Atypical (A Magnus Chase fan novel)

Nuckleavee(Still Not Sure if That's a Cussword)

     Amara stood at the top of a hill in the Boston public garden. The sky was gray, and a crisp breeze blew, so I assumed it was early in the morning, after sunrise. She was wearing the same clothes that she was now, her cargo pants, white shirt, purple scarf, and black windbreaker. She kneeled and held her arm out, and a bird that had been snuggling under her hood hopped out. It had silvery gray feathers, and a pink and red tummy, neck, and crest. It fluffed up its feathers, and shook like a wet dog. She grinned, and gestured out with her arm. The bird took off, flying around the garden, so far we could barely see it. It came fluttering back a minute or two later, and landed gracefully on Amara's arm. She gave him a little treat from her pocket, and then he took off again.

     The video fast-forwarded. Amara was walking through the streets of Boston along the waterfront, the bird once again nestled on her shoulder and getting lovingly stroked by Amara. But, something was wrong. People around her looked...sick. A young child with his father dropped his fishing pole, coughing hard. An old couple shuffled past, but the man had his arm wrapped around his wife, whose skin was tinged green. He himself looked very pale. Next to her, a young lady who was jogging stumbled and fell, and Amara quickly bent to help her up. Amara's lips moved, asking the jogger if she was okay, but there was no sound to the video, and I guessed that Sam had forgotten to turn on the audio.

     All around the street, wisps of green smoke swirled around, that should not have been there. Amara's bird took off, and her eyes widened, like that had never happened before. Like it should not happen. She looked around at the sick people, and the green smoke, and something in her expression hardened.

     The video fast-forwarded again. Now Amara was standing at the entrance to your typical Boston alley, a dark, dank, smelly place in between some public bathrooms. She was holding a long metal pole with some kind of sharp metal hook at the end, angled, like the kind you might pick up in a junkyard. The poisonous smoke was thick, and seemed to be coming from something inside the alley.

     There weren't many people around, but those who were present, were coughing violently, and making their way out of the vicinity as fast as they could. The smart thing to do.

     Amara looked around, noticing what the smoke was doing. I had a feeling everyone in the audience was holding their breath, wondering if she was going to do the obvious thing. They were not disappointed. Like literally any impulsive person in Valhalla, with one hand covering her mouth and nose with her scarf, the other gripping the metal pole...she walked in.

     The screen didn't zoom in, but it was like Sam was standing on top of the building, watching what was happening below. For some reason, it once again occurred to me just how close Valkyries were to the heroes that were about to die, and didn't do anything to help, to stop it. I knew they weren't supposed to interfere, but admittedly, it still made me a little mad.

     Amara walked in slowly, and as soon as she was clear of the daylight, a monster appeared, a horror that met the eye of every einherji in the room. A collective shudder went through the hall.

     A terrifying beast stood before Amara. It had the body of a small horse, yet it didn't. A shape like a human from the waist up, was connected to where a saddle would rest on this horrible pony. The human's (if you could call it that) arms were revoltingly long, hanging down to the floor. The whole thing looked like it had been turned inside out, with disgusting red muscle all we could see on the outside, and coagulated blue and sickly yellow veins cutting through it like a dangerous spider web. On the creature's legs, there were smallish fins, like he was part fish. The head on the torso was much bigger than a normal human head, and only had one eye in the center of what should have been a forehead. The eye opened, and instead of an eyeball, a thin layer of film covered a little ball of red fire. It held up a javelin with its right hand, the tip dripping in a green ooze the color of bogeys, towering over Amara.