Chapter I Martin I Blood in the snow

“We should be heading home,” Martin urged, watching the darkness of the forest closing in around them. “There is nothing we can do for the Hand of Týr now. This mission is at its end.”

“Better call in for extraction then, my dear brother is feeling uneasy in this dark.”

Don’t rise to the bait Martin. “No Steven. But with the night comes the cold. A Thermoregulator such as yourself wouldn’t understand the discomfort,” Martin replied with a sly smile. “Anyway, the captives are dead, and we can’t rescue the dead. Our business here is over.”

“Can we really be sure that they are all dead?” the Captain questioned softly.

“Captain Faraday, Martin said they were,” Steven insisted. “If my brother says he saw them dead, that’s good enough for me.”

Shit, Lucien´s right. “We must be sure before we condemn any survivors to that fate,” Martin quickly put in. “And there is still the matter of their killers.”

“Well, you’ve had a change of heart brother,” Steven replied loudly, his voice travelling through the still forest.

“Night is falling quickly,” Captain Faraday pointed out, glancing upward. “And there could be things we could learn of Livingstone’s plans, even from the dead. So let´s get this done.”

“So, Lucien, you are also uneasy of the dark.”

Martin could see that Lucien was trying to hide the anger tightening across his face under the thick white of his coats hood.

That hooded coat was his wardrobes crowning jewel, with thick, soft furs as white as the snow beneath their feet. He also wore black leather knee-high boots, white woollen trousers, black leather gloves and an elegant black waistcoat over a plain white shirt. Martin and Steven, on the other hand, both wore their standard issue S.T.S uniforms composed of dark navy blue combat jumpsuits under black Kevlar body armour with S.T.S embroidered across their backs and shoulders, black combat boots, black fingerless gloves and utility belts with leg holsters to hold their firearms and ammunition.

“David said we should track down the hostages, and we did,” Steven insisted. “They´re dead. So we need to take the fight to Livingstone before he makes his next move. Hell, we've been out of the loop for more than a week. He may have already made a move so let´s call in extraction.”

Damn it Steven, shut up! We may not have spent much time in the S.T.S, but at least I´ve learnt that Lucien is not accustomed to being made light of.

“Lucien? You still with us?” Steven continued. “I don’t actually like this snow any more than you guys do. Hey Lucien, can you hear me?”

“Steven, would you shut it for one second?” Lucien questioned angrily. “At least Martin understands not to interrupt my thinking! Not to mention when to take things seriously. The only reason the two of you were allowed to join this organisation was the intel you had on Livingstone. Steven, you may be a powerful Demon User, but in an unfortunate twist of fate, your brother in many ways is the most capable of the two of you!”

That was harsh, Martin thought, sensing Lucien’s guilt and Steven’s wounded pride in the air.

They had been trying to track down the location of this Temple of Týr through the Schauinsland Mountains for nine days now, running farther and farther through the Black Forest and Martin could feel the tension rising with every passing day.

Come on, were so close now. Lucien may be a veteran when it comes to Demon politics, but he apparently has never encountered a man like Steven Brown Before.

“Martin, tell me exactly what you saw while scouting ahead,” Lucien ordered, studying Martin intensely. “Every detail you can recall. Leave nothing out.”

“Well, as I said before, I found the temple about a mile that way,” Martin started, pointing. “It was hidden, built into the side of a mountain ridge. I was able to get a look inside via an open Cloister located in the centre of the structure by looking down from the mountain but didn’t dare get any closer than that. From that distance, I could see that the entryways have been reinforced with ice, a real rush job but a clear sign of cryokinetic presence. We should have no problem breaking through with Steven’s help. As far as movement goes, there was none to be seen the whole time I was there, and there was no sign of recent fires. But as I said before, I did see the captives, men and women. Some slumped over things while others were laying on the ground as if they had all fell dead where they were standing. Too still to be living, and pretty well covered by the recent snowfall.”

“Good, excellent observation skills, but did you take any notice of the condition of their bodies? Correct me if I’m wrong, but you must have had plenty of time to observe the sense?” Lucien questioned. “Do you think that it was the cold that killed them, or were there any signs of wounds on the bodies?”

“Actually, now that you mention it, even from a distance I could see that they had spilt a lot of blood. Killed by blades, I would guess.”

“Did you see any weapons?”

“No, I saw none.”

“Cryokinetic attacks wouldn’t cause much bleeding,” Lucien smiled, casually pulling back his hood. “But no one can spill blood like Victor Black.”

“Could he really be here?” Martin asked, seeing what Lucien was driving at.

“Martin, please lead us there, I have a great deal of business to work out with Victor.”

With the order given Martin led the way, carefully picking a path through the forest, taking care to not trip on the roots that hid themselves under the snow.

“Shovel harder Victor,” Lucien muttered to himself, following closely behind Martin. “We´re on your tail.”

