Today is the day, the Calling. I didn't sleep last night, in the morning, or now. I had cried all my tears out to the point I almost thought blood was coming out instead of tears. The last of us are being dragged into the Clan Hall, grown men crying like children. I squinted at them in annoyance, I was too tired to have pity, and I was already seated waiting for the events to begin.

The Clan Hall is like a community center, but it's also one of the only complete buildings in the village. Some live in huts made of asphalt debris, they get two rocks, put them together and Walla! Your home place. Some of the more fortunate live in buildings, with holes from explosions or rot. We are luckier than other villages though, a lot of the other clans live in holes that they dig with anything.

I looked around at the palisade design, and thought about the walls around the Clan Hall. The hall is like the manor, when trouble comes calling we run into the walls as fast as we can. I will miss the safety of these walls... and this special mead stuff.

It's not alcoholic, they say that's its soda, sweetest thing I have ever had. Drinks are hard to find and getting back alive with it from the wastes harder. Sure beats that green water we try to drink. 'Hmph,' I thought to myself, 'TRY to drink.'

Everyone was seated, calmed down, and drinking the soda like it might be the last thing they'd drink, and indeed, it might. The village leader stepped onto the stage and up to the podium, everyone fell silent. He was skinny, tired, and looked like he had been crying, like the rest of us. His stride was like his tone, 'Let's get this over with.'

"Friends, strangers, countrymen-"

Someone shouted, "Get to the chase!"

Everyone turned in the direction of the voice, I couldn't see anyone. Heck, with the stress levels in here we could be hallucinating for God's sake. I guess someone wants to get this over with quicker than the Clan leader does.

After the awkwardness faded, our leader, Bedda, looked down and back before speaking,

"Aight guys this is the 666th season,-"

He explained that this is a sacrificial slaughter, and the reason for it is a simple one. The ArchThane wants this in return for the protection he gives us. We GOT to do it as well, and do a reasonably good job.

There are certain levels we must pass before we can get protection. Dublock, a larger village, one year had all their men die on the first level and didn't receive protection. Needless to say, a dragon lives there now until they scrape up some more men; even then though, Dublock doesn't exist anymore.

Then he explained 'why us'? (I take it more as 'why me and these others'? but anyway.) We are an omen chosen by the ArchThane, we are of the lineage of the old Tribe of Woe. Every generation we have the sacrifice, so I have been deprived of my father all my days from the last culling.

A bearer brought me a soda, and my eyes caught hers. It was Tita Lupus Postuma. I had been so tired I barely recognized her. I have been dating her for a few years now, but we're not old enough to marry. When people of my linage reach of age they could force someone to marry them. That was the whole point, to keep the bloodline flowing, but I didn't want to make someone to marry. I wanted love, but the Sons of Woe never die of old age, daughters of Woe are just so lucky.

"There's one more thing, possibly the only cool thing about all of this," our young chieftain was saying as Tita quickly frisked away, unable to see me going any longer, "becoming einherji."

I began to listen intently on him, unable to bear Tita being stripped from me. Axeson, an older guy, old enough to be my older brother put his hand on my shoulder in comradery. I've received tips about women from him, and through that he knows of me and Tita.

"When you receive the einherji's blessing, you will be able to fight in these next battles. I'm not exaggerating when I say this. You will be able to parry the strikes of giants, kill dragons, goblins, and defeat the ArchThane's immortals. Maybe this year one of you will look upon the ArchThane himself."

I chuckled to myself, my father did it supposedly, but before that it's been two thousand years since someone lived. One time, six-thousand years ago, a group of six men made it all the way. No-one has ever in existence came back alive though.

He stopped speaking and gripped his stand. It's easy to see that's it's all very hard on him, but what about us? He sighed helplessly and continued,

"You will be going to the citadel of Miseria of Lyngvi," he pulled up hologram and began telling us that we will enter in the North Gate and we will be escorted there by Dark Knights. Lyngvi means in Old Norse, "the land overgrown with heather", but that's not why it's named that. Frenris, was kept there till Ragnarok when he killed Odin, swallowed the Sun, and other stuff from Old Norse sagas, what we name our Armageddon. Miseria was Latin for: mourning, misery, affliction, distress and a few other things related to that. To us Lyngvi is the nation that Miseria, the chief citadel, is located.

