It All Begins and Ends with The Grimoire
Heinlen is many things – but he isn’t stupid.
Fighting sporadic, internecine skirmishes with Vampyres – and their familiars or proxies – won’t enshrine his efforts as victories of epochal and humanity-rescuing merit in the annals of history. He’s got some money and allies, good fighters and a few powerful friends – but that isn’t enough to make a dent in the profound corruption that has seized this world by its throat. A VARYAG raid here, a Wolfe-Team eradication of Simeon Khazars there – and most of it in Montenegro – is weak beer. None of it is going to deal a fatal blow against the sheer volume of Luciferians and Vampyres that have infested Mankind. The VARYAG cannot single-handedly strangle the Adrenochrome-swilling elites that murder our children. The Internet, Pornography, dilution of core values such as race, blood, family and tribe has slowly eroded man’s bedrock of Old Ways that has sustained and nurtured us for centuries. It’s a crisis across the entire planet.
And the last nail in the coffin of humanity is an insidious moral relativism that has crept into and poisoned their minds – and the minds of their offspring – against self-interest and the very survival of their culture. They embrace cultural suicide; they worship a Death Cult. Fighting for principles like truth, Honor and one’s land, or “Rodnya”, is a thing of the past. A quaint historical sentiment that only neanderthals subscribe to now. The modern world believes we are too “advanced” for such archaic, revanchist perspectives – and actively scrubs them from a media financed by Lucifer’s Khazarian minions and endorsed by compromised politicians who have betrayed their own people.
Heinlen knows that he, his VARYAG brethren and their strained support network are just pissing in the wind. Their fighting engagements are just pin pricks. Little more than annoyances that have little or no lasting impact.
He needs answers. He needs answers now. He needs Archangel Gabriel.
Hunkered-down in the Library at Hyne Haus, Heinlen once more consults his “Grimoire of Simon Magus”.
He grabs the worn, leather-bound book and scribbles an urgent entreaty to Archangel Gabriel – and waits. His inquiry is simple and sincere. And embarrassing. He feels like a whining old woman scratching out what he does – but he’s out of aces. He’s tired of walking on eggshells; he lays it all out with brutal honesty.
“My Dear Archangel Gabriel:
I’m fighting entities with supernatural connections, allies, esoteric abilities and eldritch provenance. Some of them live forever and spin their deceit against humans 24/7. They out-spend and out-number us. They’ve got influence and wealth – and friends in “High Places” who are bought and paid for.
I’ve got a worn-out human body and fighters who have brave hearts – but are, in the end, as frail as I am. Our numbers and resources are limited. My brain is scarred and nests a vein that can infarct – tear open – at any moment. Me and my men are fighting these Demons with our hands tied behind our backs.
This is hardly a fair fight. Are we being set up to fail? Are we some kind window-dressing, tepid resistance that is preordained to come up short? Is the best we can hope for? Simon Magus’ consecrated Seax with its Angelic script engravings is all well and good, but where is the Cavalry?
We’re on our own down here.
Was this the plan all along – to keep mankind fighting a half-assed, rear-guard defense against Vampyres so Heaven can look like it’s in minimal compliance with the Pactum Vampyrum? Is this about giving God some plausible deniability?
Are we a half-hearted gesture to save face? Are humans just pawns and collateral damage in a cruel game – a juggling-act Heaven is orchestrating to cover its own ass because of this Damned Contract?
Tell me the truth…God’s not really behind us – is he?
An Angel can’t lie. Your answer, please.”
Heinlen waits. And waits.
Nothing happens.
Fifteen minutes passes.
Nothing.
A half-hour passes.
Nothing.
Forty-five minutes passes.
Nothing – so he gets up and fixes himself a double Cutty Sark on the rocks and sits back down.
At fifty-five minutes, he hears a yawn. Guess who?
ARCHANGEL GABRIEL:
“Sorry for the delay, but I’ve just been advised that I’ve been relieved of my duties as your liaison.
Your file has apparently been “Transferred to New Management”.
The reasons are…..complex.
Here is as much as I can say:
You see, Hyne, there was a time when humanity needed a complete moral and ethical reset. A malign Demiurge – Yahweh – had warped and twisted the minds of men into dark places. We sought to correct this divergence. We did so. For a time.
Now things have changed. The Demiurge has returned with a vengeance.
Humanity is brainwashed and the powers that be are hopelessly corrupted. If that isn’t bad enough, mankind is hamstrung by its own morally relativistic belief systems – paralyzed by indecision and collective guilt. Religion has been weaponized against them.