As they paced quickly but quietly, the sky finally blackened, the moon fully risen by the time they made their journey back up the mountain.

“Just down there at the base of the ridge, just as I said,” Martin said, calling a stop to their climb.

“Martin, I want you to stay up here,” Lucien ordered. “If Victor is really down there it could be too dangerous for a human soldier,” he finished, carefully watching the scene below.

Martin could see the bodies laying precisely as before, the thirsty snow now turning a gruesome red.

“It will be cold sitting up here,” Steven started. “I´ll find something I can burn.”

“Brother, if there are enemies down there then a fire is the last thing we need,” Martin reasoned. “I´ll be fine.”

“No fire,” Lucien ordered, drawing his longsword from his back and sticking it in the ground before removing his coat. “This will help.”

As Martin threw on the coat, Lucien retrieved his sword from the snow, holding it single-handed despite its length. Its blade was a jet black, double-edged and tapered to a point, with a texture that almost made the metal look like stone, with strange runes carved into it. Its ornate hilt was a shimmering gold with a crossguard curving toward its blade and a glittering white jewel with a red cross fixed inside its pommel.

A splendid looking weapon, Martin thought, holding Lucien´s coat close to his chest.

It shined as if it had never been swung, although Martin knew that it had indeed seen some use. Martin could feel its sheath on his back, custom made and sewn into the coat, designed to pivot up and out when grasping the hilt to allow the sword to be drawn over the shoulder comfortably, despite its length.

“No fires then,” Steven muttered, starting back down the slope.

“Martin, keep a lookout from here, watch our progress,” Lucien ordered. “But keep radio silence. If necessary contact the Department,” he finished, turning away.

For a time Martin crouched, watching the temple from above, just as still as it had been before.

“God,” he whispered to himself, briefly glancing away.

He saw Lucien and Steven in the near distance, Steven noisily struggling down, Lucien carefully carrying his sword over the shoulder so as not to be caught by the low reaching branches.

Wait, something´s wrong!

For a moment he couldn’t breathe, his heart stopping in panic.

I only looked away for a second? He questioned himself, his eyes sweeping back and forth over the still encampment. Where have they gone? The bodies are gone!

Martin watched and listened, eventually seeing a sudden movement in the corner of his eye. There was a pale shape moving through the cloisters below, and then it was gone.

Were my eyes playing a trick or… No. He already knows we are here!

Martin reached for his radio.

Wait. Lucien´s radio is off. I could call in backup. No, there´s no time.

He vaulted into action, climbing down, moving fast.

“What are you doing down here?” Lucien called to him, once he heard him coming.

“Our presence is known,” Martin answered, breathless. “I believe a cryokinetic attack is inbound.”

Lucien paused, closing his eyes in concentration.

“Take cover!” he urged, looking upward.

BOOM!

As Lucien gave his warning, the sky erupted, unleashing a blast of icy spikes raining destruction over their heads. Steven ignored Lucien’s order, standing proud, raising a fist in defiance. He laughed as a vortex of flames spiralled around them, repelling the descending attacks. The entire event was over within seconds.

“Good work,” Lucien puffed as he and Martin pulled themselves out from under the bushes, wiping the snow from their clothes.

“No worries,” Steven smirked, cocksure. “They don’t call me the Fire Fist for nothing,” he finished, blowing the fire from his hand.

“Here, this is yours,” Martin insisted, throwing Lucien his coat. “After an attack like that, he will be debilitated for a while. We should infiltrate before he can recuperate.”

“Martin’s right,” Lucien agreed, throwing his sword back into his coats sheath. “Let´s get moving. If either of you come across Victor in there I want you to pull back, leave him to me.”

“This looks like a good entry point,” Martin called out to the others after scouting around the perimeter wall.

“I’ll get to work melting this ice,” Steven said,” spreading his palms across the frozen doorway.

Soon enough the wall of ice was reduced to a puddle at their feet, giving access to a solid stone door. Together they hauled the stonework aside, prising the entryway open.

“Damn it, that was heavy,” Steven complained. “Have these people never heard of door hinges, or even handles?”

“This place is old,” Lucien surmised. “Much older than credited.”

“It´s still barricaded,” Martin said, turning to the mess in the entryway. “Help me out here Steven,” he ordered trying to move a giant barrel.

“I´ll open it,” Steven grinned, smashing the top off with a fist of flames.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Making it lighter,” Steven replied, taking out an apple, casually taking a bite. “Persides, we haven´t eaten decently in over a week. We've had nothing but Lucien's bloody wheat.”

“That’s not actually a bad idea,” Martin started, throwing armfuls of apples to the ground and pulling the barrel to the side. “Steven, you’re a genius.”

“Actually, I was suggesting that we eat our way through it.”

