Crack.
The sound was sharp, distinct, and honestly? Annoying as hell.
My left axe slipped.
I glanced down, more bored than scared, and was greeted by a thousand meters of empty air stretching beneath my boots.
The wind howled up the cliff face, eager to remind me just how little stood between life and a messy splat.
"Cheap trash," I muttered with a frown.
My grip hadn't failed. I knew that much. The fault was in the metal itself, brittle from the cold and overworked from the climb.
They called this mountain Jotunn's Fang—the Graveyard of Climbers. Four thousand meters of sheer, frozen hell, wrapped in storms vicious enough to freeze blood before it even hit the ice. No oxygen tanks. No ropes. No backup.
For a normal guy, attempting this climb would be suicide.
For me? It was Tuesday.
I reset the axe and drove it back into the ice with a practiced motion, the impact sending a dull vibration up my arm. My gloves were soaked through, stiffening as the moisture froze against my skin, but I ignored it.
Crunch. Step. Crunch. Step.
The rhythm was dull, repetitive, and frankly, a snooze-fest.
Two years ago, this mountain had beaten me. I still remembered waking up half-dead in a snow cave, shaking uncontrollably and wondering if I'd keep my fingers.
That version of me wouldn't have made it past the first ascent.
The me right now? I could probably climb this place blindfolded.
I looked up again. The summit was close now—maybe five meters away.
"Finally," I breathed. "Let's wrap this up."
The mountain answered.
A deep rumble vibrated beneath my feet, subtle at first, but growing fast. The sound traveled through the ice and into my boots, setting off every instinct I had left.
I stopped and tilted my head upward, eyeing the snowpack above me.
"You gotta be kidding me."
The slope tore open.
What came down wasn't just snow, it was a roaring, white tidal wave that swallowed the world whole.
An avalanche.
Great timing. Just fantastic timing.
Digging in wouldn't help. A slide this huge didn't care about leverage or technique. Running wasn't an option either—there was nowhere to go.
The wall of white slammed into me before I could even sigh.
Bang.
My helmet cracked against exposed rock, pain flaring as my vision went white.
Then everything went quiet.
I didn't lose consciousness. That was the annoying part.
I felt the snow pack around me, heavy and suffocating, hardening like wet cement as the air vanished. My arms were pinned. My legs were useless.
"Is this it?" I thought, trying to suck in air.
Ice filled my nose.
My heartbeat slowed, each thump heavier than the last as my thoughts began to drift.
Thump… Thump…
It was almost peaceful.
No ! Don't sleep.
I bit down hard on my tongue, the sharp metallic taste of blood snapping me back. Pain was better than numbness. Pain meant I was still alive.
The pressure above me was immense, crushing my chest and spine, but I didn't panic. Panic is for amateurs.
Seconds passed. Then minutes.
The darkness pressed in from all sides.
I didn't pray. Gods had never helped me before, so I saw no reason to start begging now.
That was when a voice answered anyway.
"Found.."
I rolled my eyes mentally. A voice ? Here ?
It didn't sound human. It was heavy, ancient, like massive stones grinding together deep underground.
"Found you."
My body tensed instinctively as I tried and failed to open my mouth. The snow sealed it shut.
Crack.
The ice beneath me shattered.
For a brief, disorienting moment, gravity reversed. Something seized my leg, cold and unseen, and dragged me downward.
Not up. Down.
I tried to struggle, but my muscles refused to cooperate as the world collapsed in on itself. I fell through ice, through rock, through something that felt uncomfortably like reality tearing apart.
Gasp.
Air rushed into my lungs again, stale and metallic, burning as I coughed violently. Blood and ice splattered onto a cold surface beneath me.
Iron. Rusted. Solid.
I opened my eyes.
Above me stretched a dark sky, illuminated by two moons—one whole, one shattered, hanging unnaturally still.
"Where…?" I muttered, trying to sit up.
Clink.
I looked down. Chains.
My hands were shackled to the deck of a massive iron ship gliding silently across black, motionless water.
"You gotta be joking," I sighed.
I was alive. Probably.
Rows of bodies lined the deck around me, all bound like cattle. Some cried quietly. Others lay unconscious, their breaths shallow and uneven.
We were on a ship—a massive one—and nothing about it felt natural.
I leaned toward the railing and looked into the water. It didn't ripple. It didn't move.
Then something massive passed beneath the surface, its shadow stretching like a mountain.
Hungry.
I turned my head.
A woman stood at the prow, tall and pale, wrapped in furs blacker than the night around us. Her white hair whipped in a wind I couldn't feel, and her eyes were sharp enough to cut glass.
No shackles. Expensive clothing.
Not a prisoner.
Which meant she was either nobility… or the boss.
She didn't acknowledge us, her arms crossed as she stared toward the horizon.
I tried to speak, but my throat was dry and uncooperative.
Crack.
The sky split open. It wasn't thunder—it sounded like the world itself breaking apart.
Blue text appeared before my eyes, floating calmly in the air.
[Welcome, Erik Soren]
[Trial of Ascension Initiated]
[Prove Yourself Worthy of Valhalla]
I blinked and read it again. Blue text. A system.
I coughed, tasted blood, and started laughing.
"So that's the game."
The woman finally turned toward me, her cold gaze locking onto mine, surprise flickering briefly across her face.
[Objective: Survive]
I exhaled slowly.
Figures.