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Saboteurs of Blashyrkh

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Slowly, the intense whiteness faded to something that was recognizable. His vision was blurry as of yet, but he thought it was a stark, snowy landscape, already darkening.

Was this the land of the dead?

Demonaz registered ache all over his body. That probably meant he was still – alive?

He heard indistinct shouts, and rapid footsteps. He tried to turn into their direction, but could not concentrate his strength enough. He fell back on the snow instead.

A few seconds later, he felt himself being lifted roughly into a sitting position. He recognized it was Abbath.

“Harald … Fuck. I thought you were gone,” Abbath growled from extremely close by.

Demonaz could only barely formulate words in response.

“What the … fuck … actually happened?”

“I don’t know. The avalanche went down, but somehow … it spat you back up on its way. I know, that’s not possible.”

“It was … him.”

“You mean Erik?”

“No … I did see him. But it was Mighty Ravendark who got me out.”

Abbath shook him a bit, in good humor.

“You crazy bastard. The mushrooms. You ate them too, didn’t you?”

“No,” Demonaz protested.

“Well. Doesn’t matter. We buried the Nazis. And we’re both still standing.”

Demonaz knew this was a reference to the lyric he had written, “At the Stormy Gates of Mist” and felt a bit warm inside.

By now he could see more clearly. Joakim had arrived, and crouched down next to them.

“Guys. I think … it’s obvious we broke a few laws doing what we did. Firing the tank cannon, caving down the snow from the mountain. It’s probably best we don’t speak of this, to anyone ever. But we can always remember that we did beat those fucking Nazis.”

Demonaz thought once more of what exactly he had seen, of what exactly he had done, and shuddered a bit. He could very well agree. He would be glad to get back to just writing for Immortal.

The End.