LotS/The Story/The Saga of Drunken Ragnar/Shuborunth
Shuborunth
"That bastard stole my axe! Tell me where to find him, and I'll tear his-"
"Turn around, mate. That's where you'll find him."
Four gazes fell upon the man who'd come through the doorway. Ragnar's foe-finders blazed. Metro Mash stood there in the flesh now, the spikes of his hair even higher and bluer than they'd seemed on the holo-vid. The goggles on his eyes flashed with the screen's reflection. In his hand was the hero's foe-hewer.
"I've been looking for you, mate."
"Give me my axe!"
"Oh, I'll give it you... Right through your sodding head. You know how many bloody credits you cost us when you killed that rich bint? She was hot too! Might have been able to give her one when it was all over and done with, and we'd been paid... Why'd you bash her brains out anyway? Price not good enough for you? She wouldn't open her legs? What?"
"I don't know!"
"You what, mate?"
"I told you -- I don't know why I killed her!"
Metro cackled like a hyena.
"Oh, that's bloody priceless, that is. You cost us a sodding fortune, and you don't even know why! Too pissed, were you? Wanker!" Metro Mash made a shaking motion with his free fist. "You could have killed Moto anytime... You know, like after we were done! But oh, no, you had to go and-"
"Wait... What did you call her?" Ragnar asked.
"Moto, mate. Moto Zair."
The Niflung bellowed with laughter. His great frame shook. The others gazed at him in wonder.
"Something funny, mate?"
"And what... what was the... the job?" the hero managed, from amidst laughter that was like the roar of merry thunder.
"She wanted us to kill this kid... a prince, or something."
"Ha!" The son of Ragnar turned to the weaver. "That's why I killed her! Because the bitch deserved it! Moto Zair's the one who tried to kill Tel! And the stupid bitch thought she'd hire me to finish the job! She got what she had coming!"
"I'm sure there's a great backstory there and all, but you still cost me a sodding big pile of creds. And I'm-"
"I'm in a good mood," Ragnar said. "Give me my axe, and I won't even rip your spine out."
"Come and get it, mate!" He placed both hands on the mighty weapon's shaft and took up a fighting stance.
"Stupid stink-beast! This hulking human will destroy you! Give him his axe, or we'll have to clean your guts off the floor!"
"She's right," Svana added. "You can't take Ragnar. Not even with that axe."
"Good thing I brought a mate along then, isn't it?" He turned to the doorway. "Hey, Shuborunth -- get your arse in here!"
A slimy, slithering, dragging noise filled the air. Then something just as slimy, slithering, and dragging filled the entrance. It bulged through the gap like a huge mass of rancid meat, before coming inside with a pop and standing... sitting... festering there in all its hideousness. It was a blob of bright white flesh, its amorphous shape broken only by two eyes and a huge, gaping, toothless maw.
"What the hell's that?" Svana asked.
"The other killer the pathetic brain-splattered female hired," Bel replied.
"Shuborunth!" the blob... blobbed. Its very voice sounded like wobbling balls of flab undulating in the air. "Shuborunth!" Shuborunth!"
"Huh?" the weaver asked.
"He's a Blob Beast," Ragnar replied. "They use their own names as war cries."
"Blob Beast is slur!" he blobbed. "Human is racist! Shuborunth is Wulblunralxanachi!"
"How do you spell that?" Svana's fingers danced upon the word-axe's screen, lest the galaxy never learn of this strange encounter.
"Human will look it up! Shuborunth is killer, not dictionary!"
"One last chance, you spiky-haired pile of crap!" the hero roared. "The axe! Now!"
"Not a chance, mate. Shuborunth -- kill him!"
"Shuborunth! Shuborunth! Shuborunth!"
Ragnar roared and charged. His mighty body hurtled at Metro Mash. It was as though a fearsome avalanche crashed down from the mountains, thundering in an unstoppable wave that would surely smash the man foolish enough to stand in its path.
"Shuborunth!"
The blob... leapt. Svana gasped. Disbelief flooded her body from head to toe. It filled her valkyrie boots, bulged in her mail bodice, danced across her blonde locks. The massive lump of flesh launched itself into the air -- turning its body into a torpedo of flab. Its great mouth opened wide... And descended on Ragnar.
Shuborunth splatted in a big mound. Then it rose up, and gave a burp that made its lips shudder.
"Shuborunth wins! Shuborunth is best killer! Shuborunth is... Ugh!"
The blob groaned. Something bulged outwards from its gut. The flesh fell back into place. Then there was another bulge. Then another.
"Ugh! Human is alive! Shuborunth's gasses should have killed human! Human is hitting Shuborunth! Hitting inside! Ugh! Help! Ugh! Help Shuborunth!"
He flopped this way and that. His huge bulbous body swayed.
"Shuborunth! Shuborunth! Shuborunnnnnnth!"
