The Berserker’s Wrath Against the Gods of Egypt
In the shadowed wastes of a desert older than memory, a lone Berserker named Hjalmarr, clad in bear hides and iron, carved a path through dunes stained red with blood. His clan had been slaughtered by zealots of the Egyptian pantheon, their village burned as an offering to Ra’s unyielding sun. Hjalmarr swore vengeance, his rage a furnace that no mortal foe could quench. But this was no mortal feud his enemies were gods.
The Wrath of Egypt
Hjalmarr’s quest led him to the obsidian gates of Duat, the underworld where Anubis weighed souls and Osiris judged the dead. The jackal headed Anubis met him first, scales gleaming under starless skies. “Your heart is heavy with wrath,” Anubis growled, “and no mortal may challenge the eternal.” Hjalmarr spat, his axe singing as it clove the air. The duel was brutal Anubis’s claws tore flesh, but Hjalmarr’s frenzy knew no pain. Blood sprayed, mortal and divine, until Anubis staggered, wounded but unyielding.
From the sands rose Set, god of chaos, his laughter a storm. “You dare defy us, worm?” he hissed, summoning tempests that flayed skin from bone. Hjalmarr’s roars drowned the winds, his blade biting Set’s ichor-soaked form. Yet even as Set faltered, Ra descended, his solar fire searing Hjalmarr’s flesh to ash’s edge. The Berserker fell to one knee, vision dimming, his mortal limits betrayed.
The Norse Summons
In his agony, Hjalmarr clutched the runestone at his neck, a relic of his mother, etched with Odin’s mark. “Allfather,” he rasped, “lend me your fury, or let me die worthy.” The stone cracked, and the sky tore open. A bifrost of lightning heralded the Norse gods’ arrival Odin, one-eyed and grim, spear Gungnir in hand; Thor, hammer Mjolnir crackling with thunder; and Freyja, her falcon cloak shimmering with war’s promise.
Odin’s ravens circled as he spoke: “Your rage honors us, Hjalmarr. Let Egypt’s gods taste Asgard’s steel.” Thor laughed, eager, while Freyja’s gaze burned with a mother’s vengeance for the fallen.
The Clash of Pantheons
The battle shook the cosmos. Thor met Ra head-on, Mjolnir’s strikes splintering solar flames. “Your light fades, sun-god!” Thor bellowed, driving Ra back. Freyja wove seiðr, her magic binding Set’s storms, turning chaos against chaos. Her blade slit his throat, and the desert drank his ichor. Odin faced Osiris, lord of death, their spears clashing in a duel of fates. “You rule the dead,” Odin whispered, “but I am death’s master.” Gungnir pierced Osiris’s heart, and the green god crumbled.
Hjalmarr, renewed by his gods’ presence, rose like a tempest. Anubis lunged, but Hjalmarr’s axe sundered the scales, splitting the jackal’s helm. “Weigh my wrath now,” Hjalmarr snarled, felling the god.
Victory and Cost
The Egyptian pantheon lay broken, their temples silent. Ra, humbled, retreated to his solar barge; the others faded into Duat’s depths. Odin placed a hand on Hjalmarr’s shoulder. “Your vengeance is won, but rage consumes. Will you walk with us or burn alone?” Hjalmarr, bloodied but unbowed, chose Midgard’s winds over Valhalla’s halls for now.
Thor clapped his back, laughing. “Fight like that again, and I’ll share my mead!” Freyja smiled, fierce and proud, gifting him a rune of protection. The Norse gods vanished, their laughter echoing in the stars.
Hjalmarr stood alone, axe heavy, the desert still. His clan’s souls rested, but his heart knew no peace. A Berserker’s path never ends only pauses.
