Loki by Mike Vasich Page A

something being broken, bit by bit. It was not anything he could identify, nor was it anything he had heard before. If he had been forced to describe it, he might have called it the sound of a thin shell slowly shattering, but even this did not evoke the quality of the sound he heard. It felt like sadness and anger leaking from a slowly cracking glass bowl.
    He dismissed such poetic descriptions with a shake of his head, focusing more on what he heard rather than any attempt to describe it, even to himself. It felt wrong, whatever it was, as if there was something unnatural encroaching upon Asgard. His hand went down to Gjall and he brought it to his lips. He hesitated briefly—he wasn’t sure if this were worthy of sounding the alarm across the Nine Worlds. He lowered the horn slightly and continued to listen.
    There was the sound of flesh growing quickly, the sound of blood splattering on stone, small drips that indicated birth rather than slaughter. He heard multiple footfalls, but they were too large and there were too many of them. It was as if several large beings occupied one single space. There was also a deep breathing sound, indicating lungs deep enough for a man to drown in. In an instant he was aware of the danger, and Gjall sent out a warning that shook Yggdrasil itself. He only hoped that it was heard in time.
     
    Tyr had been in thousands of battles, and had seen even more in his lifetime. That was what it meant to be Aesir: the glory of battle, of vanquishing foes and letting your sword sing a blood-song as it carved its way through your enemies. Any type of creature that could be named had met his steel at one time or another: elves, dwarfs, Vanir, humans, and of course, giants. He had suffered countless injuries, and had dealt out countless more. He had faced insurmountable odds with a grim smile, and he had walked away from a battlefield strewn with the bodies of those who had dared to challenge him. His battle prowess was second to none, not even Thor, although even Tyr would admit that no one could match the raw power and strength of the Thunderer. After all the pain and death he had delivered, after all the countless hordes he had faced, he would not have believed that he could still be shaken. And yet, staring up at the monstrosity that towered above them, there was a gnawing in his gut that he had not felt in ages.
    It had started innocently enough. The mason strode into the hall, seemingly prepared to accept defeat. He had labored hard and had come close, but had failed to complete the rebuilding of the wall as he had bargained. They had gained nearly all and had lost nothing. And yet they were prepared to reward the mason for his efforts. The Aesir were nothing if not fair.
    It had quickly become apparent that something was amiss. The mason looked dazed as he slowly approached the Allfather. He stared beyond the confines of the hall, seeing something that was not there. His gait was staggered and halting. It did not seem to be due to weariness or exhaustion, but something else entirely.
    The Aesir exchanged uneasy looks as Odin addressed the mason. He did not respond, but simply took step upon plodding step towards the Allfather. Hands were placed on sword hilts as he drew closer.
    It was unnecessary, of course. If the mason intended any harm to Odin, he would quickly find the High One's thin frame belied his strength and battle prowess. Tyr had stood shoulder to shoulder with Odin in too many battles to recount, and had been awestruck at the Allfather’s ferocity. He may look like a decrepit old man, but to face him in battle was to face death itself, and there were none alive that could claim otherwise.
    Trepidation turned to alarm when the mason began to change. Tyr noticed that he looked taller than before, and broader as well. As he continued to grow, Tyr realized that they faced one of their mortal enemies: the giants. But he was unprepared for what happened next.
    Swords were loosed from