Looking at the hologram, all I saw was Lyngvi, all the other nations are whited out. 'Gee,' I thought sarcastically, 'wonder why?' The ArchThane wants us in the dark on what's out in the world.

Others saw the hologram as magic or sorcery, but I knew good and well it was technology and not magic. A group of men entered with an ornate obsidian bath, a gigantic bowel with legs, creepy smoke was bellowing out of it. The designs were of gruesome battle scenes. The legs were screaming men trying to hold the four corners of the world. A world of war.

Cupbearers drew lots for their places in line, I saw Tita's black hair among them. They all lined up with mead horns, and a man with an ancient hazmat suit filled their cups to bring to us. Our leader spoke up,

"For these last days, you are no longer normal men. Now, you will be gods among men. This blessing comes with a curse-"

His voice broke, and his eyes held tears, he swiped at his eyes like at a bug, we know the curse,

"Go on with the ceremony!"

The women were moaning for sadness and some could barely hold the cups. We are a tight knit community, we grew together, ate together, schooled together, bedded each other's- never mind, and now one of my friends will present me with a potion that will take me to the grave. The men who have already partaken are groaning from the intense burning in their throats. When those in my row get ready and sup I notice that they aren't groaning. All of them are screaming through grit teeth, their faces red from the pain.

The women of our clan file through, and I can't believe my terrible luck. Tita, of all people, must give me this curse. Her eyes filled with tears and was about to leave formation, but this ceremony is so sacred it could mean her death. I gripped the cup abruptly as she begged for someone else to do it, snatching it from her and chugging the acidic drink.

The funny thing was... it wasn't acidic, I thought soda was sweet, but this was like a drink of the gods. It was sweet on the tongue and for a split second I felt nothing. If only the pain didn't come.

My body erupted in pain, my teeth slammed down silencing a yelp. I sat there for maybe an hour, maybe two, and I clenched my teeth so hard and was so rigid that my mouth was swelling and all my joints popped harmlessly when I dropped on the ground like popping one's knuckles.

One by one men came in and dragged us out from the one closest to the door to the last man on the back row. Cots are prepared in the Clan Hall's courtyard and we lye there till morning. I somehow noted that some of the men in my row were carried out like boards, me they dragged, I thought it was funny, and it was the last thing I reflected on in my cot on the dirt as I fell peacefully asleep for the first time in my life.

I woke to the sound of people sobbing and saying goodbyes. I leaned up to see behemoths and thought the incredulous. I coiled my hands groggily to fight, and then I saw what had happened to us. The Einherji's Blessing had turned us from sticks of men into mighty iron oaks. Instead of my skinny malnourished body parts were the parts of Hercules or Achilles.

Families were saying goodbye, but I had no one to say goodbye to. I watched my surroundings, waiting, wondering. Then a man with a fresh 5'oclock shadow and ragged hair touching his chin line came toward me taking my shoulder with an ever present mischievousness in his eyes,

"G'day, my name is Axeson Arrowsonsson."

I didn't even recognize him, which isn't surprising, all of us have gained a foot in height or more and 2-6 inches on every muscle in our bodies. I said looking at my hand,

"It's me, Markus."

I was fascinated with my hand, because the Shamons say the heart is as big as one's fist, so my heart just might be a quarter of a foot larger than it was. That also goes for other inner parts in my body.

"Markus Ragnarsson?

I blushed shaking my head embarrassed, I forgot there are three men named Marcus: Me, Marcus Hailtheimsson and his brother, Marcus the Blonde.

Axeson laughed, "Don't worry lad, I had that happen thrice today."-He pointed with his thumb.-"Do you see that giant over there?"

I looked and my eyes opened larger than clams,

"Oh my Godt! What is that?!"

"That," Axeson said, "Is Eric the Small."

"NO."

"Yes."

