Taller than the trees, the enormous undead towered above me, his eyes spilling icy green mist. Ragged chain mail hung from his torso. Colossal iron pauldrons guarded his shoulders. Huge chunks of his flesh were missing, and bone glared through the holes.

Holy shit.

The draugr raised a foot the size of a car. His magic swirled about him in a stormy cloud.

Curran in his warrior form shot out of the treetop, flying through the air like a gray blur.

I stood still, presenting a clear target for Håkon.

The draugr stomped forward.

Curran smashed into the back of the undead’s neck. Bone crunched. The draugr spun, and I saw Curran ripping into the space between the neck vertebrae with his claws. Undead gristle flew.

The draugr roared, trying to swat at the Beast Lord. His head began to droop.

Two ribbons of green magic snapped backward from the draugr, aiming for Curran.

Oh no, you don’t. I opened my mouth and barked a power word.

“Ossanda.” Kneel, you undead sonovabitch.

The magic burst from me. It felt like someone had sunk claws into my stomach and tore out the muscle and my innards. The world went black for a tiny moment. I’d sunk a lot of magic into it.

The horrible creak of bone snapping rolled through the air. The draugr’s bony knees hit the road. The forest quaked.

I took a running start and sprinted at him.

The dazed undead raised its huge hands, trying to grab me. I veered left, avoiding the gnarled bone fingers, and scrambled up the giant’s body, climbing the chain mail.

Above me, Curran snarled.

The draugr slapped his chest, missing me by a couple of inches.

I pulled myself onto his shoulder and ran down the iron plate to his neck. Curran was ripping into the gristle. The undead flesh tore under his claws, and snapped back, regenerating.

I pulled Slayer and chopped at the gap he’d made. My saber smoked from the contact with undead flesh. The gap widened.

Curran grasped the edge of the two vertebrae and forced them apart. I cut into the cleft, slicing through the connective tissue.

Cut. Cut. Cut.

Cartilage crunched.

Magic stung me, weaving about me in green strands.

“Wait!” Curran growled.

I stopped my sword in midstrike. Curran jumped into the gap, his clawed feet on the edge of one vertebra, his hands on the other. He strained, pushing them apart. Steel-hard muscle bulged on his frame, shaking with effort.

The draugr howled.

Curran snarled, a vicious, short sound born of strain.

With a sickening screech, the draugr’s head fell and rolled off his body. The colossal torso toppled. I jumped and landed on the road, my sword in my hand. Curran dropped down next to me.

We ran. We sprinted to the pillars.

Behind us an eerie, unnatural noise announced the draugr reassembling himself.