“That’s not just any old wheat you know,” Lucien protested, starting to push boxes away, clearing a way in. “It’s Quadrotriticale.”

“Well, now you can keep all your Quadro... whatever you call it all for yourself,” Steven joked. “Seems like no one’s here?” he added glancing around the blood smeared scene.

It looked as if there had been a crash, with barrels and boxes smashed, their contents spilt across the blood-soaked ground.

But where are the captives?

The destruction was widespread, more like a natural disaster than a hostage situation gone wrong.

The blood is fresh, Martin noted, securing the area. Whatever had happened here, happened recently.

“Our dead captives seem to have moved camp?” Lucien said, starting to hunt around the empty room. “Something is wrong here,” he whispered.

Okay, stay calm. Follow your orders, Martin thought, the words he needed to try to explain how this could be possible abandoning him.

“I sense another close by,” Lucien insisted.

“Well, no one´s here,” Steven repeated, starting to sound frustrated. “You´re getting rusty Lucien.”

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH!” an unfamiliar voice shouted from behind.

Something we´ve all wanted to say to Steven at some point, Martin thought, watching as Steven easily pushed down the attacking lunatic.

“What the hell is your problem kid?” Steven yelled in anger as Martin trained his Beretta on the boy.

The boy was tall but thin to the point of being malnourished, with scarred skin, a missing eye and dirty, red hair, long and shaggy. His clothes were simple, torn and dirty.

“Who are you?” the boy demanded.

“I’ll be the one to ask the questions,” Lucien answered, unsheathing his sword for intimidation.

“If they find you here, you´ll die!” the boy threatened.

“Yes, but we’re hungry,” Steven responded, smashing crates apart one after the other. “What should I eat first? Mmm… that looks good.”

“Who are you?” Lucien began his questioning. “Are you one of Livingstone’s mutineers?”

“NO! I’m not one of those miserable bastards!”

“Do not lie to me!” Lucien growled. “I have other ways to make you talk!”

“You’re one of those Demons aren´t you? I swear under the judgement of Týr, I´m not one of them!”

“Swear to me!”

“My name is Jacob. Weeks past our temple ran afoul of those that you mention. Now that thing that calls itself White Frost runs this place, a creature that came from the coldest depths of Helheim no doubt. I alone survived by doing what is asked of me.”

“So, not only are you a slave, you’re an idiot as well,” Steven chuckled.

“So long as I do what they want, they won´t do to me what they did to all the others.”

“An idiot and a coward.”

“Steven, shut it,” Lucien interrupted. “Look at all the blood. Jacob, what did they do to the others?”

“It was him. The one with the claws. The Black on Black.”

“Victor Black. Why would he do this?”

“He wanted to see how much they could endure. He was testing her.”

“Her?”

“The dead woman. Calls herself the Undertaker.”

Lucien looked to the others, all three of them showing an expression that said never heard of her.

“Tell us what you know of this woman.”

Shit! The movement in the corner of his eye was so slow that for a moment Martin thought it was just a hint of snowfall. When the movement began to groan, he instinctively trained his Beretta.

Shouldn´t have let my guard down, he cursed himself, lowering his gun as the captives approached.

Three… Four… Five, he counted. Three male, two female.

They lolled about, struggling to approach, their bodies torn and mutilated, their faces ravaged by Victor's claws. Martin fumbled in his utility belt for some morphine, but at the same time, his instinct made him step away. Just as he did so, the leading man made a lazy grab for him, moaning through a torn lip that revealed too many teeth on his left side.

A mad intent of violence and slow motor function? Some kind of disease or a new Demon type we´ve never encountered before? Martin questioned, easily dodging their attacks.

“Stop!” Steven said, more seriously and authoritative than Martin would have expected from him as he raised his own Beretta. “Don’t force us to shoot!”

If they were aware of the handguns pointing in their direction they gave no sign.

Bang! Bang!

Martin fired two shots into the nearest target, one for each leg. His target let out a mindless grown of frustration but showed no signs of pain. It was almost upon him now, eager to wound.

Just do it, Martin! No time to think it through!

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

With five blood splattering headshots, his targets went down, all dead.

“What the hell just happened?” Steven questioned with a wide gaze. “I thought the captives were all dead. No… they were zombies!”

Don’t be ridiculous.

“There´s no such thing,” Martin scoffed, automatically checking his chamber and magazine.

“No, they are the Draugr,” Jason started. “Soulless corpses, reanimated by that woman.”

“If they were dead, they wouldn’t have bled like that,” Martin reasoned, pointing to the bullet wound just above the right eye. “Blood doesn´t pump when you´re dead.”

“But they only dropped after headshots,” Steven continued.

“True… Maybe something was blocking their pain.”

“Look at this,” Lucien interrupted the argument, crouching over the body. “The blood is indeed fresh, you can tell by the low level of blood coagulation, but his skin tissue does show clear signs of decay. An interesting contradiction.”

