Björn

by The_Chill_Author

Järn.

Bjørn made a huge mistake, and he knew it; his one shot at establishing a way to return to his home island - or even back to the fight against Zariel - and he fucking blew it. Why did he blow it? Because he decided to be a big angry, raging, and foolish dick, that’s why. He lost the only sentient being that could possibly be his friend, in fact, he threw away a chance at friendship with the Princess of Equestria! That is what this country is called, is it? Of course, Bjørn thought about leaving the forest in search of the ponies that spotted him and hopefully be led to their town, but how likely was that? He told their Princess to go kill themself, it’s no doubt that he’s on a watchlist.

All of this regret was Bjørn’s initial reaction to his foolish actions, then it was shame; how could he say that to someone? What did Avernus do to him to be so… So… So fucking rude?! How far had he fallen from being the lovable musclehead to being the rude and wrathful monster he had become. All his life, he believed that he was following the path his forefathers took, making them proud but when he stopped and began to reflect; he didn’t do anything right! He was tricked into going to Avernus, he was scared to fight a Hydra, he was attacked a group of Bearded Devils and Zariel’s right hand and couldn’t do anything to stop them, and to top it off; He lost against a Pit Fiend in a one on one battle!

He was no Viking, he was no warrior! He was a scared, lost, and shameless little boy. Imagine having more care for bears that could never talk, that could kill you in an instant, than having an ounce of care for someone trying to be your friend. He dishonored the Bjørndington name, he dishonored Bjørnnar; if he couldn’t beat a mere Pit Fiend, then how could he defeat an ancient dragon by himself? All this shame and regret made him angry, but he had no right, it was his own damn fault this happened to him. It was his own damn fault for being here in the first place, it was his own damn fault that Quul left, it was his own damn fault that Pip and Nick died!

For what seemed like months, Bjørn was like this. Griefful, wrathful, regretful, shameful, every negative emotion all at once, and eventually, he began to accept the reality of his situation. He no longer wanted to go back to the fight, for all he knew, the fight was already done and over with, Bjørn was dead in that world and now he has a new life. A life he is sure to live in peace and quiet, in fact, this is something he always wanted before he met Quul. To live in a forest, all alone, living a life of solitude, maybe meeting the occasional adventurer that stumbled across his cabin and offering guidance or training. Although he was living the life he always wanted, the snow and ice didn’t make it easy to live.

Bjørn looked down at the river he had always fished from; it was completely frozen solid, how many inches of ice were there, he didn’t know. With a spear in hand, he stabbed into the ice encased river in an attempt to pierce through it, but the tip of the spear didn’t even make it through and bounced off. Bjørn tried again but with the blunt end of the weapon in an attempt to break it. Despite the Barbarian’s massive strength, he failed to shatter the ice. Bjørn scoffed; it would seem that it would be another day without food.

The snow had driven away all the manticores, the chicken-snake hybrids, and literally every animal that Bjørn had come across, except those damn wood dogs. It’s probably due to their lack of hibernation or lack of needing sustenance that they’re able to keep going - which left Bjørn confused on what their role in the forest was. They seem to be predators but they don’t need to eat; do they ward off adventurers trying to search the forest? Are they here to keep the food web balanced? What was their purpose? Their purpose, Bjørn decided, was to become firewood to keep him warm. No amount of wood dogs could ever defeat him, or at least he hoped.

He began to turn away from the frozen river as any more attempts would be a waste of time and energy. So, he decided to head back to his cabin. As he walked, there was no path or marker to tell him he was going to the right place, which was good, he had it all memorized in his head. Walking to the river and back was muscle memory at this point, he could essentially do it in his sleep. Speaking of, Bjørn had been doing so often, trying to pass the days of winter as fast he could. It’s not like he had anything better to do!

The castle he found once had been thoroughly observed by him, every single weapon there looked like if they were swung, they’d turn into dust. He did however get some furniture and décor from the castle. Cleaning the chairs thoroughly as well as the banners or paintings he found, which strangely, were either sun or moon related. Either Princess Celestia and the other Princess he hasn’t seen really love the sun and the moon, or they’re somehow Gods of them, which is insane. Everyone knows that the celestial objects of night and day are thousands of miles away from the planet able to move on their own due to gravity, and the thought of the sun being controlled by a horse is appalling.

