[ WP ] Your son did as your will said and gave you a viking funeral because you thought it sounds cool . Beyond , a viking ghost yells at you for doing so and tosses you a weapon . Good Luck , Steve . It 's going to be a long afterlife .

`` Wait wait wait wait,'' I started as the bellowed at me. He made me look like a shrimp. The man was built like he built brick houses and then ate them for breakfast. `` There has to be some sort of mistake.'' 
 
 `` You've joined us,'' the man cried out to some heaven as he pulled a horn off of his belt, `` now you may fight for eternity.'' 
 
 `` I've joined you?'' 
 
 `` You were burned in the proper ways after a valiant death,'' he said with the horn to his lips. `` Now you're one of us.'' 
 
 `` I still do n't know what's going on.'' 
 
 `` You'd better learn quick warrior!'' the hulk laughed. He blew into the horn, and the call of a thousand armies echoed over the white around me. 
 
 Wait, everything was white? It'd been black ever since I'd died. I'd been dead, and I'd been disappointed there was nothing. There was nothing after death but now there was... him? 
 
 `` Are you God?'' I asked. 
 
 `` Not any one of them,'' the man said. He drew a massive battleaxe off his hip and gripped it with white knuckles. The sword he'd thrown me was getting heavy. I looked from it to his battle axe and then back to him. 
 
 `` Am I supposed to fight you?'' I asked. 
 
 `` Not me my man!'' he said. 
 
 As if on cue the white fog around us started rolling away. It turned into gleaming blades There was dust and blood, a massive pike of bodies shifting around one another. Oh God, what the fuck was goi- 
 
 I caught the scream of the man running behind me a second before he caught me in the neck. 
 
 -- - 
 
 I snapped my eyes open with the feeling of steel still creaking into my neck. I sat up. Had I been lying down? Frankly dying was pretty damn disorienting. I knew I'd been stabbed in the neck, but could n't follow after. I was in a bed room, a lavish one at that. No T.V but I did n't know what I was expecting. This was hell, not heaven. 
 
 I cracked the steel out of my neck. After half a second I felt better than I ever had alive. I ran my hand over the fur blanked that covered my bed. I was still miles behind whatever was going on here. 
 
 Someone pounded on the door, each knock sounded like a brutal kick. I pulled myself off the bed and checked my clothes. The same suit I'd died in. 
 
 I cracked open the door and the hulking man from the battlefield shoved his way into the room. I stumbled back and his massive biceps and beard carved a path into my new home. At least it felt like it was mine. 
 
 `` A bit basic, do n't you think?'' he suggested. 
 
 `` What?'' 
 
 `` Where're your trophies man? All warriors bring their trophies into Valhalla.'' 
 
 `` Valhalla?'' I repeated, `` the Viking place?'' 
 
 `` Valhalla!'' he yelled this time. I winced at the volume. `` Do n't worry, the first day was rough for us all, hard to batlte warriors with an eternity of experience.'' 
 
 `` So I died.'' 
 
 `` Stuck down from behind,'' the man hung his shoulders low and scoffed, `` though the fellow did yell to let you know he was coming.'' 
 
 
 `` Well that was sweet of him.'' 
 
 `` No warrior wants to win by surprise,'' the man said. He held out a hand to me, it must have been as big as all my muscles combined, `` my name is Tholmor Gragson, and yours?'' 
 
 `` Malcolm, Malcolm Jung,'' I said. I did n't think middle names were needed. 
 
 `` Well Malcolm Jung,' the man straightened himself up and turned out to be a foot and a half taller than me. `` A lot of people are larger to meet you.'' 
 
 `` Me?'' 
 
 `` Aye, no warriors have arrived in the past 300 years,'' he explained. He spoke softer than he had thus far, and I was surprised he could do anything other than scream. `` It's been a dark time.'' 
 
 `` Well I'm not exactly a warrior,'' I pointed out. 
 
 `` But you're here,'' Tholmor clapped me on the back and I almost coughed up a lung, `` so we're going to make you one.'' 
 
 `` Alright,'' I squeaked out. That was fucked up, all of this was fucked up, but it was better than staring out into blackness for the rest of my life. I was afraid of the dark. 
 
 -- - 
 
 Tholmor'd explained to me that he was the last grand warrior to arrive in Valhalla. It was n't a long tale, and he a storyteller, but it meant that he was supposed to show me the ropes of Valhalla. The ropes were pretty simple, we fought and then we had a grand feast. 
 
 He had n't been kidding about the Grand part. 
 
 As Tholmor marched down the hallway, with me plodding beside him, the sound of yelling slowly overtook our footsteps. Unlike the battlefield the men in the banquet hall were n't bellowing, they were cheering one another on. 
 
 We rounded the corner to the sound of the mead hall and Tholmor kicked open the Massive door that stood in our way. The mahogany buckled under his strength and swung open to the great hall, which stopped. 
 
 Strapping men were surrounded by tankards and meat. They sat on chairs of gold around great tables of silver, each one as long as a thousand football fields. I could n't see the end of the hall, but I knew the entire thing glittered with avarice. 
 