The triceps and biceps together on the monster in the distance were as large as we were just last night. Eric the Small was head and shoulder shorter than us and now if he had a horse he'd make it look like a large dog. He was 9 and half feet tall or 11'8'', he could swing our new forms like a club if he so wished.

After that I saw Marcus the Blonde, saying goodbye to his mother. We'd always tease him when we were young because his hair was now black, but when he was born it was blonde as a Sun Ribbon. Axeson would get ridicule from his name as well, for it had 'son' in it twice. He couldn't help that his father's name was Arrowson, that's our culture!

"Well," Axeson said, "I am going to get to re-know everyone. You should do the same."

"Aye."

I rose to find out who was who in this sea of hulking flesh. I met Daniel Frenraksson, Antoniak the Quicksilver, Victor the Red (for his red hair), talked to Eric the Small, and others before Julli Taura Vespillo, The Lewd. I grit my teeth to the sight of her.

She was posing as a Sword Maiden of the garrison on post. However, EVERY man knows that her intents relate to her title, LEWD. No doubt she came to take advantage of us in our weakened emotional states.

"Hello," she purred, "Markus Ragnarsson, son of the famous warrior Ragnar." She smiled provocatively, "Is there anything I can do for you my lord?"

I arched a brow, some wives in the council would call their husbands 'lord'. Commons are supposed to as well, but they don't as much as the richer people do. After a little thought, I could see why she'd want to be here. There's not going to be this quality of man-flesh for twenty years or more, but also, the children of the Tribe of Woe receive free rations, schooling, board, and other things.

"Yes, Julli the Lewd," I insulted, "leave me alone."

She shrugged it off like water off a Mirestrider's back,

"If you ever want me," she did a lopsided curtsey and ended before walking away, "my lord."

I hate that woman more than what we called as boys Crawdeeds, a cockroach the size of a chi-Wawa. I continued re-meeting all my old friends and then I met a man in the corner, my size, black hair, and an uncanny silence to him. He had no resemblance to any man I knew so I started,

"Heill, my name is Markus Ragnarsson."

His head snapped toward me and he seemingly observed my responses,

"My name is Wvulf Hrothgarsson," I recognized his voice from last night, the one who shouted for Bedda to get on with the speech, "Have you met my mother?"

"No," I said confused, "... Why?"

"Cause she died this mornin dweeb-head. Now we know who's who, get out of my face, and leave me alone."

I held my hands in surrender chuckling to myself. This guy's got guts, but maybe no brain, and I had an odd sense of respect from him; for some reason I thought I saw honor in those eyes. He still seemed to observe me, gauging my response; I hope I passed! Something about him voices that he is not a man to be crossed.

Axeson called out,

"Markus Ragnarsson! Wvulf Hrothgarsson! C'mon!"

Bedda was coming out of his chambers to speak on the steps up to the wall. He looked nervous, and so much smaller! He was probably afraid one of us would rend him into shreds and tuck him in our money purse!

"The passing is hard," he began, "life is hard, and this is hard. I came to tell you all that the Dark Knights will be here in the morning," he paused, and added, head down, "and that you all will be missed."

He looked up to the sky, "I can't help but remember the good times, the times we ate together, trained together," he smirked, "ran around with each other's sisters."

Everyone laughed hysterically to the joke, not that it was die out hilarious. Our minds were starved for some laughs. Then my stomach groaned and I heard someone else's growl out to. Actually, everyone heard the growl, we glanced to the sound and our eyes met Eric the Small. He blushed red and we laughed,

"That sounded like a vicious dog lad!" Someone bellowed.

"Shut up," He said in his new extra deep voice.

Some of us were hitting knees because it was so funny. Antoniak the Quicksilver said aloud close to me, "I remember my first girlfriend."

"Yeah," I said, with some disdain, "she bedded you when you were twelve."

Even more people bellowed, Bedda was turning red from laughing.

Antoniak laughed, "Ha! Is that jealousy I sense in your voice?"

The laughing increased. Anoniak has moonlit eyes and black Grecian hero locks. He was so good looking he was a father at thirteen; I was both jealous and then not jealous. His title, Quicksilver, applies to his eyes and his prowess in the bedchamber.

