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

Gunnar headed for the exit, spear clutched in his right hand. He’d never used a weapon like this, but Gungnir was meant for him and felt more like an extension of his own body than something apart from him. The jarl was eager to try the spear in combat.

His chance came mere moments later.

He shouldered aside the exit from the atrium to the tram and ran into a pair of jötnar armed with bundles of rebar wrapped in thick bands of gorilla tape. The enterprising monsters had bent the tips of the heavy bars down at their ends, then sharpened them into nasty spikes. The crude clubs looked like the world’s deadliest umbrellas.

All three of them froze for a moment, surprised by the unexpected threats. Gunnar recovered first and drove the spear forward with an underhand, rising thrust. The sparking tip of the weapon slammed into the left jötunn’s body, punched up beneath its ribs, and exploded from its back. Arcs of electricity jumped from the spear’s head to the creature’s flesh, unleashing a torrent of steaming blood from its gaping mouth. The jarl ripped his spear free of its target, twisted at the hips, and raised it overhead to block the descending makeshift weapon held by the monster on his right.

Metal slammed into wood, and Gunnar wondered how many more blows Gungnir’s haft could weather before it shattered. The jötunn’s attack sent vibrations through both weapons, and Gunnar spun away from his foe to get a better grip on the spear.

The jötunn wasn’t so fortunate, and the barbaric club bounced out of its hands and onto the floor. It bent down and reached out for the weapon, but its fingertips fell inches short. It took a stumbling step, desperate to regain the club.

Gunnar thrust the spear at the jötunn’s exposed back, intent on impaling the creature and ending the fight. Lightning sizzled from the weapon’s tip, filling the air with the acrid stink of ozone.

But in the split second before Gungnir found its mark, the monstrous creature rolled under it. The jötunn’s thick fingers seized the club’s haft. With a roar, the blue-skinned freak rolled up to its feet and swung its weapon at Gunnar’s face.

The spear was so light and balanced in the bodyguard’s hands it seemed to move of its own accord. He whirled it like a propeller’s blade, the haft slapping aside the club before it could deliver its devastating uppercut. Gunnar shifted the angle of his weapon’s spin, and its sparking tip shot under the jötunn’s guard and sliced off the end of its leading foot.

Black blood sprayed into the air as the monster stumbled back. It struggled to regain its balance and slipped in its own blood. With a panicked shout, the monster raised its club defensively in both hands.

The jarl had already reversed the spear’s rotation, though, and its metal butt cap swept up into the jötunn’s wrist with bone-shattering force. Gunnar let the impact stop the spear’s revolution and drove the iron-capped haft into the monster’s face so hard it popped the creature’s right eye from its socket.

The jötunn’s nerve broke. It flung the club in front of it, then turned to flee.

“Big mistake.” Gunnar swung Gungnir around to slice its tip through the backs of the jötunn’s legs. His opponent screamed and slipped in its own blood, falling flat on its face. With a victorious roar, Gunnar drove his spear into the jötunn’s back. The sizzling tip plunged straight through the creature’s heart and slammed into the floor with enough force to chip the concrete. The bodyguard stomped down on the dead asshole and tore his spear free, then leapt over the body and continued sprinting toward the tram.

He didn’t expect the people mover to be running, but he hoped the tracks were clear and that the völva got his message and could find him. When he burst out onto the loading platform, there were no more jötnar waiting, but his allies hadn’t arrived yet, either. The train car wasn’t on the rails, which was good. Gunnar shattered the plexiglass barrier that surrounded the tracks to clear their escape path. He stepped onto the steel rails, glanced along them, and saw the route ahead was clear. “Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”

The Luxor’s atrium was coming apart at the seams. Black glass on its exterior walls cracked and slid down the sloped faces to slam into the ground with explosive force. Deadly sharp shards erupted around the pyramid’s base and shredded the jötnar who’d gathered around to see what had happened. Dozens of them died screaming as the avalanche continued.

But there were more coming, and Gunnar heard the pounding feet of enemies storming through the atrium. He braced himself for the attack.

The exit doors flew open. Three more jötnar exploded onto the loading platform, eyes wild, crude weapons clutched in their hands. These seemed far more bestial than the Behemoth. An unearthly lust for violence drove the monsters into battle and burned in their eyes like hellfire. Those three were a problem, but the dozens more behind them were the real danger. If they reached the tram’s tracks, Gunnar and the völva would never outrun them.

The jarl’s bond with the spear showed him the answer. He sneered at his enemies and hefted the weapon over his shoulder. He felt hamingja swarm out of him and into the blade. Its tip glowed like a flash of lightning frozen in flight.

Gunnar hurled the relic and unleashed its power with a shout. “Stormur!”

A lightning storm burst to life around Gungnir. Bolts the size of telephone poles blasted the jötnar off their feet. Arcs of power bound the trio together, boiling their eyes in their sockets and burning their tongues to ash. The spear continued past the front rank of jötnar and over the crowd behind them. Electricity blasted through the horde, casting their bodies before it like leaves ahead of a hurricane.

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