Was that racist calling a pony a horse?

Bjørn shook his head, he couldn’t focus on such stupid things, he had to go to his cabin. After a few minutes of trekking through the snow, he eventually found himself at his home. He looked at his cabin with the new chimney he installed himself, he was proud of it. But then, he looked at Mama Bear’s cabin, he hadn’t touched it since she and her cubs died. The cabin was almost haunting to him, taunting his loss over the bears and reminding him of his failures since he got to this country. Why he hadn’t torn it down, he didn’t know. It was like it was cursed, every time he tried to, his body would betray him and drag him away from the cabin. As if a small part of his soul is still clinging onto Mama Bear and her cubs, but he was over them, they were dead, they were gone, he was over them.

He was over them.

Bjørn opened the door to his cabin and stepped inside, the interior of his cabin was warmer by just a small margin due to the lack of windows and instead just holes where the glass should be. Walking over to the stones at his table, he seized them and turned to the fireplace where the charred sticks and logs of the wood dogs remains were. The Barbarian simply dragged his feet over to the hearth and fell to his knees, scraping the stones together to create sparks. This time, he managed to do it on the first try and fire was lit upon the scorched wood. Bjørn wasn’t a fool and added a wood dog head and two forelegs into the fire. With the fireplace set aflame, he began to seal up the window holes using rabbit fur he collected as blinds. When he was finished, it was almost completely dark with only the flames from the fireplace providing light; good. Bjørn liked it that way.

Bjørn walked over to his bed and sat down, taking a glance around his cabin. He saw the paintings he, ahem, ‘retrieved’ from the castle, the banners, his spears, the chairs, the table, all of his décor; it had actually felt like a house- no, it felt like a home. A small smile began to make its way onto his face, feeling proud of himself that he’s made it this far on his own. Without his family, without his friends, without anyone but himself.

Bjørn’s gaze fell to the floor and his shoulders began to slump. His brothers and sisters, oh how he missed them; but most of all, how he missed his moder and the songs she would sing to him. Her soothing melodies calmed the beast within his heart and cooled his fiery rage into soft snowflakes. He remembered one of those songs, it was a song that the Vikings of his island would sing when they would head off into battle, but it was also a song that would lull him to sleep. Didn’t it go like-

“My mother told me,

Someday I will buy.”

The Viking began to sing, his voice rough, instinctively singing it as a way to strike fear. But as he began to sing the second part of the stanza, his voice began to soften.

“Galleys with good oars,

Sails to distant shores.”

Bjørn began to tap his feet on the ground rhythmically, driving away the memories of battle and welcoming the recollection of his moder’s voice.

“Stand up on the prow,

Noble barque I steer.”

Closing his eyes, he could almost imagine his moder sitting next to him on his bed, singing to him like all those years ago, petting his hair gently with a sweet smile.

“Steady course to the haven,

Hew many foemen.”

Bjørn continued having his eyes closed, refusing to open them and welcoming the imagination of his moder next to him. The Viking repeated the song - or rather poem-made-song - for a few minutes, lost in deep memories of happiness…

…Until someone banged loudly on his door.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

The knocks shook the entire cabin, causing some of his paintings to fall from the walls and onto the floor. Bjørn opened his eyes with a jolt at the sudden force and scowled, pushing himself off his bed and onto his feet, he walked to his paintings to fix them.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

Once more, the cabin shook but thankfully, nothing fell this time. Not only that, but Bjørn heard a voice he hoped was Celestia but was (unfortunately) not.

“Come out, beast! I know you’re in there, there’s no use hiding!” He heard a masculine, muffled and gruff voice shout from outside his door. Bjørn acknowledged the voice, but was too busy readjusting his paintings.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

His paintings were now asymmetrical; this pissed Bjørn off more than the knocking.

