Skeleton Viking Rises
“Some warriors fall. Others wait.”
He was once the spear of the North — a war-chief who led armies across frozen seas and into enemy fire without flinching. His legend outlived his name. But in the end, like all kings of war, he was betrayed. Buried beneath the roots of the battlefield he claimed with blood, sealed with runes, and forgotten.
For a time, silence held.
Then came the blood moon.
They say the runes cracked with a sound like thunder, and the frost melted in reverse. From the soil rose not a man, but the memory of war itself. Bone-bound, rage-fueled, eyes burning red with the hunger of unfinished battle. He carries no banner. No god claims him. His axes remember everything.
He walks now where no one dares — across ice, through flame, into nightmares. Not for conquest. Not for glory.
For revenge.
