When the white fog devoured the North, Raven-Hair threw his bloodstained spear at the shadow of a moving, sword-wielding Northman.

  And once the spear skewered the shadowy Dane's heart, his war-band charged at Raven-Hair who drawn his sword as he ran towards them all.

  Man-like howls were echoed to Asgard when he leaped at the four-hundred Rus, sword-in-hands.

  Witnessing the wolf-built, pale-skinned and beardless berserkers who wore boots, trousers, chain-mails, and iron-helmets, wielding Viking swords, great-axes and iron-tipped spears which were forged to sy him, he hacked through a Norseman from the skull to the groin as he nded upon the nearly snow-covered earth.

  Quickly, his steel bitten the flesh of thirty-two sword-wielding Danes before dodging their spears as Danish blood was spilled upon the snow.

  "Sy the Skraeling for Surt," an ax-wielding Rus roared before having his entrails being spilled by Raven-Hair's swinging bde.

  Blocking the axes with his sword, he beheaded twenty-four of the Pagans as blood sprayed from their headless armoured forms.

  And after he thrusted the sword of Arthur in a Varangian's mouth and pulled it out, he stood upon his two bare feet, ready to sy more of the Varangians whose unstained axes, swords and spears were still ready to butcher him.

  "Your heart shall burn in our fmes, Skraeling," a Dane said while Raven-Hair smiled in battle calm.

  Underneath the Sun-God's burning eyes, both he and the Northmen charged at each other, wielding iron and steel.

  A murder of crows circled above the battlefield while the cngor of bdes were listened by all the Christian kingdoms.

  And limbs were cut off, breasts were sshed through, severed heads reached for the colorless clouds, and blood of Danes soaked the dirt beneath Raven-Hair, wielding his sword that dripped with red Danish blood.

  Sheathing his bloodstained bde, he had stolen both the helmet and chain-mail of an armless Rus and when he wore the armour, he pulled his spear out from a skewered corpse and left the battlefield as the crows began to feast upon the bodies.

  Walking nineteen steps to the realm of the Swedes, he found a wondering white horse, eating the buried grass.

  Although he saw no bridle nor saddle, he knew it was a Pagan horse.

  Thus, he ran towards it and mounted upon its back as it neighed to the Aesir.

  Holding upon its colorless mane, he rode on the Swedish sky with a soul-haunted war-cry.