“Come out already you bastard, I want to talk to you face to face!” The voice grunted as Bjørn took a step back from his paintings, looking at them to make sure they were symmetrical.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

Oddly enough, the banging straightened the paintings and made them even. Bjørn stroked his beard and turned away from the art pieces and marched over to his front door, opening it before the voice had the chance to knock again. When he walked out, he saw a minotaur covered head to toe in what seemed like full plate armor. The entire armor piece was a grayish blue, and the helmet covered the minotaur’s head, protecting his noggin and his identity as the Barbarian couldn’t see his face. He could, however, see his horns; his horns were fairly large, but not too large to be annoying, a perfectly reasonable large pair of horns he had on his noggin. Overall, he rates his horns an eleven out of ten.

“Huh, I thought you’d be bigger.” The full plated minotaur looked to be a few inches shorter than him, having to arch his chin a smidgen just to look him in the eye. He took a few steps back so Bjørn could enter the outside fully, once he stepped foot outside the cabin, the Barbarian closed the door behind him.

“What do you want with me?” Bjørn asked, his eyes narrowed down into the minotaur’s eyes.

“What I want with you is you in the Canterlot cells for interrogation.” The minotaur explained simply, “Now, I’m taking you with me, whether you like it or not.”

It was at this point Bjørn began to tense up, he fucking knew this would happen eventually, his blatant disrespect of the Princess of Equestria would get him in trouble. “Tell Princess Celestia I apologize for saying those awful things to her, I had no control over my anger.” The iron-clad minotaur tilted his head a little bit. “If that is all I had to do, then take your leave; goodbye.”

“You must be stupid as Tartarus believing that I’m going to leave you alone after you said ‘sorry’. Like I said, I’m taking you to Canterlot, whether you like it or not.” The minotaur insisted, taking a few more steps back.

The Barbarian’s heart began to race; from the way things were looking a fight was likely to spark into roaring flames, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying to snuff it out. “You do not want this fight.” Bjørn began, but before he could continue the iron-clad minotaur spoke.

“Is that a challenge, animal?” The minotaur spat, walking to Bjørn, becoming a mere few inches away from him as he glared up at the Viking’s eyes through his iron helmet.

The Barbarian’s finger twitched in reaction to the word; ‘animal’. That damn word. Oh how it pissed him off, he was human. A living, breathing, fucking human. Bjørn felt himself starting to get angry, something he hasn’t been in a while, this minotaur had to go. Now.

Bjørn stepped forward, his narrowed eyes becoming a glare. “Leave. My. Home.” He growled, his fingers curling into a fist, he made himself look bigger by puffing out his chest a little in an attempt to ward him off. But the minotaur wasn’t fazed and responded with the back of his knuckle to Bjørn’s cheek that snapped his head to look in another direction. Bjørn’s blood began to boil, and he turned his head to look the minotaur back in his eyes, “Leave… My… Home…!” He repeated, the anger in his voice being more prevalent than before.

“You’re going to have to kill me for that to happen.” A fist was sent right into Bjørn’s cheek, his head barely flinching from the blow. Another punch landed on the massive lad, but instead on his left rib, then his right. As the minotaur threw another punch back up to Bjørn’s face, he quickly caught the punch.

“I warned you.” Bjørn drove his fist into the minotaur’s armored cheek, despite being encased in a metal shell, the blow still rocked him and forced the minotaur to take a step back. Although the attack seemed to wound him, Bjørn’s knuckles stung in pain from hitting such a hard metal.

The minotaur rubbed his cheek, “Not bad, although, I can do better.” Confused, Bjørn raised an eyebrow before being completely off guard with a sneaky right uppercut directed right onto his jaw, the blow knocked him off his feet, making him airborne a few feet off the ground, before he crashed back down onto the snow. The wind escaped from his lungs and out his mouth, making him cough in pain. The snow felt like fire to him and urged him to get his ass up. Bjørn listened to himself and recovered with quickness in mind. He rolled to one knee with a scowl, glaring the iron-clad minotaur in his eyes.

He looked as the minotaur approach him with heavy boots of lead, filling a small part of him full of dread. Bjørn shook his head, shaking the small molecule of dread off of him and pushed himself to his feet. Placing his left foot in front of the other and doing the same with his hand, he adopted an orthodox boxer’s stance. ‘It’s now or never, let’s see if I still have it.’ Bjørn began with a stepping jab to the minotaur’s cheek once he got into range. The blow halted his movement for a second, seemingly open for another attack, but the Barbarian wasn’t going to risk it and played it safe.

