We call them all forth. All of us shall fight. The one joins us. Her name is still recent on our lips: Glumbruck. She is one of us, now. At last, finally. We no longer see her. She is somewhere within. One of us, steering our hands and voices.
Anger guides us. Tonight, they shall die. Tonight, we shall rest. Long will the night be. As long as the nine worlds are without sun and moon. The battle will last what would once have been days, or weeks, or moons: all one long, angry night, where we rule.
At last, we have only one voice again. There was a giant, once. Without, and not within, but already her name is beginning to fade. Her memories are gone. Her shadowed body has faded into the Darkness to become one of us. Truly, this time.
We surge forward, up the arms of all giants in the nine worlds. ‘Take us home,’ we plead. ‘Let us in. Together we shall die.’
When our wolf descendants swallowed the sun and the moon, the nine worlds went dark. As dark as our Darkness has always been. Perhaps in the dark we can slip out. Out of that gaping hole once opened by an Ulberht axe.
We tear at the opening. We make anger rise in the minds of giants. We consume their thoughts and strengthen their kicks, their punches. Through the dark, we hiss, and whisper. The end is near.
‘Let us out,’ we cry. ‘Let us out!’