One of the women walked up on us in our banter; face red. Was it what we were talking about or the fact she's half to a sixth of our size now? She spoke in a loud voice despite her apparent fear, "The ArchThane has prepared a feast!"

Once Bedda could stop laughing for a breathing moment he told us to go on. We followed our noses and went to the outer banquet hall. I smirked to myself from all the memories flooding into my mind.

The outer banquet hall is on the outskirts of our manor style village, and was the location of many get-togethers. As we approached boys playing futbol ran away from us giants. I could see the metal structure, and once I was closer I could see the ancient ruin that no one knows. The faded but readable ruins look like this:

Cafeteria

When I was a boy I tried to think just how old this build was. It's one of the oldest in the village and it has been reinforced several times. The skolars say that with these ruins on it the age dates back to over twenty thousand years ago. What was it like back then? Before raiding goblins or dragons? Before all this ash and dust? Before even me, or my father's father?

Someone tapped me on the shoulder from the masses of people. Wvulf Hrothgarsson looked back as the one who did it,

"Hurry up knucklehead, or Eric the Small is gonna eat everything."

When we entered, the tables were filled with food. Meats, fruits, and even something called ice cream. A few of the more mischievous men plopped the treat into their sodas getting foam everywhere from the magnificent reaction. None of us could avoid the truth however, the truth of guilt filling our guts instead of food. All that was prepared there could have fed the village for weeks on end of feast-like celebration. Yet, it was going to be wasted; wasted, like our lives.

Over the laughing, over Antoniak taking Julli somewhere {several times (sometimes with more than one woman)}, over it all; I thought about those runes and the history of our world. Sometimes I would watch the skolars read ancient documents called 'newspaper'. They'd sit there all day with they're beady eyes and rise only to eat, drink, and teach us at school. Some had more normal lives, but others were devoted to finding out the world's secrets.

The Near Immortals had come to rule our world twenty-thousand years ago. There is much debate among the egg-heads whether or not the Immortals had ascended from somewhere or descended from somewhere. People could care less; most don't care at all.

I spewed out my soda. Coughing, I realized that someone throwing a prank had put salt in it. Looking up, and up, and up to burning angry eyes I realized I had spewed my drink on the giant Eric the Small.

Picking me up by the collar he coiled his fist back until dark voices hissed,

"Prohibere! Non opus est pugnare. Vos ire , nihilominus moriemur. Einherji."

We all stopped, that was Latin for, "Stop! There is no need to fight. You are going to die anyway, Einherji."

I had just noticed that Bedda and the women were gone and the Black Knights came in. It was midnight; technically, the morning like Bedda said. They were taller than the majority of us and were shod with black Imperialix plate armor. On their gauntlets were images, probably orders and maps, and cameras on their demonic-like helms.

"Continue ad celebrandum!"

Latin for, "Continue to celebrate!"

Eric put me down and we all ate in silence. After things settled however, Antoniak the Quicksilver came to me, his tunic lopsided. I groaned and he said seriously,

"Someone is insisting to see you Markus."

Annoyed I said, "Is it Julli?"

He perked up, confused, "No, but if you want her she's-"

"No! Thank you, where is this person."

Fear hit me, "Oh, Godt! Is it the Knights!?"

He shook his head vigorously, "No! No! It's a friend."

"Where?"

He pointed his thumb, "Outside, by the rune."

I rose to go to the door and one of the knights was standing guard.

"Ubi is?" (Where are you going?) The knight hissed.

"Someone had requested to see me outside, most likely a woman."

His glare tacitly said, "Speak in Latin or trouble."

I had respectfully repeated myself and then he said,

"Si vos volo ut fugeret. Corruent civitatis." (If you want to hide. The city will fall.)

Sweating, I nodded thanks and went outside. Krickets were chirping, Oads croaking, among other sounds of the night; stupid mutated creatures. The wind was blowing and at first there was no sign of anyone.

Then my heart leapt out of my chest as Tita basically leapt into my arms. I had never kissed her till then. Now, I may never ever again...