“TO ARMS!” The voice rattles me to the very bone. For a moment I cannot decipher the words, but when I finally understand my reply swells along with the rest. The warriors around me push away from their tables and set aside their drinks and food, grabbing their weapons. My own hands reach for the handle of the broad, double-bladed ax, long-forgotten at my feet. Our roar reverberates back from the high ceiling and grows and grows and, as one, we rush pass the heavy ironwood doors and for one last time I look upon them with my Red eyes. When the Hall had first been built the doors had been plain, but every new hero that had been received by them had had his deeds carved into the massive slabs. I see my own deeds on the doors, but I know that there is one more deed yet to be accomplished. As I consider it, I pass through the archway and onto a field.

The sight before our eyes is one we have never seen before. The creatures that fight below with our fair gods are the shadows of a nightmare. The warmth of the Hall leaves us and we falter, our shouts catching in our throats. The sound of the battle is horror itself. A moan suddenly ripples through the frontline and echoes back to the army; Thor has fallen. Our strongest, our bravest, our most beloved god. I see him, his chest pierced by the hand of Utgard Loki. Thor’s blood-flecked face defies this Terror of Giants, but even this defiance cannot stir us onto battle. Loki lifts up Thor’s hammer in one hand and his heart in the other and the roar of the dark creatures resounds across the blood-stained field. We stand and we watch, our courage and honor waning in this onslaught. There is no end to the dark masses that crowd onto the fields and we know the truth now. The Aesirs, our gods, are falling; their light is being smothered by this Shadow. I can feel the men and women around me murmur in fear and hopelessness as again and again the gods fall. All that is left now is Odin and his guard. We hear Odin call us to arms again, but we are frozen, fear rooting us to the spot. The whispering begins. A man beside me clutching a broadsword with white knuckles says to himself in hopeless fear, “This is the end, the Ragnarok.” I look at him and than at all of my comrades around me, all their faces pale and pinched. I don’t know what is spurring me to do what I’m about ready to do. I slap the man on the shoulder and he looks at me in shock.

“Yes, it is the End.” The people around me fall silent as I push my way to the front. As I come to the fore I turn back to face the vast horde of warriors. I can feel all their eyes upon me. I do not have to say anything. I just smile and heft my ax up onto my shoulder and turn around. I am calm inside and with a laugh I run towards battle. I need not look back to see if I am being followed, I just have to listen to the roar, like a tidal wave, to know that the army is at my back. I see Odin fall, but I keep going. I know I will not win and I know I will die. The End of Days has come, when Darkness conquers. We all know this. But not even this will stop us now. We are the Warriors of Valhalla. Not even death can defeat us.