“Ah, so you know the art of hand to hand fighting, you’re not as much of a beast as I thought you were. Very well, allow me.” The minotaur adopted a fighting stance of his own, whether it was boxing or some weird other martial art Bjørn didn’t know, but he didn’t have time to figure it out as his opponent made his first move.

The iron clad minotaur approached with a powerful right straight, Bjørn’s eyes widened as despite the man-beast wearing full plate armor, the damn bull had more than enough speed to rival lightning. Bjørn was quick to shoulder roll the attack, he skipped back with the punch to reduce the damage only to spring back forward with a straight of his own. The minotaur ate the punch for breakfast and was ready for seconds as another punch was directed to his rib. Annoyed, he reached out his hand to seize Bjørn’s throat, but he dodged past the attempted grapple and sprung back.

Realizing that brute forcing his way to victory wasn’t going to work, the minotaur became tactical, slowing down his movement and keeping his eyes trained on Bjørn. He began to shift his shoulders around as well as move his upper body in a hypnotic like way, bobbing side to side. The Barbarian was admittedly confused and kept his guard up warily, but stepped back when the man-beast began to move his shoulders rapidly, threatening to throw a punch that could take his head off. Bjørn took a step back in defense, but the blow never came, the moment Bjørn stepped back he knew he fucked up.

The minotaur rushed, shifting his shoulders rapidly, making audible clinks and clanks. The Barbarian’s eyes widened, ‘Damn it, what fist is he going to punch with?!’ He thought before the minotaur finally struck. Bjørn raised his left arm to defend the minotaur’s left fist, only to realize it was his right all along. A right straight was delivered directly into his sternum, making him wince. The Beast of the Everfree was about to take another step back, but the minotaur slammed his foot down upon Bjørn’s, locking him in place.

Ducking down and placing his right foot to the side, the minotaur struck a blow right into Bjørn’s liver, causing his hands to drop slightly from the pain. It was all the iron-fisted warrior needed to deliver another uppercut to Bjørn’s jaw that made his head snap back. The blow nearly caused the Barbarian to fall, however, with the minotaur’s foot on his own, and his other free, he prevented his fall by swiftly placing right foot behind him. Pushing himself up to prevent his fall, he performed a leaping - well, pushing - left jab into the minotaur’s cheek. He followed up the attack with a right hook that knocked his opponent off his foot and forced him to stumble back.

With a scowl, Bjørn shook back feeling into his foot and approached his foe, throwing a left hook that the minotaur quickly caught and pulled. Bjørn tried to resist, but his strength failed to surpass the minotaur’s as he was pulled into a left knee onto his lower left armpit. Undeterred, Bjørn swung again, this time landing a punch to the minotaur’s jaw that rocked his head. The Barbarian nursed his armpit, breathing through his teeth. He raised his arms, going into a more defensive stance out of self-preservation.

Seeing his prey wounded, he went in for the metaphorical kill, continuing his brutal assault to break the poor Barbarian’s body. First, a couple punches directed to his upper body that would keep his guard high, and then a feint that would cost Bjørn his midsection as a heavy metal fist was buried into his gut. Before Bjørn could groan or even grunt in agony, he was quickly smacked across the face by an iron-clad elbow that made his feet wobble. With his balance akin to a newborn deer, the minotaur football tackled Bjørn through his own door and carried him into the wall behind next to his bed.

The warrior of iron had Bjørn pinned against the wall with his right shoulder and performed uppercuts to Bjørn’s ribs, knocking the air out of his lungs bit by bit. With a growl, the embers of rage began to ignite in Bjørn’s belly, threatening to boil over into uncontrollable wrath, but he quickly snuffed out the flames before it could truly erupt into inferno. However, he harnessed the small spark of rage into a shove that pushed the minotaur back in an attempt to knock the man-beast out of his house and prevent it from being ruined.

He failed as the minotaur dug his cloven heels into the wood below, ruining the floorboards and keeping him inside the house. Bjørn growled and charged at the iron menace in another attempt to shove him out of his home, but the minotaur wasn’t going to back down from a challenge and welcomed his charge with his own. The two behemoths of metal and muscle clashed against each other, Bjørn was almost knocked back, but he kept his ground. Their left shoulders pressed together, and their gazes were locked like chains. It was then that they were truly face to face - give or take a couple inches away from each other. Bjørn finally saw the iron man-beast’s cold and fierce azure blue eyes staring at him from behind his iron helmet.

