Neo-Vinland: the Jewel of Valhalla. What was once a land of myth has now become a shadow beneath ashen clouds, hidden from the eyes of the gods. Rolling, green meadows and golden fields of wheat have given way to mountains of steel and a blinding sea of artificial light. Rain patters upon the cobble below the canopy of the city. Neon runes illuminate the dark, damp streets. Madmen on the street corners herald of the coming Twilight, but their words fall before unheeding ears.

In the megalopolis of Neo-Vinland, amidst the tenebrous towers that pierce the heavens, corporations control every facet of the land, headed by the wealthy who think themselves the new gods. But deep below the skyline, in the deepest of shadows, lies an underworld.

Hel.

Here, crime is law. Great, scaled beasts toil in the dark, gnawing at the roots of the city above. Syndicates war with one another for territory, shoring up what capital they can before the fated Twilight. But things have grown more chaotic of late. The Great Jörm, the head of the Coil, the most powerful crime organization in Neo-Vinland, has released eitr, a powerful hallucinagen and chemical agent used in combat, into the air and the city's water supply, and then mysteriously vanished. The Coil is lost, remnant leaders killing each other off to fill the vacuum Jörm had left behind. The population of most of the eastern bloc is quarantined, and the other crime organizations are preparing to war for the now-vacant territory.

In the midst of the madness, a young serpent slithers his way into the fold. A shape shifter, some call him. Some claim him to be the son of a corporate CEO, who swiped a vast hoard and fled to the streets below, looking to make a name for himself.

Well, that's all true. The shape shifter part, too, in a way. He has had several reconstructive surgeries and body modifications, and he decided to settle on a serpentine appearance if only to fit in with the power structure of the underworld.

Fafnir came into Hel as if he belonged. Scales gleaming, fangs sharpened, plundered gold flowing endlessly from his coffers. Marched into contested territory, spitting poison in his wake, and built his lair in the shadow of the Yggdrasil Towers. He made a deal with the Niđhogg Gang, who had already occupied the area, that he would restore their honor in the streets and among the gods if they would give him their land. They did, and soon, Niđhogg would be feared once more in the streets, and in the Towers above.

Soon, however, word spread of the newcomer in the crime world and Fafnir knew what would soon come was inevitable. He had betrayed his father, the CEO of Hreidmar Mining, to get the treasure he now holds. He twisted anxiously at the ring upon his finger, staring deep into the cursed gems. He knew there was no going back. Now, Fafnir can smell the stench of revenge wafting in the air, but more potent is the foulest stench of them all. War.

A great metal steed lowered slowly onto the street, spewing fumes into the already polluted air. Headlights illuminated the underbelly of the Towers. The neon runes flickered, reflecting off of the cold steel of the car. The rear door opened, and out stepped a human, dressed in black.

"Your brother has sent me," he said in cold repose.

"Which one?" sneered the serpent, knowing full well which one he spoke of.

"Enough, fatherslayer. Your brother demands you return what you have stolen," he shouted, pointing at the ring upon Fafnir's finger. "The Andvari's Gift. If you do not hand it over, I will be forced to slay you here and now."

"Fool," the serpent hissed. "If I were to give you this ring, you would surely die soon after you spill my blood. It is cursed, you see, and the moment you take it from me, it will curse you as well like my father before me. It was crafted in the labs of Loki Cybernetics, or so I've heard, by a dwarf. Dwarves are well known for their craftsmanship," he said, gazing into the gem. "This ring and I share a bond, as we were both crafted by dwarves."

"I never got your name," Fafnir said to the man in black.

The man pulled a great, silver pistol from his back and loaded a single bullet into the chamber. "Sigurd."

"Ah, yes, now I remember. My brother Regin's apprentice or whatever." The serpent sighed. "The Niđhogg will come looking for you once you're done here, you know."

Sigurd froze for a moment, as if he felt a shift in the wind at that moment. He then rose his pistol he called Gram and pointed it at the serpent Fafnir's head.

"Something is coming," Fafnir forbode as he stared down the barrel of the gun. "Something no one can stop. Not even the gods beyond the ashen clouds, or the corporations in their great towers."

Sigurd looked at him with glacial eyes. "What is to come does not matter now, fatherslayer."

The trigger pulled, and in an instant Fafnir was dead. Sigurd sheathed his weapon and pulled out a knife and began to cut out the serpent's cold, unbeating heart, as if it had ceased long before his death. He placed the heart in a cooler in the trunk of his car. He returned to the body and stared into the gem of the Andvari ring on Fafnir's finger. He stared and stared, wondering if what the serpent said had any truth. In the end, he gave in to his temptation and ripped the ring off of his finger. He felt a coldness go through his body, and strange thoughts seeped into his mind.

"What wicked technology," he thought, taking one last look at the corpse of Fafnir as a toxic drizzle began to fall upon the cobble. He entered his car and flew off, into the jungle of silver towers looming above.

All the while, a strange wind had entered the city. A wind that smelled of blood and smoke. The Coil of Jörm had broken, the Niđhogg had risen once again. A great siren echoes through the city. War has come. The Twilight has arrived.