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

“None of this had to happen,” Arthur spat, blood drooling over his chin. “You and your bitch fucked up everything.”

Gunnar let go of the spear with his left hand and hammered the side of Arthur’s head with a savage punch. Draupnir’s gold split the jötunn’s flesh, revealing blackened bones shot through with threads of crimson fire. Blood boiled from the wound, carrying the foul stench of rot into the air.

“Ray stopped Kyrolina,” Gunnar said and delivered another punishing blow. “You’re the one who fucked everything up.”

Arthur laughed and grabbed Gungnir with both hands. Before Gunnar could react, the jötunn pushed the haft sideways with tremendous force. The wooden rod tore through Arthur’s body, ripping flesh, muscles, and organs as it burst free of his flesh.

For a moment, Gunnar believed Arthur had committed suicide right in front of him. But the jötunn didn’t so much as stumble as he held his guts inside his body with both hands.

He grinned at Gunnar as his flesh stitched itself back together.

The jarl tried to stab the jötunn again before he could finish healing, But Arthur twisted on one heel to let the spear slide harmlessly past him.

“You don’t even know,” Arthur laughed. He was restored now, his healed flesh visible through the bloodstained tear in his suit. “Ray stopped nothing. She moved our timetable up, but this is what the boss always wanted. She’d hoped to have a few more contingencies in place, but shit happens, am I right? She’s got another little surprise in the works, too. Bet Ray doesn’t know shit about that.”

Arthur shrugged.

Gunnar spun the blade in a vicious overhand arc, and the jötunn took the blow to the shoulder without flinching, his maddening smile never faltering. Trickles of smoke leaked out of the tears Gunnar opened in Arthur’s clothing, but no more blood spilled. The wounds healed as fast as Gunnar inflicted them. “Fucking die!” the jarl howled and drove his spear into the jötunn’s chest.

“You fool,” Arthur said with a shake of his head. “Hyrrokkin needs me. There is no wound you can inflict on me that her fires can’t seal. Your pathetic attacks are no more bother than bee stings.”

Gunnar’s eyes narrowed and followed Arthur’s slow walk around him. There was a clue in what the jötunn had said, if only he could find it. He thrust the spear into his enemy’s side again, tearing through the black suit and unleashing a gout of smoke and fire, but no blood. He scanned the jötunn’s body, looking for some sign of weakness. But seams of fire had sealed every wound the creature had suffered. Even his arm...

A shiny, blue-and-black lump of scar tissue had sealed the end of Arthur’s forearm.

With a ferocious battle cry, Gunnar leapt into the air and drove Gungnir through Arthur’s chest. As the jötunn laughed, the jarl put everything he had into forcing his nemesis to the ground. The spear’s tip buried itself in the ground and pinned Arthur like a squirming bug on a specimen board.

“You’ll never learn,” Arthur spat. He began tearing the spear through his body again, wriggling sideways. “You keep trying to brute force your way through everything. It won’t save you this time, Gunnar, and it won’t save that group of broken women you’ve dragged all over the city on your little treasure hunt. You can’t kill me.”

Gunnar stepped down on Arthur’s chest, putting all his weight on the man’s cracked ribs. “Sometimes brute force is the answer.” He knelt on Arthur’s chest and grabbed the jötunn’s left arm at the wrist and elbow.

The jarl strained against the monster’s strength. As powerful as the jötunn was, though, he lacked leverage. Bit by bit, Gunnar bent the creature’s arm above its head, twisting it until the shoulder joint groaned. And then, with a wet pop, ligaments snapped, nerves tore, and the arm went loose and wobbly in Gunnar’s grip.

“Fuck you,” Arthur snarled through teeth gritted in pain. “Torturing me gains you nothing. Hyrrokkin has foreseen your every action. No matter what you do, she has a contingency in place to stop you.”

Gunnar stood and pulled Arthur’s arm straight up from his body. Bones cracked and flesh parted, strand by strand. The seams in the jötunn’s fancy suit tore loose, and the arm followed them a moment later. The jarl dangled the severed limb over Arthur’s face.

“Well,” he said, “look at that. It didn’t bleed at all. Still came right off, though, didn’t it?”

The limb twitched and writhed in Gunnar’s grip, but the grisly, truncated end had already scarred over and an ugly burn line had sealed the shoulder. Hyrrokkin’s gift had saved Arthur from bleeding out.

But it hadn’t healed him.

And from the look on the jötunn’s face, Arthur now realized the limitations of her dark gift.

“Stop,” he said, his voice strangely calm. “Stop, and I’ll tell you what she has planned. You have to—”

Arthur screamed as Gunnar went to work on his leg. Agonizing seconds punctuated with gnarly pops and cracks passed while the jötunn wailed, not at the pain of the wound, but the horror of his looming fate.

“I don’t care what she has planned,” Gunnar growled and flung the tattered leg into the ceremonial fire. “Whatever it is, I’ll stop it. Just like I stopped the ritual at the Luxor. Like I stopped you here.”

Minutes passed while the jarl dismembered the jötunn. He wanted Arthur to hurt. He wanted the asshole to understand how much pain he’d caused. Gunnar couldn’t ever get the years he’d lost to this man’s machinations, but he could at least make the fucker hurt.

But even that didn’t work out quite the way Gunnar had hoped. Hyrrokkin’s magic had hardened Arthur. The man grunted and groaned as the jarl worked him over, but he didn’t scream or cry out again.

Frustrated, Gunnar tossed each limb into the fire, then watched as the clothes burned away from them. Shoes worth more than a used car burst into flame. The tailored suit was nothing