Úlfr woke with a start, he’d heard the commotion outside and saw the empty space, so he got to his feet, pulled his chainmail over his head and belted on his sword hurriedly. The tent flaps were open. Úlfr stepped out warily. He heard a noise at his feet. “Úl-fr…run away. Run…way…t’s an am-bush…” croaked Wrench, coughing out blood, his eyes glazed and dull. Úlfr fell to his knees at the body of his fallen friend, “Wrench. Come on, you have to!” Wrench gave on final bloody cough before smiling up at Úlfr, saying, “I’m going now…” Úlfr covered his friend’s staring eyes and stood. He opened his mouth and howled; a hoarse, desolate howl. He heard loud shouting as the soldiers discovered that it was an ambush. He drew his sword with a loud snck! He sprinted towards where they were fighting, a red mist flooding his vision.

   The odds that Úlfr’s troop would win were very, very minuscule. Most of them were unarmed and fighting only with their fists. None of them had armor on, other than their chainmail. Úlfr took all this in and ran into the battle. His eyes pinpointing the chinks in his opponents guard with startling clarity. His sword swung wildly but precisely, a whirling flash of steel. When the red mist had faded off, his thirst for revenge quenched, Úlfr stood alone, bathed in blood, one arm was missing, his left arm, his entire body covered in cuts and slashes. But he felt no pain. He was standing on a pile of dead bodies, felled by his blade, and his comrades shrunk away from him in fear and awe. “A monster! Get away! Crazy…he’s a berserker…” he heard their whispers and felt their eyes on his back as he walked, staggering and found the body of Wrench and fell to the ground.