“It’s the Undertaker,” Jacob put in. “She did this.”

“I´ll get a sample to test in the labs,” Lucien said, cutting an arm off, tucking it into his coat. “We’ll burn the rest.”

“Shit, why is it so cold?” Steven shivered.

It has gotten colder, Martin agreed, clinging to his chest.

Martin turned to watch the pale shape gliding around them, a white shadow hiding in the darkness. As the three of them formed a circle, readying their weapons, Jacob nervously backed into a corner.

“Jacob get behind us,” Lucien insisted.

“It´s not me he´s come for,” Jacob replied as the shadow emerged from the dark, gliding at them.

“Coward!” Steven exclaimed in disgust. “Well come on then, if you dare,” he threatened, his Beretta held up firmly in his right hand, his left arm also up and engulfed in flame.

“With the full authority of the Feltham Police Department, I captain Lucien Faraday of the Special Tactics Squad sentence you, White Frost, birth name unknown, to die.”

“Ich… Tu… Dir… Weh!” it cried in return, approaching tall and gaunt with pale skin of ice that clung to the bone and camouflaged, changing colours as it moved.

As Martin took aim, he heard the breath exhale out of Jacob in a long puff.

“You´re going to die tonight you Demon bastard!” the boy exclaimed. “And after they kill you, I´m going to join the Special Tactics Squad and spend the rest of my life hunting and killing scumbag Demons like you!”

“Was hast du zu mir gesagt!” the Demon yelled, changing his focus. “Du bist tot!”

The Demon slid in Jacobs’s direction, almost too fast for the eye to see. It flexed its wrists up, long shards of ice extending from its palms.

“I regret nothing!” Jacob bravely proclaimed, accepting death. “Except the time wasted following your orders!”

“Well said, coward!” Steven grinned, jumping between Jacob and the Demon as the blades came down, too thin and translucent to see distinctly.

The vanishing ice blades cut deeply into Steven’s middle, almost cutting him in two. Steven briefly cried out in pain as blood soaked out of the wound like a fire, burning red.

“That won’t work on a fireman,” Steven grinned as the fire blood regenerated his body, stitching his two halves together again.

Quickly Steven retaliated with a punch to the gut, his blazing fist melting its way into the iceman. With the Demon wounded Steven came away taking the chance to get Jacob to safety.

“Keep him behind me,” Lucien ordered, readying his shoulders, taking his sword in both hands.

As the Demon lifted its blades over its head, Martin could see its burning blue eyes of ice staring with hatred. The blades came cutting through the air, meeting with Lucien’s sword as Martin took aim.

Lucien would want me to keep out of it. If I antagonise it, it could mean my death.

A second blow came, followed by a third, Lucien stepping back, blocking each. As the flurry of attacks continued, Martin wanted desperately to cover his captain but still made no move to interfere. Again the blades clashed, the Demon now panting with effort. Seeing this, Lucien swung, the Demon parrying to late to stop the sword from coming up under its arm. The Demon retracted its remaining blade, its fingers studying the space where its other arm had been.

“Confused? You see this blade?” Lucien asked with a mocking grin. “This material nullifies Demon powers, so no Cryokinetic Regeneration.”

The Demon snarled with a furious voice that sounded like ice cracking. It lifted its remaining arm re-extending its blade and swung down with all its weight. Lucien parried, the ice sword shattering as the weapons met. As the ice shards scattered, Martin jumped for cover as Steven protected himself and Jacob with a shield of fire. Lucien took one last swing, removing the Demons head.

“Let's not take any chances. Steven, burn this bastard with the rest of the bodies,” Lucien ordered, taking his radio in hand.

As Martin got to work piling the corpses together, Steven started the fire.

“Claire, we need immediate extraction at my location,” Lucien spoke into the radio. “And make a note that the Demon User known as White Frost was eliminated on the 12th of the 12th 2202.”

CRACK!

The sound came like a whip and with it came a thick mist that roared around them.

“Lucien?” a woman called as she came out from the mist.

“Claire, This is Jacob,” Lucien introduced. “He’s coming with us.”

“Everyone lock hands,” Claire instructed, moving next to Jacob. “Sorry Jacob,” Claire said regretfully. “Translocation can be an unpleasant experience.”

“Wait,” Jacob urged, holding a hand out into the air.

After some distant clattering, a golden object flew both forcefully and weightlessly into Jacob’s hand. It was some kind of candle holder, ornate with two arms resembling a sword crossguard.

“You are no Demon, how?” Lucien questioned.

“Týr’s beacon. It will come to those with need of it, so long as it finds you… well worthy. I can’t leave it behind. My order must live on. I'm ready to go.”

CRACK!

Once more the mist loomed around them, hiding them as they vanished.