The Allfather saddles up, and not just any nag. He takes Sleipnir, the only horse in world history with twice the number of legs and zero pity. Four legs are for horses that eat hay. Eight legs are needed by a god who wants to arrive punctually at the last appointment of his life: the end of the world on the plain of Vigrid, free admission, no return trip.

The seer has long since proclaimed it, and humanity, as usual, has ignored it. Darkness is rolling in, and the courage of mortals is collapsing like a folding chair at a barbecue. Only the old warriors of Valhalla stand at attention. The Einherjar have spent centuries drinking, fighting, and rehearsing. Now, finally, comes the premiere with real blood.

Odin grins in the face of death, even though he knows full well the wolf will devour him. Now that's leadership. Sleipnir thunders, the heavens open, and the enemies are turned to mincemeat. Somewhere in Sweden, a bearded man bellows the perfect refrain. Score settled, Ragnarök over. Next world, please…

DBD: Eight Legs of Thunder - Amon Amarth
DBD: Eight Legs of Thunder - Amon Amarth

Transparency note: Illustrations were created digitally and are for illustrative purposes only. This article has been editorially reviewed and approved.

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