourth then officially lost it at that second and charged at him, to which I grabbed her, against better judgement.

“Let go of meh! Ye was off securin’ ye bloody crew! This is whit I get in return?” “Return for whit? Food and board? Aye, tha be it,” Dug spat.

“Ye be tha ones tha need this bloody ship, remember tha?”

He let out another loud, nonchalant belch, thumped his chest, then continued,

“Really be a pity. Ye had a nice rump on her, ha! Wanted tah get a wee lil’ taste one of these fine days, I did.”

It was my turn to lose it, and my fist met his face with a good left hook, sending him a good distance away from us.

The same left hook I had just given him drew blood from his nose, giving Sigrún time to scramble away from him. She bundled her clothes off the ground beside me and looked up into my eyes.

“Than—”

“Get out,” I cut her off, opening the door again, wide enough for her to squeeze through. And she did just that.

“Yeh know, yer right,” I began, letting go of the door for it to swing shut on its own. “Ye are the cap’n aboard this ship.” He wiped the blood from his nose, chuckling. “Aye, now get out meh damn cabin.”

“No.”

I looked down at one of his many precious bottles of rum. Hefting my right foot behind me, I gave the bottle one solid kick, shattering it against the wall.

“Have ye gone mad, boy!? All this over a wayward whore!?” he shouted, his fit ending in a boat of awful coughing.

“If ye think I give a rat’s arse about which lass ye bring to yer pest-infested bed, ye don’ got a clue about this world.” I said as my face scrunched in disgust as he stood to his full height, his member swinging, bare and naked.

“Ye know, boy, ye been a pain in meh arse since yeh boarded meh damned ship.” He turned his back to me and grabbed hold of an empty bottle by the neck.

He then swung around, attempting to catch me off guard.

Amateur.

I dodged and grabbed hold of the same arm he used to attack me. Using his momentum against him, I directed him to land headfirst against a wall.

“Whit yah want?! Eh? More cuts from tha gold? The lass? Whit yah want?”

It was my turn to chuckle.

“Ye think everyone measures their life as ye do?” I asked.

I then squatted down to his level as he still lay sprawled on the ground and sneered in his face. “This be a mutiny, ye old hang.”

Might as well be.

I stood by and allowed too many things to happen, feeling sorry for myself, punishing myself for the bad things I did in my past.

Oh, I’m a monster.

I should hold back.

Oh, woe is me.

I've held back too long, subjecting the ones I've grown to care for to the hands of this—this numpty. 75

ALL LEVELS OF NUMPTY

Chapter 13

He screamed, scrambled off the ground, and lunged at me. Planting a foot against his shoulder, I vaulted over him.

His momentum carried him face-first into the door, landing me behind him before he even realised I'd moved.

The sorry excuse of a Norwegian man started screaming at the top of his lungs, “Murder!”

Then he flung the doors of his chambers open and ran out of the room, and I followed him as he continued making a ruckus, shouting and screaming.

“Ye tried tah murder me!” He had made it all the way to the deck, flailing his arms around. The noise drew everyone on the ship to where I eventually stood behind him as he began his dramatic play of words.

I drew both daggers from their place at my waist, spinning them on my pointer fingers before holding their hilts as I watched the scene he created unfold.

Con was the first to reach us. “Oi, whits all this, Cap’n?”

“Ye made an attempt on me bloody life!” He pointed at me. Honestly, it was hard to take the old windbag seriously whilst he was naked, with the only thing covering his ‘parts’ being his long, ridiculous beard.

“Soren? Is this true?” Con asked me before Dug interjected.

“Whit ye asking him for? Are yah deaf?! Ye tried tah murder me aboard me own ship!”

“Lies. Mutiny be the word ye seek, not blind murder,” I said calmly. In the growing crowd of the crew, Rurik pushed forward.

“Soren wouldn't do that!”

I looked over at him, and he returned the gaze. A small smile threatened my lips at his attempt to defend me, but instead, I corrected him.

“Aye, but ye would. Ye simply did not.” I then returned my gaze to Dug and continued, “Ye simply announced my attempt at mutiny. Yer be no longer fit tah lead the Nephilim.”