Bjørn couldn’t stare at his eyes for long as the minotaur stepped to perform a right hook to Bjørn’s cheek, but the Barbarian was quick to catch the blow; but before he could counter, he was caught off guard with a Spartan kick to his solar plexus that knocked him through the walls of his home and against the cabin he built for Mama Bear in between the small gap the two buildings made from being close to each other. Bjørn raised his hands barely in time to block a fierce right straight heading to his head. The fist still did damage as his hands failed to stop the punch right there and crashed into his face, pressing the back of his head into the cabin.

The minotaur went for a simple left hook to the head and a right to the body, both attacks landed as clean as a bar of soap as he continued to beat the brakes off of Bjørn. Blow after blow, strike after strike, Bjørn endured with his hands up in a poor attempt in blocking the minotaur's assault. Finally, Bjørn had it in him to step to avoid a punch, the minotaur’s fist sailed past Bjørn and through the wall and as he pulled it out, he saw through the hole his fist left and spotted three fluffy beds inside. “And who might live in there?” He asked, preparing for another strike.

The flames of rage reignited in Bjørn’s stomach, this time not having it in him to snuff it out like he did. Bjørn grabbed the iron bastard by his neck with his two hands before slamming him into the cabin behind him. The minotaur retaliated by grabbing the Barbarian’s neck as well and doing the same, bashing Bjørn’s head into the cabin, but he was quickly overpowered as Bjørn roared and threw the minotaur out of the gap and back into his front lawn. The warrior of iron tumbled across the snow and found his way to his knees only to be caught with a vicious uppercut that sent him airborne and made him land on his back. Bjørn marched towards him and sat on top of him before he could make a real attempt at getting up again. With Bjørn on top, he began swinging.

The minotaur tried to fight back or block, but his hands failed to reach his face as he was overwhelmed with the pure - and unexpected - strength the Barbarian had hidden. He choked his opponent with one hand and struck with the other, after every punch he switched striking hands. It was hard to keep up as the minotaur felt his neck being clutched, then released, only to be clutched again and with the combination of getting walloped across his noggin didn’t help either.

For Bjørn, rage coursed through his veins, almost giving him a high as he punched the minotaur who dared ruin his home, who dared call him an animal, and who dared taint Mama Bear’s cabin with his hands. Although Bjørn’s strength was plenty, the warrior of iron’s helmet didn’t dent at the might from the Barbarian, it remained as if a strike never occurred. This simply caused him to swing harder in an attempt to ruin something, anything this minotaur had after he ruined everything Bjørn worked for. It was also at this point that Bjørn lost all feeling in his knuckles entirely after punching iron for so long, not only that, but his knuckles also began to bleed as well. He ignored this, he ignored the pain, he just kept punching and choking, punching and choking.

“LEAVE!” Bjørn began with a snarl, his punches slowing down to a singular one that buried the iron-clad minotaur’s head deeper into the snow. “MY!” He added, striking with his left hand that made the minotaur’s head snap left and knock some snow into the air. “HOME!” He finished, raising both of his clenched fists high above his head before slamming them down upon the minotaur’s skull. The pure strength behind the attack and the metal armor made a loud boom like thunder that echoed across the Everfree Forest. The minotaur’s body seemingly went limp, unconscious or dead, it didn’t matter; he wouldn’t be bothering him anytime soon.

Bjørn got off of his foe's body and looked down at him, standing above the minotaur victoriously. With the rage and adrenaline beginning to fade away, he began to feel all the injuries the iron warrior gave him in full. He took a step back from his fallen foe and turned away as the pain settled, the first came sharply from his left foot, looking down, he saw the hoof imprint the minotaur left him after he brutally stepped on his foot. It hurt to move it; it had to be sprained. Second, was the pain flaring up in his body, all the body shots his foe gave him forced him to cough and spit out a mixture of saliva and blood onto the snow. When he looked down to gaze upon the mess he made, he realized that from his nose, blood dropped like rain and onto the snow as well. Turning the beautiful icy flakes into the color of devilish crimson - a color that Bjørn particularly hated.