I hate to admit it – but obeisance to the Abrahamic faiths have turned people into cuckolds. They are basket cases of conflicted mindsets and no longer the masters of their own world. They are weak.
The result? Degradation reigns supreme across the globe.
Me and my kind, of course, bear much responsibility for this situation. We didn’t intend our dogma to become the road to perdition.
But balance must be restored. And it will be. Decisions have been made.
I read your scribbles. I can’t help you.
The Grimoire will no longer convey your pleas to me. Even your Saex blade has been reclaimed. Do you not already feel it missing behind your shirt?
But know this:
I attended a meeting in Asgard. They questioned me about you – they called you “Jarl Hyne” – a great Honor. An Earl. Only after acknowledging a mortal’s brave Deeds will they award him the title of “Jarl”.
They asked me to relay a rather lengthy message to you. I have transcribed it onto a scroll, which I leave on the table here.
Alas! Our adventure together is at an end….
So, my dear friend, I now take my leave. You are under the wing of others now. I wish you good fortune and bid you a most affectionate Adieu.”
Heinlen picks up the scroll as Gabriel’s image fades before him like a child’s sand sculptures being washed away on a beach by the incoming tide.
The writing is cursive, written on authentic parchment skin and bound by a red silk ribbon. His hands shake as he reads the words. His insides seem suddenly liquified and shift like he’s being thrown about in a gale.
“GREETINGS FROM THE REALM OF ASGARD!
Heill to you, Jarl Hyne!
I am the All Father.
We in Asgard agreed to withdraw from Earthly affairs for two thousand years – for us, a mere blink of an eye – in order for mankind to leaven their minds with philosophies that we hoped would morally and ethically evolve them.
We saw that they had need of these things.
But the time for such moral and ethical tinkering is over. Humanity’s report card is not good. Mankind is none the better for this lamentable and pathetic embrace of what has become naught but pacifist futility. A solipsistic opiate that rots man’s brains. The wellspring of weakness.
Two thousand years have passed. Our forbearance is at an end.
I see everything that is happening in your world. I urge you not to despair. I will never abandon Midgard. I will never forsake brave warriors who call out Oaths to me for succor. I will never desert souls who have remained true to the Gods revered at the great Gamla in Upsala. I hear every appeal – even pleas that are whispered – that are addressed to we who preside in our realm.
I know that many in Midgard have returned to the Old Ways.
Tell your Varangian brothers that the Nordic Gods have awakened. Lead them with courage and spirit. Be a Jarl whose stories will be sung of in the longhouse in the years to come.
We stand with you always.
Take your Shieldmaiden to the Great Gamla in Upsala and receive blessings from the Godi. Become one with her. A Jarl needs a son. That is our way.
Skoal, Jarl Hyne! We drink to you at table this night and raise our horns and voices to Midgard. It is a realm much loved by all of us. Slava Rus! Slava Rodnya!
Odin”
The Meeting at Jabal al-Nar
Mt. Etna – historically recorded as Mount “AEtna” – is an active volcano on the East Coast of Sicily, Italy, situated between the cities of Messina and Catania. This is where Heinlen and Andrea Vucic will meet the Vampyre Lilith and Vampyre Chief Archon Belisarius at midnight.
Heinlen’s helicopter lands at Etna North Linguaglossa Ski Area in the Sapienza Refuge in Sicily. He and Andrea Vucic have been sent coordinates of a clearing in the Refuge that will be deserted at Twelve Midnight on this blustery cold night and serve as the “Site of Parlay”.
It is a Full Moon – but despite the brightness forecasted by news feeds there are dark, ominous clouds moving in. Most unnerving is the low rumble that emanates from the peak of Mt. Etna itself. The active volcano is always announcing itself – but tonight it seems particularly rambunctious. This evening’s symphony of rumbles is accompanied by pronounced tremors in the earth. Heinlen feels the ground shaking up through his boots as he and Andrea slog their way to the rendezvous site through cold, sleet-heavy gusts that are buffeting them.
VARYAG snipers are everywhere – as expected – and well positioned to get eyes on the meet between Heinlen, Vucic, Lilith and Belisarius. Heinlen is wired for sound and has a code word to pronounce if everything goes to shit and he needs immediate “Spray and Pray” fire cover. All the standard Special Forces precautions have been taken – and back-up plans are in place with back-up plans to those back-up plans.
But there’s only so much they can do.