The cry became a blobby screech as eight fingers burst from the middle of his body, each hand's digits pressed back to back. All those present stared in wonder and marveled at the might of Ragnar... For they all knew what must happen next.
"Shubor..."
The hero's powerful thews, the arms which had brought slaughter to his foes and salvation to his friends, that had wielded foe-hewer and doom-scribbler in myriad battles, pulled.
Thick, slimy flesh tore with a heavy wet rip. A stench as of rotten eggs filled the room and made Svana's nose wrinkle. The little hole, from whence the son of Ragnar's fingers had emerged, lengthened and widened. It ripped down Shuborunth's length. Then across his width, as the Niflung warrior opened him as though he were a pair of vile drapes.
And there Ragnar stood, amid the alien's exposed innards.
Metro Mash ran. But he'd gawped at the sight for a moment too long, and Svana was fast. The word-axe, that potent weapon of war and tale, the tool of her craft which would cleave the story into being, first clove Metro's skull. He crashed to the floor. And then came Ragnar...
"This is mine." The hero brandished his foe-hewer. "But you can have a taste..."
His raised his weapon. Doom seethed across its blade. Then weapon and doom fell as one, and Metro Mash was sent to tell the tale to the dead whilst Svana told it to the living.
"Svana?"
"Hi, Karl."
"What're you doing here?"
"Just visiting. How's my replacement getting on?"
"She's doing... Well she's doing as well as can be expected. But you... I mean, really you shouldn't be here... And who... Who are these people?"
"This is Ragnar Ragnarsson. A friend of mine."
Svana Spunbracher and the Niflung warrior strode down the corridor. Karl Hrolfsson, Rektor of Siegfried School, had to jog to keep up.
"And the other one?" He gestured at the man slung across Ragnar's brawny shoulder.
"A wanted criminal," the warrior replied. "With a nice bounty on his head."
"I demand a lawyer!" the man wailed.
"There'll be plenty of lawyers where you're going."
"Prison?"
"Not quite. Now keep your mouth shut, or I'll tear your jaw off."
The criminal fell silent. He liked his jaw where it was.
"This school isn't an appropriate place for dangerous criminals!" Rektor Hrolfsson said. "Apart from the parents, I mean."
"Don't worry, Karl. He won't be here for long. Trust me."
"Svana..."
She turned to him, not slowing her pace, pulled his head to hers with one fair hand, and planted a kiss on his lips.
"Trust me, Karl."
"Oh... Okay."
He stopped in the corridor and fell away behind them. In a few moments they were at the door of the classroom where Svana had once taught.
Through the square window that dominated its upper half, the writer and warrior saw a young teacher -- perhaps fresh from university -- half-crouched behind her desk. In front of her, at their own desks, a horde of teenagers screamed and threw things. Most of them hurled e-readers or styluses. But an axe spun end over end and embedded itself in the wall. Two more were stuck nearby.
"Damn kids," Ragnar grunted.
"Exactly," Svana replied. "Time to scare them straight..."
Ragnar kicked the door open and stormed inside.
"The fun's over, you little bastards!" he roared.
The children stared at the muscular warrior, their mouths agape, unhurled missiles falling from their hands. His crimson glare found each of them in turn, and they trembled.
"Excuse me..." the teacher murmured. "Can I... Can I help you?"
"No," Svana said. She stepped into the room. "But we can help you."
She turned to the pupils.
"You lot remember me?"
Some of them nodded. Others just stared at Ragnar and the prisoner he carried.
"Good. This is Mr. Ragnarsson. A friend of mine. He's here to show you something..."
Ragnar shrugged the man off his shoulder. He hit the ground with a thud and a cry.
"Hey!"
"Watch this!" Ragnar growled.
He grabbed the man's leg.
"Hey! What are you doing? What're- Aaaaarrrrgggghhh!"
The Niflung warrior stomped down with his boot and pulled with his arms in the same moment. His muscles were strong. So were his cybernetics. Far stronger than the man's leg...
Some of the pupils screamed when it tore free. Especially the ones whose faces were sprayed with its blood. Others still just stared, noiseless, pale, aghast.
"Aaaaarrrrgggghhh! My leg! My leg! Aaaaarrrrgggghhh!
Ragnar grunted, raised the limb above his head, and brought it down as a bludgeon. The man screamed at first. But the blows that showered down on his thrashing body beat silence into him. Then the brains out of him.
The warrior tossed the leg aside, grunted once more, and turned to the children again.
"You kids keep causing trouble, and I'll be back to do this to you. Understand?"
Teenage heads nodded with frantic, neck-spraining speed. The children took their seats.
The teacher got up from her half-crouch, sat in her chair, and beamed her gratitude at Ragnar and Svana.
"Now where were we?" she asked, scanning her e-reader. "Ah, yes..."
Ragnar and Svana left the classroom and closed the door behind them.