The dark Valkyrie’s command still echoed in his head as he stormed through Ghost Mountain, using his fists, boots and whip to get the rest of the clan moving. His cropped hair was laced with sweat as he took the stairs two by two, descending into the bowels of the mountain; his green-tinged skin bearing the remnants of his suffering, covered in dark purple welts from where Malice’s boots had connected with his flesh.
The whip whistled and cracked like thunder as it cut through the air. “Move, you slugs. Form up in the courtyard. We have a Valkyrie to hunt.”
It took him a good hour or so, just to get everyone together; but once outside he set eyes upon his Goblin horde. Not bad, for a pack of useless ingrates; sniveling and whining as they stood awaiting further orders. In the back though, towering over the rest, stood seven black figures that seemed to absorb the light around them; and he smiled. Night flyers were extremely useful beasts, so long as you never turned your back on them. Massive claws and razor-sharp wings, eyes that could pin-point your location in a heartbeat. He was glad these Night Flyers were on his side, for the growls they let out sent chills down even his spine. With them, there was a chance for victory, for the rest of the scum was far from battle worthy.
Zander approached the Alpha Flyer with caution. He had no intention of ending up as a snack, and Skar wasn’t known for his gentleness. Malice had left her mark on the beast and that made Skar even more dangerous. He would follow Malice is a heartbeat, even when it came to eating a half-Goblin war-chief, like himself.
When he got close enough, the creature opened eyes that looked like the entrance to the abyss and Zander felt that tiny heart of his skip a beat. Yes, Flyers were the things that nightmares were made of; and Skar was the most temperamental of the lot.
“Find the accursed male. Our mistress commands his death!” Zander barked out the order and felt a wave wash over him as the troops responded, a sound of metal, racked upon on metal and hissing long into the night sky.
“Feeling brave today, worm?” Skar asked as he looked down his nose at Zander. “Our mistress has already given orders and they do not include taking more from you. Suggest, we do, that you get your rabble moving, time is short and our mistress is waiting.”
Wisely, Zander sniveled as he moved off; now wasn’t his time to die. His dream was about to come true. He would be the greatest Goblin Warlord in history. He frowned as he looked down on his ghastly horde, shaking his head. He’d tasted such sweet victory before, only to have it snatched away by that bloody Valkyrie; but today, he’d show her, and their dark lord. In the distance he could hear the rumble of the steel beasts, what the dishonored souls called tanks. They would prove useful in the days to come and he hollered for them to join the ranks.
“Panzers.” He roared. “Death to the Valkyries!”
“DEATH TO THE VALKYRIES!” His host replied, their roar making the heavens shake; or at least, he thought so.
As Gil recovered from his latest wounds, Mist’s voice swept him away with her tales of Victorian London. It was a grand tale, one he’d heard again and again; but it never failed to please his senses. The fact that he was surrounded by Valkyrie fresh out of the academy, made it a little awkward. The newlings were ripe with curiosity and the art of seduction had never been his area of expertise; and even if it had, it surely would not have been spoken out loud in the presence of these young females. But oh, if he could only get his wives to himself for a moment, he may try out a few of the things they’d spoken about in their stories.
‘Victorian London. As in Jack the Ripper, Sherlock Holmes, Victorian London?’ Gil said with humor in his mind voice.
He could totally see the two of them prowling through the lamp-lit streets and remembered his wife telling him how she had met Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He could see Holmes’ famous creator, using Mist as the inspiration for Sherlock’s perfect woman. Right down to the attitude she let out when her patience was tested. Always keeping him on his toes, never a dull moment.
‘It was all so decadently civilized back that.’ She sighed in her mind and her voice echoed in his.
Gil’s imagination went into overdrive as she literally purred her way through the word, decadently. He looked around at the huge, four-post, solid-oak bed they currently occupied, and the young females who’d crowded into his room like it mattered not that he was in his...
“Just where exactly did you think I got the idea? Someone had to describe it to the wood-worker?” Mist whispered in his ear as she nipped at the tip.
Gil was speechless. So many eyes upon them, and all he could think of was just how many stories of Victorian erotica those two had inspired. His blood heated, giving his skin a rather rosy hue and Mist’s lips lowered to his neck as she snickered.
“Just, stories of Victorian erotica? At least two, I think, and a painting.” She grinned and slid her tongue up towards his ear again.
“A painting?” He choked out. “Let me guess, you were nekked?” He added with a chuckled, but then cocked his brow. “Did both of you pose for this exquisite work of art? Or just you?”
He’d seen a photograph taken after the Battle of Shiloh. Both of his wives were standing together, having tended to the wounded as nurses. A magnificent sight for sore eyes to set upon. During lulls in the conflict, he could remember them getting as far from the fighting as possible. London or Paris were perfect for rest and relaxation; among other things.
‘Sif and I posed together, in the nude, for Sir John Poytner. He was always telling us to stay still, we had other ideas.’ Her mind spoke to his, like a melody that lured him in deeper, as she herself let her lips explore his.