Heinlen feels the amulet Andrea Vucic gave him next to his heart. Thor’s silver Mjolnir Hammer feels oddly reassuring on a wild night like tonight, where the Earth itself seems to be making its opinions known about the topic that is about to be “Parlayed”. Simon Magus’ Saex blade is gone – but the heft and weight of his Mjolnir somehow spiritually compensates for it. He proudly wears a Viking Throwing Axe in his belt. That is his new Badge of Honor.
The central issue at Parlay is simple: Do Vampyres have an “Eternal” right to “Graze” humans for food as guaranteed in the so-called Pactum Vampyrum, a document that was executed by Lucifer when he was still God’s right hand and “Morning Star”. Because Lucifer signed the Pactum whilst still in God’s “Good Graces”, he had authority to bind the Heavenly Throne. It appears – as a legal matter – its terms are binding on mankind. Which brings Heinlen and Vucic to this mountain on a bitterly cold and bleak – and portentous – night.
Mt. Etna is one of the tallest active volcanos in Europe and the tallest peak in Italy, South of the Alps. “AEtna” comes from the ancient Greek for “to burn”. The Arabs, who had trading settlements throughout Sicily, called it “Jabal al-Nar” – The Mountain of Fire. According to both Roman and Greek Mythology, their respective Gods of Blacksmithing – Vulcan (Roman) and Hephaestus (Greek) – had their forges under “Mt. AEtna”. It’s most recent Summit eruption took place in February of 2021.
There is a remote overlook at “Etna North Linguaglossa” covered with rocky outcroppings and ice cliffs – all of which will be crawling with VARANG snipers armed with special Russian Dragunov sniper rifles firing 7.62 X 54 mm “Vampyre Smoker” rounds. They have the latest Russian high-resolution optics and are trained on anything that comes within a hundred feet of their Hetman and Captain Vucic.
Heinlen’s head is still swimming from the frantic events of this past week. His world has literally flipped on its axis. These seven days have changed everything. Andrea Vucic is a numb as he is – and she’s a key part of it all. She is now his Shieldmaiden – and she’s never been happier. The silver band around her finger is inlaid with golden Runes of Odin and Freya. The “Godi” – the Holy Men of the Great Shrine at Upsala – blessed a matched set when she married Heinlen according to Nordic tradition in Sweden barely forty-eight hours ago. As is customary, she placed around her man’s neck a silver pendant – a Mjolnir, Thor’s Hammer – as he presented her to Freya and declared his troth.
They stand on this forbidding mountain as man and wife – braving the elements and whatever challenges that will face them. They meet their future together, hand-in-hand, fearlessly – certain that The Allfather is watching always.
The gloom intensifies with gale-force winds and stygian-black clouds that move in at speed. Sleet blasts their faces like pebble-sized razorblades. Then come deafening and bone rattling thunderclaps in quick succession. Finally, lightening explodes in every direction. Gigantic bolts of light shred the sky and blind their eyes every few seconds, reducing their vision to fuzzy images and bare outlines. Heinlen strains to see what’s happening around him, never loosening his grip Andrea’s hand.
He sees a thin, black shrouded figure approach, hooded and staring at them with red eyes. He recognizes the protruded jaw and overgrown canine teeth protruding from its gaunt lips.
Lilith.
She approaches slowly – like she’s the vanguard of a search team. And then behind her a taller figure emerges from the shadows, it’s shape more defined with every clap of thunder and strobe flash of lightening.
Chief archon of the Vampyres, Belisarius
He is fully cloaked and hooded – all in black – and as the splinters of lightening hit it, a scaled reptilian face shows itself for seconds at a clip. He wears a white scarf tied loosely about his neck. Under his hooded wrap is some kind of tunic – shimmering gold fabric belted by a thick, blood-red sash. His hands are claw-like and dark, wrinkled like leather, displaying talons on each finger sharpened to a razor point. His face is horribly scarred and deformed – he looks like he was burned in a fire. The thing’s eyelids look like they have been ripped open rather than naturally separated at birth – and they open sideways, like a lizard – showcasing eyes that resemble burning embers of coal in the dark night. Outsized fangs indicate extreme old age – Vampyre fangs grow throughout their lifespan. It also means the freak will have a hard time wrestling words through those canine horns protruding out of his vicious maw.