“Ye dare call this treason against yer cap’n?” Dug asked, to which I responded by ignoring him and simply staring daggers into his soul.

I've just now taken notice of the quiet anger I've had stored for this man.

“Yer no cap’n of mine,” I replied as I glared at him.

“Think about this, Soren. Ye best go at this at a time less heated as this.” Con came up to me, placing a hand on my shoulder as he spoke, moving to come between Dug and me.

“Ye drew yer cursed blades against yer own captain! That be treachery!”

And this is all levels of numpty, but you don't hear anyone else complaining, do you?

“We second ye’s notion.” Naomi’s unmistakable voice sounded before we saw her, and she shoved a man and a Silky aside to reach us.

She drew her own blade. Two Silkies had followed her, doing the same, followed by their respective “Ayes”.

Dug’s face twisted in red-hot anger. Then he drew a blade from one of the Silkies’ waists, pushed the lad back, and pointed it around at the crew.

“Look at him! Ye raised his hand against his own captain! This is treachery! Ye'd stand there and let ye murder me and call it justice? Ye’d follow this—this monster? Have ye all forgotten whit ye is!?”

For what felt like a torturous minute, there was silence.

The ship rocked slowly. A mixture of terrified, confused, and angry faces and emotions met my own.

In some minds, I heard, “Ye should’ve done it a long ago,” and “Whit makes ye think we’d follow him?” Some thought, “Bout damned time.” That last thought was Stig’s.

None of this new information deterred me. This is one of the things I deem fit to follow through on.

Con looked around at everyone and then at me, conflicted. Now it was my turn to rest my hand on his shoulder. Looking into his eyes, I said, “Yer dont gotta worry about meh. Do whatever ye see think is right.”

Men and Silkies alike who were loyal to Dug started to push through to stand behind him. Some even began to voice their distaste.

“Ye tried tah overthrow tha Cap’n!” one of the Silkies shouted, pointing accusatory swords at me. “Ye admit tah these accusations, Soren?” Con asked, and I answered, “Aye.”

Everyone went silent again.

“Yeh admit this?” Dug asked in disbelief, to which I answered,

“Aye, someone had tah.”

One of the men stepped forward, pulling his sword and standing beside Naomi. Then another. Soon, it was half of the crew. Fearin also came to stand beside the rest who agreed with my notion and said,

“Yer no longer fit teh command us, Dugbeard.”

“How dare ye?” Dug began, sneering at all of them as he took a dangerous step forward, now resting the blade at Fearin’s throat.

“Get off em!” Crub shocked me by saying that. Even though Dugbeard often expressed distaste towards him, Crub was always undeniably loyal to his every word.

As he made that comment, he shoved Dug away from Faerin. Dug’s face resembled that of Rønn’s fur. Before he could retaliate, I moved forward and placed myself between him and the men.

“Oi, yer anger is with meh. Leave em out of it,” I said, spinning my blades on my fingers; All this damned talking. Shyte.

Grabbing a spare sword from nearby, I brandished it, taking a defensive stance.

“Enough. Let’s end this.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, we clashed, and after some time, everyone around us joined the heated exchange of blades.

His sword against mine, he mercilessly came at me, his berserk form pushing me back with every swing.

The more we clashed, the more I found myself struggling to predict his next move, yet I held my ground. Suddenly, he thrust forward, and I dodged, but not fast enough to avoid the slash I received across the face.

One thing I can admit: Dugbeard was fierce with a sword. It was as if it were an extension of his arm.

“Shoulda gotten rid of ye instead of the lass.” By the time he said this, he was up in front of me. Being slightly taller than I, he was able to look down at me.

I scrunched up my face in confusion.

What the hell did he mean by that?

“What did yah just say?” I asked.

“Ye know, tha only thing ye liked about ye is, ye always minded ye own tales about what goes on aboard this damn ship.” He began to circle me, blade still in hand, ignoring my question.

“Maybe thats whit ye was doin wrong. Shoulda been keepin an eye on yeh.”

“This be my damned ship! Who do yah think yeh are, boy?! Yeh mutinous bastard!” I jumped as he got low in an attempt to sweep my leg.

