Valhalla Virus by Nick Harrow (best management books of all time TXT) 📕

“Is that all you got?” she croaked when he took a moment to catch his breath. “The goddess won’t let you kill me. Give up, now, and I’ll show you mercy.”

The intruder glared at her. His calm, cool demeanor burned away in a fiery rage that threatened to burn down anything that got near. He turned his gaze outward, to the other jötnar who’d gathered to watch the beating. Hilda prayed her people would come for her, but they stood silent, watching as she was torn down again and again.

That moment was all it took for Hilda to recover. She regained her feet, heedless of the new damage that caused to her trapped arm. She stared into the fucker’s eyes, letting her hate twist her face into a feral mask.

Hilda howled and attacked with everything she had. Her claws ripped away the side of the man’s face, revealing the black bones beneath his blue-tinged skin. A snap kick cracked two of his ribs and pushed him back to the extent of his arm’s length, tearing muscles and tendons in Hilda’s limb.

“Kill him, you cowardly fucks!” she screamed at her mute war band.

The order jolted her warriors into action. They threw themselves into the fight, howling in victory, invigorated by the miracle of Hilda’s recovery. They fell on the intruder, screaming with rage, their fangs clashing, fists pounding. Tons of meat and claws fell on the intruder, eager to tear him to pieces.

And it wasn’t enough.

A single punch shattered her lieutenant’s skull. An open-hand chop crushed another jötunn’s windpipe so savagely it also shattered his cervical vertebrae. A punter’s kick detonated another jötunn’s testicles like bloody bombs and shattered his pelvis in a hundred places.

Hilda could only watch in horror as the intruder destroyed every one of her warriors in a flawless display of martial prowess without ever releasing his vise-like grip on her wrist. Blood soaked them both, but he didn’t lay another hand on her. When the last of her warriors had fallen, he turned to face her.

“This was not my wish,” he said. “But you have defied me. You are no longer worthy of Hyrrokkin’s grace.”

“No,” Hilda gasped. “You can’t take this from me. She chose me. I followed her words.”

The man shook his head sadly and seized Hilda by her right hand. His iron grip bruised her skin and made the hard bones beneath creak in protest.

“Hyrrokkin chose many of us,” the man said. “Most failed. But I will not. I am Arthur Drake, Hyrrokkin’s jarl, leader of the jötnar. Those who will not follow me must be destroyed. Those who fall in line will be rewarded when we destroy the pawn and claim this place for our mistress.”

“Please,” Hilda begged. “Please. Let me serve her. Don’t deny me this.”

The intruder’s eyes burned into Hilda’s. She was sure this Arthur Drake was about to eat her soul. Then he smiled as if he’d heard a mildly amusing joke.

“One final chance,” he said. “Prove you are worthy.”

“I am the ring bearer,” Hilda said. “I am Hyrrokkin’s völva.”

Arthur tilted his head to the side, then nodded. “Prove it.”

Hilda summoned the cloak of smoke and shadows. She breathed a sigh of relief as the darkness embraced her. For a moment, she thought Arthur’s grip on her wrist might slip. If that happened, she’d run like hell.

Then Hilda would gather another, bigger army and kill this motherfucker. Or, maybe, she’d slip into his bed one night, hidden by Hyrrokkin’s gift, and drag her claws across his throat.

“Interesting,” Arthur said, his hand tightening around her. “Show me the ring.”

The jötunn knew as soon as Arthur had the ring he’d tear her head off and piss down her throat. Her only chance of survival was to keep it hidden beneath her cloak. Eventually, she’d have to reveal it, but only when the time was right. Until then, it would be her secret.

“No,” she said. “It is Hyrrokkin’s treasure, not yours. When the time is right for the ritual to destroy it and open the bridge, I’ll reveal it. But not a second sooner.”

Arthur crushed her wrist in his grip. The bones ground together beneath her skin, ripping and tearing at her flesh. He squeezed until jagged shards emerged from her blue-black hide, then kept up the pressure until Hilda’s blood splashed onto the ground between them.

But she didn’t whimper or cry out. She kept her eyes locked on Arthur’s. If she showed weakness, he’d kill her. She could feel it in his predator’s gaze.

Finally, Arthur nodded. “Swear fealty to me. Swear your service to my cause until your death.”

Hilda took a deep, shuddering breath. She’d live another day. “I swear to serve you and Hyrrokkin. Command me, my jarl.”

She stifled a sob of relief when he released her wrist. Arthur hadn’t noticed her fingers crossed behind her back.

Hyrrokkin’s my queen, she thought, and you’ll never be my king.

Chapter 20

GUNNAR LED THE TEAM around the landing that encircled the Luxor’s atrium. He tensed at every hotel room door they passed, certain a mob of jötnar would burst out to attack them. This wasn’t the way the mission should have gone down. He’d thought there’d be more time to plan their assault once they got a look at the threats inside the casino. They’d only come so high above the atrium for recon. Now he was a couple hundred feet above the crowd with only minutes to stop the monsters from completing their ritual.

He had no idea how he’d pull that off.

“That is one big boy,” Mimi muttered when they’d reached a point overlooking the Behemoth. “Really wish I’d brought that sniper rifle from Deke’s. One shot, right to the skull.”

“Even a bullet might not do the trick,” Ray said, a faint glimmer of pink light visible in her forehead. “That’s the Behemoth. One of Hyrrokkin’s chosen lieutenants. I can’t see much of its past, but she sent it here to do something very, very bad.”

“The ritual,” Bridget whispered. “They plan to destroy