Memories in Chaos, Part 1

All that Surtur could do was laugh. He was alive, and Freyr was dead. He would repeat it as many times as he liked, and he would repeat it with every waking breath. His was the vengeance of children, and Freyr was the damned he had judged. Surtur's flame knew no distinction between man, woman and child, and finally the dead could rest. Every realm had burned, and only the black waters of Chaos could put out the fire of Muspell's Champion. Before battle, he had been sure to focus the strength of his fire on Alfheim, Land of the Light Elves and kingdom of Freyr. He made sure nothing of it remained, that if a single light elf survived, they would have nothing to return too. Surtur refused to allow any reminder of Freyr in this world. His sword, once known as the Bright Blade of Red and White, now blacker than pitch, stood as testament to that.

Surtur's head fell back into the sand, his black locks grating against the grains. They felt good to him. His eyes focused on the cosmic waters above, whose twisting and turning showed visions of times now past. Memories of Muspell, Hvitur and Rauòur, the Great Dragon Nidhogg, and the shattering of Asgard's Bifrost Bridge, which burned every color of the rainbow, filled his sight.

Muspell, the realm of fire, which lies in the southern portions of the primordial void of Chaos called Ginnungagap, was a place of warmth. While true in the literal sense, for Surtur and his kin, it was a truth that ignited their hearts. He knew sword-brothers and shield-sisters, glory and triumph, romantic and parental love, in that realm all others called a place of destruction and death. It did not matter, for as long as the Sun and the Moon and the Stars remained, he was happy.

Surtur had been a strong warrior, noted in his battles against the Aesir of Asgard, and the Vanir of Vanaheimr. The Aesir and Vanir, called gods by their creations, were strong foes, always giving him and his kinsmen a good fight. Some blood was always shed, and some died, but in their fiery halls, they drank to their greatness. They, the fire giants, had always been known as warriors of chaos and ferocity, and there was truth to those words. Surtur could not deny it. They were not a noble race, nor were they wholly without mercy. They lived like the flames around them, burning bright and quick, destroying all in their wake. They would even trample on all their distant kin, the Frost and Earth Giants of Jotunheim, the Vanir of Vanaheimr, and the Aesir of Asgard, if given the chance. For Surtur, and his wife and son, that had been the only life they knew or wanted. These were the days before he was Muspell's champion, before Odin gave one of his eyes for wisdom....before he met Freyr. They were good days.

Fate was cruel. One day, a band of villains broke into Muspell, ravaging and killing all who opposed them. This band was made up of Aesir and Vanir, and led by Freyr. It was only later, that Surtur learned of their true goal. To take the entirety of the flames of Muspell, which together with the ice of northern Ginnungap formed the Sun, Moon, and Stars when there had been nothing, to create a barrier. This barrier would protect all life from the fires of Muspell and ice of the void. And it would not have been just some fire they took, but all that burned in Muspell, so that all that was frozen in Ginnungap would melt, and man would never be threatened again. They did not desire extermination, so they claimed. All they wished was for the fire of Muspell, so that it would never rage and threaten all they held dear.

The fire giants had naturally refused. Theirs may have been a place of destruction, but it was theirs. They knew no other home, and did not wish to reside in any other realm. The natural outcome was battle. The warriors of Muspell engaged the gods, and both groups died at the whims of each other. The gods, a group of Aesir and Vanir led by Freyr, were strong.

Thor, son of Odin, was particularly terrible in battle. His hammer, Mjolnir, could not be matched in terms of strength and power. Every time a fire giant got close, Thor would lift Mjolnir and smash in their head. If a wave came at him, Thor would throw his hammer, breaking the bodies of all the sons of Muspell in it's path. No flame bothered him, no fire burned him. He was truly deserving the title of god, as he took every flaming sword and axe in stride, refusing to dodge his opponents. From his endurance and strength, Surtur later understood why only Jörmungandr, the World Serpent who breathed poison, could face him. If it had not been that day, Surtur might have remembered the sight fondly, even though many of his brethren died.

But that was the day the light of his life, Rauòur his son, went out.