 `` Einherjar and Valkyries!'' Tholmor yelled out into the banquet, `` the warrior Malcolm Soo has joined us for our future battle against Fenrir!'' 
 
 The crowd cheered like I did for football, they slammed their tankards and bellowed. The massive wave of sound crashed over me, a tidal wave of appreciation. It was a bit much really. 
 
 `` Do n't disappoint them,'' Tholmor said as he slapped me on the back and I staggered half a dozen steps into the hall to catch my balance. How the hell was I supposed to avoid disappointing them? They were a million, maybe more, fierce warriors. All of them were like Tholmor and I could barely manage him liking me. What was I supposed to do to impress these men here? 
 
 The closest group, a massive throng of warriors that happened to be closest to me, waved me over to their seats. One of them moved to the side, revealing that his great frame was taking up two of the gold chairs. He waved for me to come over, and I was n't about to question the hospitality of a man who could use me as a tooth pick. 
 
 I plopped down into the seat and the rest of the room resumed their merriment. I could barely hear the man beside me as he spoke through a braided beard. “ Man, would you like a drink? ” 
 
 “ Maybe a dozen, ” I suggested as a joke. It ’ d been a long day, and a cold beer sounded like heaven. I ’ d never been much of a drinker back home, but I knew how to let loose at Holiday parties. 
 
 “ A DOZEN? ” the braidbeard bellowed in disbelief. His voice carried across the hall, “ you must have a might warriors stomach under those women ’ s shoulders. ” 
 
 “ Fetch this man a dozen drinks! ” the man across from me yelled. He wasn ’ t as large as the others around me. He was as close to lithe as any of them got, but he could probably curl me. “ He needs to rest up for battle tomorrow. ” 
 
 “ If I could drink a dozen at a time I don ’ t think I ’ d do anything else, ” braidbeard said to the man. “ My name is Ol- ” 
 
 “ No it isn ’ t! ” the man across cut in, “ it ’ s Twofingers. ” 
 
 Braidbeard sighed, “ He ’ s not wrong, ” he held up his hand and revealed his namesake, his right hand had been mangled to the point where could only wear a ring and hold a thumb war. “ That scum Olafur knew me in life. ” 
 
 “ He was my teacher, ” Olafur yanked his tankard off the table and shoved it toward me, “ here have mine. ” 
 
 “ I taught him to swing a blade, ” Twofingers continued as Olafur kept shaking his tankard in front of me. I eventually grabbed it. It was less of a glass and more of a pitcher. 
 
 “ Then he lost his head in a battle with the English, ” Olafur said, “ but he ’ d had two fingers for a long time before that. He strapped his axe to his arm and cleaved those poor bastards in two. ” 
 
 “ Don ’ t take away my tales, ” Twofingers cut in. He held his tankard up to me and I cheersed him. The shock ran up my arm as I pulled the ale to my lips. “ Luckily I taught Olafur how to kill a man before I came here. Now I can kill him as much as I want. ” 
 
 “ So never? ” Olafur suggested. 
 
 “ I let you win because your mother had a nice ass, ” Twofingers said. He started draining his ale. I figured I should follow. 
 
 The stench of alcohol hit me first, slapping me in the face and clawing my eyes open. How was I supposed to- there were 100,000 vikings around me expecting me to drink twelve of these tankards, I couldn ’ t back out on the first sip. 
 
 I let the ale flow into my mouth and it burned like bleach. It slashed at my tongue and throat, trying to rip them out of my body. After the first gulp I figured I needed to give in, admit that everything ’ d been a joke, but then the nectar kicked in. 
 
 The drink in my hands was the sweet nectar of the gods, a test to see if you were brave enough to handle their fury, but then you got their love. The burning faded into a blissful calm, something between a sugary drink and a cool autumn creek. I ’ d never known what a creek tasted like, but we were missing out on Earth if they were anything like this. 
 
 I chugged down the gift, letting the bliss flow over me. Both Olafur and Twofingers gasped as I kept going. Why would they ever stop. 
 
 “ Malcolm, you might want to- ” Tholmor started. Before he could come close to finishing I got what he meant. There was a sudden kick in my stomach as the fire started back up. It was burning inside me. 
 
 Then the ale decided to pull out daggers and stab me from the inside, I gasped and did my best not to scream. I started sweating as it fought against me, battled against my stomach and throat. It was going to pull out of me. I didn ’ t know how beer got swords but it fucking had. 
 
 I gasped for breath and reached back to Tholmor, he did the only thing he could, he offered a slap on the back. I coughed, and some of the ale spilled out of me. 
 
 I sputtered for a second time and I coughed up the smallest bit of red. I didn ’ t know if it was my heart, or just my pride, but either way I ’ d gotten my ass kicked. My head hit the table, hard. 
 
 “ That was grand! ” Olafur bellowed from his seat before slamming the table. I hadn ’ t realized how quiet I ’ d gotten until Olafur shattered it. I smiled weakly and tried to sit up. Nope. “ Bring the man his second quickly! ” 
 
 At least they seemed to like me no matter what here. 
 
 /r/JacksonWrites
