Loki by Mike Vasich Page B

their scabbards, but the Aesir hesitated, caught up in the grotesquery they were witnessing. The mason sprouted new legs from his old ones, each new foot hitting the ground amidst blood and torn flesh. New arms sprouted from his torso, punching through his skin and quickly growing to full size. His torso doubled upon itself again and again, each increase spawning more arms, while leg after leg emerged. His head shifted, elongated, and his face became distorted with multiple eyes and mouths set in a random pattern across his face. Some of the mouths groaned, while others screamed in outrage and anger, the effect being not unlike a chorus of misshapen dwarfs. Except the noise came from one vast and deformed head of the creature that had masqueraded as a mason.
    It stood over them, and Tyr could see many of the mouths smiling in what looked to him like satisfaction. The creature was impossible—Tyr could not fathom how so many limbs could fit onto its frame in such a haphazard fashion. The creature looked like chaos itself, which was perhaps what it was. None of them had ever seen a giant that looked like this, yet they all instinctively knew that this was what they faced.
    Its size alone was greater than anything they had ever seen. Its head had broken through the roof of Gladsheim, raining rubble down on those inside. Every motion of its body destroyed more of the hall. Tyr thought that his own height might just barely rival that of the mason’s ankle, but he was not entirely sure of that. For the first time in centuries, he wondered if this were the day that he—that all of them—might die.
    Odin summoned the Einherjar even as Gungnir flew from his hands. The spear sank all the way into the mason’s stomach, and there was a deafening cry of what sounded more like anger than pain as it lumbered towards Odin and brought dozens of massive fists down upon him, quicker than any of them could react. The ground shook with the force of the blows, and the stone floor of Gladsheim caved in, leaving Odin buried and still in the rubble.
    The Einherjar quickly streamed into the hall as the rest of the Aesir attacked the mason. Tyr slashed his sword into one of the creature’s tendons, severing it with one expert blow, while the others attacked different areas. Frey loosed arrow after arrow into its back, even while his sword hacked and slashed on its own, Frey’s will being served by his steel as if it were a thing alive. Aegir hurled loose stones and sent them crashing into its head with the fury of a tempest. Sif leaped up and sank her sword into one of its innumerable knees, and the rest of the Aesir attacked other areas, which was not hard because of the sheer size of the giant.
    The Einherjar also swarmed, swords and axes sending bits of flesh and blood flying throughout the hall. The mason swept down upon them and picked up dozens in each hand, crushing some, their blood and entrails spilling from his wet paws, and sending others flying to shatter against walls. Some were launched out of the newly opened roof, their cries heard for leagues. Massive deformed feet stomped down upon others, leaving nothing but broken bodies in wet cracks on the stone floor.
    The Einherjar fought on, oblivious to the insurmountable nature of this opponent. Tyr saw hands coming at him and slashed out viciously. Fingers the size of tree trunks fell around him, and he was covered with a torrent of gore. The giant was littered with thousands of wounds, yet none seemed to do him any real damage. Tyr would not have even characterized this as a battle. It was more like angry ants attacking a bear.
    More of the Aesir were down. Balder lay crumpled against a wall, no match for this chaotic thing. Thor’s son, Magni, who possibly rivaled even Thor’s legendary strength, had been kicked by a monstrous foot and sent crashing through one of Gladsheim’s walls, the bricks tumbling down in response.
    The hall around them was crumbling, and there was