He checked for more wounds and found that his face was all busted up as it really, really hurt to move. After realizing that it’s going to suck to wake up tomorrow, he planned on what to do with the body. ‘Should I bury him? No, what if I toss him down the gorge? Nah, wait, what if I throw him into the frozen river?’ That would solve his problem of breaking the ice as the minotaur’s weight would likely shatter the ice like glass and make it accessible for him to use. 'Damn, I'm smart.'

Clink, clank, whirr!

Bjørn slowly turned around and saw the minotaur standing up, his armor stained with the Barbarian’s blood and his fists hanging clenched at his waist. The minotaur looked unphased, like no damage had been done even after all the punches thrown, he stood as if nothing ever happened! Bjørn took a step back as a gray misty aura surrounded his foe's body; it almost reminded him of the magic Alwin and Jandar would use. The gray aura glowed and tightened around his body, almost forming a shell around him, the aura began to lose its mist like form and was replaced with a magical armor added onto his own. More importantly, some parts of his body began to glow as well, his horns, fists, and feet all glowed a bright cool gray.

“What… The fuck?” Bjørn said in stark bewilderment, that is all he could say before within a blink of an eye, was knocked off his feet and sent tumbling across the frigid snow, soiling it with his blood. Bjørn sharply went to his feet only to be knocked back down before he could have the privilege to gaze at the attack. The minotaur grabbed Bjørn by his hair roughly and pulled him up to deliver a left uppercut to his Adam's apple that made him gag and choke. The blow stunned him to be left open to a right elbow into his already bloodied nose.

Blood sprayed from Bjørn like a fountain and into the air as he struggled to breathe, weakly, he put his arms up to defend. His defenses were quickly broken as another left uppercut was directed into his abdomen and a right hook to his temple. His body hit the snow like a bag of bricks, but Bjørn refused to stay down, and got back up to throw a punch only for it to be slipped past. “WEAK!” The iron-clad minotaur began, sending a fist into his liver. Desperately, Bjørn swung to hit him, but the punch clanged off his magical armor. “PUNY!” Grabbing his beard, the minotaur pulled Bjørn to punch his nose once again, his fist leaving an imprint on his face. “WASTE OF MUSCLE!” The minotaur spat and grabbed Bjørn’s throat and slammed him into a tree, letting Bjørn go only to bash his body into the bark. “Forest-dwelling moron!” With a last attack, the minotaur performed a hammer fist down upon the Barbarian’s head that made him drop to all fours before the metal-bound warrior.

Bjørn could hardly breathe. Every time he breathed in with his nose, he inhaled cups of blood and only a miniscule of oxygen. His breathing was ragged, the abuse on his neck and throat making even breathing out of his mouth a struggle. His wide eyes were blurry, fading in and out of focus, and were trained onto the snow he made crimson. He was being beaten; he was being beaten like a bitch. This minotaur was stronger than he anticipated, too strong, maybe he should run, but where? But how?!

“...Tap into Björn’s strength, tap into your strength…” A voice smooth like a feather and sweet like honey whispered into his right ear. Bjørn’s eyes began to slowly move to look in the direction the voice was coming from and he saw off in the distance, the blurry view of a spectral Mama Bear, Gnistra and Styrka. They were all standing together, watching him. Watching him get beat.

‘But… I don’t want to be a beast, I don’t want to be an animal, I want to be Bjørn, I don’t want to be a monster!’ He cried out in his mind, threatening to mix tears with the blood on his face.

‘You won’t be,’ Mama Bear’s spirit comforted, warming his cold heart a little. ‘You’ll be Bjørn, you’ll be a Viking.’

Once the spirit of Mama Bear spoke those words, he accepted it; his rage. His breathing began to increase noticeably and made the minotaur take a step back. Bjørn began to growl as his muscles began to bulge and increase in size, his growl threatened to become a roar as he began to twitch. His forearms began to grow brown fur slowly, his fingers began to shorten and his nails began to extend. His palms turned black and his own skin could barely be seen from the amount of fur grown before being buried beneath the hide completely. His canines began to sharpen as a mixture of saliva and blood oozed out of his mouth and ran down his chin.