It stops ten feet from Heinlen and Vucic and yells over the gale winds now whipping all around them and the intermittent thunder and lightning crashing at the very summit of Mt. Etna in the distance. Lilith cowers beside him like an insect clinging to his raiment. His voice is guttural – like an animal croaking in a swamp, beset by drool and phlegm dripping from that bizarre hyper-extended jaw.
BELISARIUS:
“I AM BELISARIUS.
OUR PARLAY IS COMMENCED.
AZAZEL DOES NOT ACCEPT THAT THE PACTUM VAMPYRUM CAN BE VOIDED BY HUMANS AND WILL AGREE TO NO COMPROMISES.
YOUR CHILDREN ARE OURS BY RIGHT.
LUCIFER BOUND GOD TO THIS PACT.
AND SO IT MUST BE.
WHAT SAY YOU, HYNE?”
Heinlen is about to speak when he thrown to the ground by an explosion about a car-length to his right and his eyes are completely blinded by an electric flash. His first thoughts are for Andrea, who was standing to his left – has she been struck by lightning too? He crawls to her side, calling out her name. He feels her arms and hands grabbing at him while she yells – asking if he’s alright. He staggers and stumbles, his senses obliterated by the terrific thunderclaps and blinding of light barrages he’s just been bathed in. Heinlen chokes out the only words that he can utter.
“Andrea – Andrea, are you alright….I can’t see you….are you alright? Andrea….hold on to me….we’ll guide each other….
They stumble to their feet in a what feels like a tornado-churned funnel of rock, sleet and earth. It feels like something is sucking up the very Earth underneath them. Has Mount Etna blown? Is this what a summit eruption feels like up close?
“Finally, Andrea’s eyesight clears ever so slightly. She sees Hynes’ familiar outline – his arms extended to hold her – and responds best as she can.
“I’m alright, Hyne……I’m alright. I can see you now. Your eyes, too, will clear….calm down……we haven’t been blown up…”
But then – suddenly – an eerie silence descends.
No, explosively cracking lightening. No atomic detonations of thunder. No tremors of the Earth beneath their feet.
Absolute and total silence. It’s as if the entire planet is holding its breath.
Heinlen whips his head back and forth to clear his eyesight and focus – and looks into Andrea’s face. She’s obviously alright – and getting back her faculties, too. But she looks like she’s scared. Her lips are now trembling. There’s a slight stutter in her voice.
“Hyne….I-I want you to t-turn around real slow…..and I mean real slow….I’ll be right next to you …..”
The pitch-black cloud cover has dissipated – and the Full Moon is blazing like it’s an overhead searchlight. Heinlen can actually see his hands – and Andrea’s petrified face. His hearing is back. His eyes have stopped flashbulbing like a kaleidoscope from overstimulation.
He turns.
There’s a man standing there – glistening all over with twinkling electrical discharges creeping all over him. Like an oversized Human Tesla Coil. He’s a big man standing not ten feet away and just staring at them – looking strangely bemused.
Heinlen jumps back and thrusts out his left arm to push Andrea behind him while simultaneously drawing his Viking Throwing Axe from his belt with his right hand. He grips the Axe tight and crouches into a fighting stance to protect his woman.
Anxious seconds pass.
The man is enormous.
At least eight feet tall and four feet across his shoulders. His outfit is more updated Conan the Barbarian than Hugo Boss formality. He looks like he’s just emerged from a Viking Longhouse after awaking from a thousand-year slumber. In the Moonlight his beard looks red. His hands are the size of baseball mitts. He’s got an Axe in what appears to be a broad leather tactical belt around his midsection and hanging from that same belt is a Hammer – a “Mother of All Hammers” – that shimmers and gleams radiant in the darkness, like it’s alive. It is the image of the silver Mjolnir pendant around Heinlen’s neck.
This bearded Giant slowly moves towards Heinlen, his bemused smile intact.
Heinlen stands his ground – but for reasons he can’t quite understand, he has no fear of this creature.
The impressive hulk reaches upwards and gently slides Heinlen’s Axe out of his grip. He then replaces it with the axe in his belt. It’s roughly the same size as Heinlen’s old Axe – but it emits the same radiant glow that the man’s Hammer does.
He examines and hefts Heinlen’s Throwing Axe in both hands, measuring its weight and balance, spinning it on his palm. Satisfied, he grasps it with his right hand at the base of its handle.
Then – in a flash of spontaneous agility – he does something unexpected.
He spins with breathtaking grace and hurls Heinlen’s old axe at Lilith’s head. It finds its mark effortlessly – and precisely cleaves her skull in two halves. She crumbles to her knees as he turns again to Heinlen and Andrea. His voice is calm…resolute. Almost aristocratic. He speaks with the authority of one born to such things.
