The Original Champion Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Little Boy





Through the bloody streets of a burnt down village, a little boy ran. He ran as fast as he could as the stench of blood and death invaded his little nose. 



He ran and he ran, without a destination in his head. His only goal— survive.



Survive the beasts that were chasing him.



His golden hair was drenched in blood, turning it red. His body was covered in cuts and abrasions but he didn't have the time to worry about those as the moment he stopped, he would be torn apart by the beasts of the night.



'Please Thor, Týr, All-Father… please, someone help me!' 



The boy prayed but no one listened. Instead, he felt the beasts getting faster and impatient. He ran inside a dark forest, trying to escape the beasts.



His father fought by the sides of the greatest Viking of their tribe, Mikael. But even his strong father had fallen. The beasts ravaged his body and devoured him as the boy looked at the scene in horror. He couldn't do anything, he was weak. 



Mikael had ordered his father, Varashí, the first of his name, the bloody one— to fight the beasts of the full moon. But Varashí underestimated the strength of the beasts and paid the price for it. They surrounded him and tore his flesh and bones out as the little boy stared in horror— frozen in horror.



He took the chance to run, but the beasts had sharp senses. They chased him and now he was left with no choice but to keep running until he found Mikael or the Vikings. 



He stumbled on the ground multiple times, getting cuts and bruises but he kept dragging his body through the deep thorny forest, giving him the chance to outsmart the beasts. 



The beasts were cursed by the gods. They were humans like him but on full moon nights, they showed their true colours and turned into demonic beasts. 



Werewolves as many called them. 



Varúlfur or the Ulfhéðinn— one in wolf-skin was their true name, but the nomads named them the werewolves. 



The little boy knew that only Mikael and his men could stop the werewolves. He believed that the man that his father served with his life would save him. He was friends with Mikael's children— in secret. Mikael didn't like his children associating with lower tribe members but Mikael's wife, Esther allowed him to interact with Elijah and Klaus in secret. 



He was losing hope as he was getting out of breath. But he knew that just a few steps ahead of him was the village, the village that would protect him.



He used every fibre in his body, every little bit of strength, stamina and will that he could gather to run towards the light. 



He dashed out of the dark forest and entered the light screaming— "Beasts! Beasts! Behind me!"



The people in the village panicked as they heard his scream. The women picked their children from the streets and ran towards their houses, the men took their axes and polearms and rushed out to protect their families. 



The boy saw a man— a golden-haired man walking towards him with an axe. The boy's face glowed in hope as his legs gave out and he fell on the ground. The beasts behind him jumped at him— but they were never able to reach him.



The man that stood beside him swung his axe at the beast, chopping its head off and drowning the place in blood. 



He bashed the axe over the head of another beast, killing it instantly. 



"In the name of Odin, send these beasts to Hel!" He let out a battle cry as the other Vikings rushed in to help their leader. 



One by one the beasts fell, their blood and flesh covering the bloodthirsty Vikings. The Vikings laughed and rejoiced in their victory as the last beast had its head split open by Mikael. 



Everyone roared in triumph— except one, except Mikael. 



He had a scowl on his face as he saw the little huffing boy on the ground. 



"You let the beasts in." He gritted his teeth but the other Vikings were unable to hear their leader amidst their shouting. 



Mikael grabbed the boy by his tunic and dragged him towards his house. The boy, tired and weak, was unable to stop the Viking general.



"You let the beasts in! You bought our lives in danger!" He roared and threw the boy in the front yard of his house. "You brought those abominations to our village!"



His roar made the people inside the house rush out. 



His wife, Esther rushed in to check the chaos. She feared her husband. She knew how dangerous and abusive he was in his anger, and all she hoped was that it was not directed at her or her children. 



She rushed out with her little kids hiding behind her skirt. She immediately paled as she saw a little boy covered in blood and struggling to stand. 



"Stand up, boy." Mikael said, calming himself down. "Where is your father?"



Dragging his body, the boy answered. "D-Dead, my lord." 



Esther looked at the boy in sorrow.



"That fool must have charged in without any plan." Mikael mumbled. "I will forgive you this once, boy… for your father's sake. But remember that if you show me your face ever again, you will face my wrath!"



The boy trembled. 



"Is that understood?"



"M-My Lord." Ester tried to help the boy but ended up suffering Mikael's fury. 



"Quiet woman!" He shouted and looked at the boy. "Is that understood!"



"Y-Yes lord." The boy replied, trembling.



"Now, get out of my sight." He said and the boy dragged his wounded body away from Mikael's house.



…


…



The boy's name was Leif, son of Varashí the Bloody. 



Varashí was known for being bloodthirsty and hotheaded. He was a berserker and one of the strongest. 



But he was not smart in the least, his death was proof of that. 



He had impregnated a whore before pillaging one of the towns and that woman later ended up giving birth to Leif. But because Leif had the blood of Vikings, the people refused to shelter him— a Northman with them. And as Vikings were known for living in a pack, even if they didn't care for their children— Leif ended up with his father. 



The seven-year-old boy sat at the corner of his house and cried. His father was the only person he had and now he was gone. Mikael, whom his father served and trusted with his life, had refused to help him. Mikael didn't even bother holding a funeral for his father. 



Leif brushed his tears away and walked out of his house. In the tiny backyard that he had, he dug a hole and placed his father's fur scarf inside it. He closed the hole and prayed to the gods to send his father's soul to Valhalla.



Despite the cold, the boy didn't leave his father's grave and sat next to it. 



Hours later, he heard rustling outside. He was worried that it was some burglar trying to break in as he was alone. So, he quietly went to check, making sure to be as stealthy as possible.



As he peeked through the small red-tinted window, he saw a golden-haired woman looking with two little boys behind her. 



Leif breathed out as he saw the woman. It was Esther, Mikael's wife. 



Ester was different from Mikael. She was caring, kind and honest and that made the little boy trust her. And the fact that she allowed him to play with her children in secret made him respect her.



He slowly revealed himself to the woman who smiled upon seeing him. She rushed towards him and started to caress his cheeks.



"Oh, you poor child. It must be difficult for you." 



She hugged Leif and the little boy yelped in pain. Seeing him jolt, the woman backed away. 



"Forgive me. The wounds are not treated, you will get an infection if we don't treat them right now."



She turned around to look at her sons, namely the oldest of the two. "Elijah, go and gather some herbs. You know how calendulas and echinaceas look right?"



"Yes, mother." The boy nodded and ran out of the house to gather the herbs.



After Elijah ran out, her younger son, Niklaus walked towards Leif. 



"Does it hurt?" The four-year-old asked. 



Leif looked at Niklaus and didn't bother lying. 



"Yes." 



"You poor boy." 



Ester loved Leif as her son and that was apparent in the way that she treated him. After a few minutes, Elijah returned with the herbs and Esther hurried to prepare the medicine. 



Leif played and talked with the two little Mikaelsons as she prepared the medicine. 



After a few more minutes, she applied the medicine and gave him some food before going home. She couldn't stay long as it would make Mikael suspicious and that would not end well for any of them. 



They left soon and Leif went to sleep with tear-stained cheeks. He knew that he had to look after himself now. He had lost his father, his only family. But he was glad that he at least had a mother figure and brothers, who despite being unrelated by blood— were family.



He wished for only one thing.



'Please, All-Father… never take them away from me.'



The little boy, ignorant to what the future had planned for him— drifted into sleep. 



But soon, he was going to understand that those that you trust the most… ends up betraying you.



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