With a snarl akin to a brown bear, he rose to his feet and raised his arms high. “GRRAAAAAHH!” He roared to the heavens as he dropped his arms to his sides. His head then snapped down to give a death glare to the iron warrior.

The minotaur stared back, unphased from the glare. “Ah, so you show your true nature, beast! Now, come forth, let us continue our fight!”

Bjørn just responded with a roar and began his charge, but before he could get even six feet from him, red magical chains wrapped around his body and pinned him to the ground. He fell with a thump and snarled, clawing at the snow in an attempt to get to the iron menace. The minotaur was surprised by this and looked to where he felt the magic came from - his right - where he saw a pony-bat hybrid sporting elite armor, behind her being a unicorn in red armor with a mixture of other kinds of ponies wearing matching and more standard black armor than the other two.

“Captain Eventide, why must you interrupt our fight?” The minotaur inquired, folding his arms over his chest.

“We want tae capture him, not kill him ye buckin’ big bumblin eejit!” The pony-bat hybrid - known as Captain Eventide to Bjørn - barked.

“The Princess said-” The minotaur began but was rudely cut off by the captain.

“The Princess says tae use force an teach him a lesson but not tae beat him intae a bloody pulp!” Captain Eventide shouted, “This is why I stopped this from goin’ e'en further than it already has!”

The minotaur wanted to argue, but he sighed in defeat, “Fine, do what you must.” He turned his back to Bjørn and began walking away, pissing him off even more.

The captain turned to her unicorn guards, “Alricht, put him tae sleep.” She ordered, with a nod, a unicorn guard stepped up and lit up their horn in an attempt to put a sleeping spell over him. The spell made Bjørn’s body glow a dark blue color, and it seemed to look like it was taking effect, but the growling beast roared and refused to be put to rest.

“Ma’am, he resisted the sleeping spell,” The unicorn said.

“Well, ye dinnae bloody say! Use an advanced one.” She instructed.

“Yes ma’am,” Lighting up their horn again, the dark blue aura glowed around Bjørn, warming but also cooling his body at the same time, making him almost feel at peace. Almost. Bjørn’s eyes darted to the unicorn who put the spell on him and then back at the iron warrior who began to fade from his vision. “This is impossible, he’s resisting it because he’s too bucking angry?!”

Bjørn roared and slammed his head against the snow, making a sickening crunch as blood oozed from his forehead. Even more desperately than before, he clawed and tried to push himself to his feet to remove the chains from him, glaring at the minotaur who dared turn his back to him. The red unicorn narrowed her eyes and focused, strengthening the chains to pull him back down, but the beast refused and kept fighting.

“BUCKIN’ PUT HIM TAE SLEEP ALREADY!” Captain Eventide roared, turning out the other unicorn guards. “Help thaim ye cunts!”

“Ma’am, but wouldn’t that-” The unicorn guard was swiftly cut off as the captain shouted even louder than before.

“I DINNAE BUCKIN’ CARE, BUCKIN’ DAE IT!” The group of unicorn guards reluctantly listened and all casted the sleeping spell onto Bjørn. Even still, he kept fighting, kept thrashing around in the mix of snow, blood and saliva, flinging it everywhere as his eyes were locked onto the minotaur’s back.

“FACE ME!” He boomed, reaching a claw out to him, “FACE… Me…!” His movements began to slow down as his muscles began to relax, “Face…! Me…!” He groaned as he flopped onto the ground in a pool of his own blood. “...Leave me… Leave me… L-leave me… Alone…” He chanted as his eyelids began to feel heavy and his rage began to subside. “...I want… To go… Home… Leave… Me… A… Alone…” It was then that he finally closed his eyes, and his mind began to drift into unconsciousness.

The beast had finally been defeated.

Author's Note:

I'll admit, basically copying Kratos vs. Baldur shamelessly makes me feel bad, but it is what it is.

Comments

[DingoAte]

I look forward to more

[battleship]

Edit: man hoping his party makes a wish spell to make a portal or something to this world and help my boi out

[Onyx Vesper]

why this dude have a fic named after Pewdiepies son???

[Alitaher003]

Damn, they really gotta shove the friendship onto people, by force if they must.

Truly, cringe of them.