The Fallen Valkyrie

PROLOGUE: - VALHALLA.

Gorm's legs trembled uncontrollably as he tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword. "I am a warrior, and I serve the Alfather," he repeated to himself, trying to bolster his resolve.

Tonight, Gorm stood guard over the dungeons of eternal darkness, a wretched place where the condemned Valkyries who had rebelled against the throne were left to suffer in damnation. Lady Freya herself had performed the incantations, sealing the traitors with unbreakable shackles. Everything seemed secure, as long as no one from the outside attempted to free these miscreants.

Suddenly, a sharp voice reverberated through the dungeon, as though a colossal pillar had crashed onto the dusty floor. It was as if someone had forcefully kicked open the dungeon cage, causing it to crumble to the ground. The entire dungeon shook, reminiscent of the thunderous impact when Lord Thor's mighty Mjolnir struck the Jotnar giants, making the realms quake with its power.

Beads of sweat formed on Gorm's forehead, his heart pounding in his chest. He cautiously navigated through the pitch darkness, each step calculated and deliberate, assuming the stance of an alert warrior on the battlefield. Though he knew he was no match for the mighty Valkyries imprisoned here, he took solace in the fact that he wielded the finest sword forged in Nidavellir.

"Oh, Alfather, I beseech you for strength," Gorm silently prayed, his footsteps quickening towards the direction of the mysterious whispers.

Gorm was a loyal guard, a fearless soul dedicated to the ways of the warrior. The Valkyries had chosen his soul to bask in the glory of Valhalla, among his kindred spirits. Even in death, he remained committed to serving Lord Odin as a valiant warrior.

As a sworn brother of the patrol, Gorm had been entrusted with a momentous task—to safeguard the dungeons that held the sinful. These were the divine beings who had tarnished their purity with obsessions, greed, and overpowering desires that led them down the path of sin.

The cells in the dungeons were saturated with an unrelenting darkness, enveloping the tormented spirits within its grasp. It stretched endlessly, as wide as the wandering souls who traversed through their perpetual torment.

No prisoner had ever escaped on Gorm's watch, and he would not allow it to happen today.

Gorm came upon a shattered cell, its walls reduced to a heap of ruins on the ground. The massive iron door, though formidable, would not have impeded a Valkyrie, but it was the incantations that held their powers in check. Someone had broken the spell.

Swiftly pivoting on his heel, Gorm scanned the surroundings, searching for any trace of the escaped prisoner.

"This cannot happen on my watch," Gorm resolved, his grip on his sword tightening. He pressed forward cautiously, activating his senses to their fullest. He heard whispers, a continuous chant of some spell. It couldn't be a Valkyrie; they were not known for their mastery of magic. Who could it be?

Gorm swallowed hard, realizing that the threat he faced was far greater than that of a fallen Valkyrie. He dreaded the prospect of confronting a being more troublesome than even the trickster god Loki. One of Loki's offspring had already unleashed chaos within the dungeons.

Hel, who had once been imprisoned here, managed to escape, but that had not occurred under Gorm's watch.

If this monstrous creature were to break free, it would wreak havoc upon the realms. How could Gorm face the Alfather and answer for his lapse in vigilance? If a prisoner were to escape, it would be at the cost of his very soul being reduced to ashes. He swore upon his sword.

His eyes darted meticulously, sweeping over every brick, every speck of dust.

"In the name of Alfather Odin, I command you to reveal yourself and return to your cell. I shall show you mercy," Gorm called out.

"You and I have no quarrel. Do not hinder my path to liberation," a voice replied, stern and alluring.

"Cease hiding behind your magic and show yourself," Gorm challenged, refusing to yield.

An enchanting laughter pierced through the deathly silence, echoing off the walls. "Oh, poor soul. It was I who ushered you into Valhalla. I deemed you worthy of joining the divine, and here you stand, threatening me."

"You are no longer that Valkyrie," Gorm stated, his impatience evident. "Who are you?"

"I do not deign to answer your question, weakling," the voice taunted.

"Then reveal yourself and fight like a warrior," Gorm dared, his voice filled with determination.

Deep down, he knew he stood no chance against this mighty being. He was but a mortal soul, facing a divine spirit. Uncertainty gnawed at him. Which entity was he truly confronting? As far as he knew, Valkyrie spirits were not adept at magic.

Darkness coalesced into a single point, swirling and erupting into a tornado of black smoke. The dungeon trembled, mirroring the trembling in Gorm's legs. His heart pounded within his chest. The cacophony of spells intensified as the tornado grew more turbulent, and then, suddenly, it stopped.

From the chaos emerged broad purple wings, and a stunning woman crouched on the ground. Her naked form possessed a deadly elegance, her curves sharp and blissful, yet radiating a fierce aura that could cleave through even the most formidable Asgardian blade. Her white incandescent skin, marred with black dust, only accentuated her allure. Straight gray hair cascaded down either side of her angular face. Her perfectly pointed nose hovered above a slightly curled upper lip, which curled into a smirk. Her eyes, gleaming black with a hint of pink around the pupil, held an undeniable power.

A Valkyrie.

Gorm gazed in awe at the breathtaking and formidable creature before him. How had she ended up in this place of darkness?

"I offer you one final chance," she spoke, her voice laced with a mocking smirk. "Leave now and spare yourself from being reduced to ashes."

"I was born a soldier, and I shall die as one," Gorm shouted defiantly, swinging his sword and gripping it firmly as he charged towards the Valkyrie. "For Valhalla!"

With an effortless grace, she evaded Gorm's strike, unfurling her wings and swiftly soaring towards him. The sharp edges of her wings pierced through Gorm's shoulders, hoisting him up against the wall.

"It is over, dear Gorm," she declared, her eyes ablaze with fire. "I regret incinerating the soul I once deemed worthy of Valhalla."

In an instant, Gorm's body succumbed to the flames, reduced to ashes under the Valkyrie's formidable power.