‘I’ll bet you did, leaving a trail of broken hearts behind you the whole way.’ Gil replied with a mental chuckle as he kissed her back.
In the midst of her kiss, he felt a hand on his shoulder and watched as the chocolate brown locks mingled with the blonde tresses littered with platinum. Sif was awake and blinking the sleep out of her eyes as she snuggled in closer.
‘Victorian erotica?’ His Goddess chimed in a sleepy mind voice, her eyes popping open at the words she’d just said. “No, you didn’t tell him about Paris!” Sif cried urgently, and out loud; the look of alarm on her face causing Mist and Gil to keel over from laughing so hard.
“Paris?” Gil teased. “Now what did you do in Paris, love?” He whimpered, kissing the sensitive spot were her neck and shoulder joined; before nipping his way up her neck to whisper in her ear. “Tell me.” He insisted with a sinful groan.
The newest of the Valkyrie now understood the reason for Malice’s hedonistic behavior. It was all due to the sensations brought on during sex; and warfare. The Valkyries drew power from the emotional energy. Those two acts alone could create enough power to sink a fleet; and as long as mankind continued to fuck and or kill one another, the Wolves of Odin would endure.
“Well, I had wanted to visit the Eiffel Tower. It had just been built and we have always enjoyed exploring the places you Humans created. So, effortlessly. Exposition Universalle, I think it was, in the year eighteen hundred and eight-nine?”
Gil smiled as he listened to Sif tell her story of the higher societies in old France. The secret liaisons of the rich and powerful, the rise and fall of the elite and the sinful secrets kept hidden in every house. In his mind’s eye he could see himself accompanied by Mist and Sif, walking through the crowds and taking in the sites arounds them.
“Just being there would be enough for me. I’ve never spent time in modern Paris, or London.” Gil replied, finally getting a word in and both of his wives looked surprised, Gil just shrugged.
“You would be alarmed at the downright disgraceful nature of such cities, husband. Civilization breeds an evil that cannot always be seen. Hitler was the perfect example of that. He tried to bind us to his will years before he started his war.”
“But, how did he know to call upon you in the first place?” Gil cut in, a little confused.
Calling, according to Valkyrie lore, was a special event. Done for precise reasons. Gil suspected that none of the Valkyries had ever thought about it and for a moment, Mist, who knew everything about everything, looked perplexed.
“Mist looks like she swallowed a bug.” A young voice said with a giggle. “Is this something that I get to look forward to?”
“What, a brain fart? Anybody can have those.” Gil teased and felt Mist’s mood shift to deep suspicion as the little bugger’s chuckle faded away.
“Is there a problem, Mist?” Gil asked anxiously, trusting Mist’s hunches completely.
She had the uncanny ability to put events together, coming up with theories on less information than he did.
“When he called us, Hitler did not specify who he wanted. There was a woman with him, he called her a Vrill.”
The word Vrill set off alarm bells deep within Gil. They were closely associated with Nazi’s. They were women who claimed that they had been given access to extraterrestrial powers and technology through occult means. The only name that was associated with that cult was Sigrun.
“Does the name Sigrun mean anything, Mist?”
The Valkyries eyes narrowed as she remembered.
“When we first walked the Earth, the land was covered in ice. The first Valkyrie to lay claim was Sigrun, the Winterwolf; but no one knows why she would have worked with an enemy?” Mist shook her head. “I had almost forgotten about her, what with everything else going on. Did the history books you read, say what happened to her?”
“Only that she disappeared in nineteen hundred and forty-five, at the same time the bastard killed himself.” Gil answered as he filed the information away for later.
“From what I can remember, she was always a bit of a rebel. Sigrun always spoke about taking her forest back from those useless bags of water. That’s how she described humankind.” Sif said as she caressed the female who’d come to sit at the edge of the bed. “Your skin is so warm, Shadow.” She grinned, running a finger up and down her arm.
Gil scratched his head as he thought about what it took to summon a Valkyrie. Controlling one seemed impossible. Trying to force a Valkyrie to do anything bordered on the suicidal; but this was something he had to store away in his mental inventory, there was much to do at present. They just didn’t have time to do anything about it now.
The call to arms had gone out and had brought some rather interesting responses from every shadowed nook in the Verse. Two days ago, the spark had been ignited and many were willing to join the fight. The first to respond, of course, was Belvaya. Leader of the Red Hand, an assassin’s guild sanctioned by the Black Rose, and its leader was ruthless and skilled. Definitely a wild card, and in some minds a loose cannon; but she knew what had to be done and she did it. Balls and brains; and beauty. Mist had to smile as she pictured her old friend. It had been so long, she wondered if those luscious white and blue locks still hung past her shoulders. Did they still bounce when she walked?
Belvaya. Mist was sure that in some language, somewhere, Belvaya meant war, for that’s what the female brought to the table every damn time she was summoned. Well, Mist had a very good reason to summon her, and the estranged Guardian of the Isles, the Petal of Chaos, herself, would be gracing them all with her presence for the first time in four-thousand years. Mist was more than prepared for the battle that would follow, she just hoped that everyone else would be as excited to see her as Mist was.