His left arm hung from its socket, the blood running from deep gashes down its length, dripping off his fingers in a steady stream and collecting in a pool on the ground next to his foot. Hunched over, tired, with labored breathing, he still held his axe tightly in his right hand. Blonde hair, caked in dirt, sweat and blood, hung in front of his hardened face covering blue eyes that had yet to concede defeat.
With a Viking’s defiance, Anders Randalson looked into the eyes of his opponent.
Wolf like and taller than the average man, the creature was made in the very image of Fenrir.
The beast was not without its own battle scars. A deep cut ran from its right ear down the face, narrowly missing its right eye and ending at the snout. Its torso decorated with lacerations and contusions.
“You have fought bravely, Norseman,” the…
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