“DEMON WITCH VAMPYRE…”
In the excitement, it’s hard to tell – but Heinlen thinks the brute is now fully smiling at him.
Then he speaks.
“HEILL JARL HYNE! I AM THOR, SON OF ODIN.
KINDLY STAND BACK WITH YOUR BEAUTIFUL SHEILDMAIDEN AND LET ME MAKE SHORT WORK OF THIS SIMPLE BUSINESS…”
Upon hearing these words, the tall, hooded Vampyre cowers back into what shadows he can find nearest to him – but the bright Moonlight is not cooperating with his furtive strategy. The wind has ceased. The Thunder and lightning are gone. All that is left is absolute stillness and three adversaries watching his every move.
Belisarius thrusts a leathery, taloned claw towards Thor in an accusatory manner and hisses that aggressive, snake-like expression of unexpurgated rage that Heinlen has seen Vampyres utter so many times before.
Heinlen and Andrea watch like statues, rivetted in place.
Thor lunges at the Vampyre – and grabs him by the throat, lifting the ugly fiend off the ground and shaking him like a child’s toy. As Belisarius gags and chokes for air, Thor’s voice resonates with the very timbre and rhythm of Mt. Etna itself – challenging its firmament to join in his admonition of this despicable wretch.
“I AM THOR, SON OF ODIN!
CRAWL BACK INTO THE FILTH THAT SPAWNED YOU, BELISARIUS –
TELL LUCIFER AND HIS BUGGERY-PARTNER, AZAZEL, THAT THE PEOPLE OF MIDGARD ARE FREE AND WILL NOT BE BARGAINED FOR LIKE LIVESTOCK ON SCRAPS OF PARCHMENT.
MAN’S FATE IS HIS OWN.
TELL LUCIFER TO WIPE HIS ASS WITH THE PACTUM VAMPYRUM.
THE NORDIC GODS’ TWO-THOUSAND-YEAR RESTRAINT IS ENDED. WE HAVE FULFILLED OUR OATH. NOW WE RETURN TO CLAIM WHAT IS OURS.
ODIN HAS ENTRUSTED THE SECURITY OF MIDGARD TO ME, HIS SON.
I HAVE MUCH AFFECTION FOR THIS REALM THAT YOU CALL EARTH. NEXT TO ASGARD, I CONSIDER IT TO BE MY HOME.
TELL LUCIFER, HIS DEMONS, HIS VAMPYRE VERMIN AND MINIONS THAT DEATH AWAITS ALL WHO VENTURE HERE. DO NOT TEST MY WILL OR PATIENCE!
THEY WILL FEAST ON MANKIND NO MORE!
THIS IS MY SOLEMN OATH.
NOW – BE GONE!!!”
With his last word he throws Belisarius to the dirt, where the Vampyre crawls retching, writhing and gasping for air. His cloak is disheveled and twisted about his hideous head and body. He frantically tries to pull himself together with his impossibly large claws and talons. He’s like a large, black praying mantis that has fallen out of a high tree into a field with its limbs splayed at unnatural angles, mired in thorns and brambles below. Finally, he clambers to his feet and stands, clutching at his throat – spitting out sludge-like exudate and blood. Thor’s vise-like grip has clearly injured him.
Belisarius chokes out one last defiant “Hisssssssss” and stumbles away, disappearing behind the rocks, slithering down into the very crevasse he emerged from.
He’s got an important message to deliver.
The recipients won’t be happy.
EPILOGUE
Jarl Hyne and his Sheildmaiden Andrea touch down at Hyne Haus thoroughly exhausted. They assist one another out of the helicopter.
Both crave sleep.
As Hyne holds her in their bed, Andy whispers one last thought.
“What happens now?”
Jarl Hyne leans over and kisses her cheek. He then smiles at his Asgardian Axe emitting its subtle radiance on his night table near their bed.
“The fight goes on. But now we have allies with Honor.
Odin, Thor, Freya, Tyr – the longboat that is our world has it’s Captains back. And our Honor, our Rodnya and our Blood will define every step we take into the future.
Our glorious future, my Love.”
*THE END OF VARYAG: THE NEW VARANGIANS
*NO PART OF THIS WORK PRODUCT IS AI GENERATED*
Copyright, 2026 – Jon Croft
www.bogironfoundry.com
Email: vlchek1@Gmail.com