“Are yeh done?” I gave him no time to answer, finally returning his aggression.

Our swords clashed and sang as we fought, neither of us creating an opening for the other to succeed.

“Ye keep yapping about whit yeh did for Yuri, Yourth and I, but let’s not forget ye owe meh, Dug.” I received a slice across my arm in response to my statement.

I stepped back and looked down at my arm, where the blood ran freely. Rage slowly started to chill my bones as I watched the pirate across from me.

We began circling each other again slowly, not breaking eye contact.

The sun then reminded me that she was present as sweat dripped off my body. I hadn't realised until then that my hood was down. The sun invited me to an unwanted caress.

A prickly sensation took over my body. The nagging feeling of fatigue I had fought to push deep down came to the surface, and no doubt, he noticed.

He smirked, coming up to lean over to my left ear. Then he said, “Ye think I owe yah? Never saved us from Rán. It was yer wee lass’s sister’s soul.”

“This be the inevitable, Dugbeard. Alas, we had enough,” Naomi spoke, stealing Dug's rageful attention. But I still lingered on that one sentence. It clicked everything into place.

‘One soul of peace, one soul of grief.’

The gears in my mind started to turn slightly faster.

Be calm and read.

Following the advice of the voice within my mind, I focused just enough to pick at the thoughts of the pirate captain who stood in front of me, threatening me and those who stood by my side.

Idiots! Ye think ye would give up the opportunity tah live forever? His mind betrayed him when that thought floated towards me. I have never wished away my ability to read the thoughts of a man until one.

God above.

He made a deal with Rán. Yuri would've taken the place of the crewmate Naomi saved— 79

“All ye be idiots! Ye don’t know what ye talking about!” he screamed, interrupting my thought process. He went after Naomi this time, but before she could defend herself, Con jumped in front of her, his sword against Dug’s. The blades pressed against each other until Dug overpowered him, pushing him to the ground.

My fangs emerged before I could think, and I moved just as fast, grabbing Con and throwing him off Dug. I then grabbed the bastard by the beard that named him and punched him yet again in the face.

The force of the punch soon had me regretting it, as the sun reminded me that she had no mercy. I clutched my chest, and my focus became distorted.

This time, he did not settle for the assault. Abandoning his sword, he returned the right hook to my left jaw and grabbed me.

We fell to the ground, grappling.

“This be madness! Soren, stop this!” Rurik came up to us, but I ignored him.

Punches were thrown, and bruises were warranted. In the midst of the struggle, I managed to get him on his knees in an arm lock.

“Whit did yah do, Dug?” I breathed out. By this time, I was already finding it difficult to breathe, and this made it even harder.

My lungs burned as if I had run miles through trenches.

“Whit yah plan to do to meh, ey? Suck me dry with those pretty wee teeth a yers? Aha ha ha.” He chuckled even while struggling to wrestle my arm from his neck, which he successfully accomplished.

I grabbed my sword again. This time, he managed to sweep my leg from under me, and I fell and hit the ground hard.

An impact from behind jolted me forward. Pain shot through my back where Dug had just kicked me, and I landed headfirst against the rails of the Nephilim.

Dots began clouding my vision, and dizziness took hold of me as I rolled over in an attempt to get up.

“Soren!” Rurik was the first one at my side when he attempted to assist me. I looked up at him and held up my hand for him to stop.

“This be between me and him.”

Because now everything made sense.

Dugbeard did everything on purpose.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, invites writers worldwide to showcase their creativity in various genres. This competition celebrates diverse voices and innovative storytelling, providing a platform for writers to share their unique perspectives and literary talents with a global audience.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Jana Parnell for her gripping submission "Søren Ragnarok: Inn i Sinnet 'into the mind'" to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her exploration of myth, identity, and inner conflict presents a powerful narrative that resonates with the complexities of the human experience. We look forward to seeing more of her evocative storytelling in the future.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.

Søren Ragnarok: Inn i Sinnet 'into the mind' - By Jana Parnell

About the Work

Søren Ragnarok: Inn i Sinnet 'into the mind'

About the Competition

About Hashtag Kalakar

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