The Batlord

The Lay of Sigurd: Remixed Part V b.

It was a pretty bitchin' volcano. There were crags and vents billowing steam and the smell of sulfur permeated the air. I made my way up the mountain and, after several hours of hiking, came to came to the top and looked out over the edge. It gradually sloped down until the rock ran into a bubbling cauldron of lava. Even from up here the heat was sweltering, but as you know, I kick ass, so I wasn't worried. I was, however, worried that my pits would start stinkin' and the chick would be all, "Ew! You smell musty!", but I figured a kick ass Valkyrie would think BO smelled sexy. I looked out over the vast pool and saw a narrow pathway of rock leading out into the center of the lava, but the shimmering waves of heat obscured where it led to. Saying a quick prayer to Quorthon, I made my way down the slope and started down the pathway. It was now hotter than balls, and my nuts were swimming in my underwear, but I persevered for the sake of poon. After about twenty minutes of walking, I finally saw what looked like an island of rock at the end of the path. Making my way onto it I saw in the middle a woman laying on her back asleep on a raised stone slab. She was wearing a shining breastplate and a winged helm. Her hair was a fiery shade of red, her face was pale and striking in its beauty, and her hooties were bigger than her head. Fuck yeah. Aside from True Metal, titties are the greatest thing on Earth. If I were a pansy I would compose sonnets to the gloriousness of sweater kittens. But I'm not, so I don't.

I knew that to wake her up I would have to prove myself to be a True Metalhead, so I did the only thing I could think of. I recited the evil prayer from Morbid Angels' song, "Lord of All Fevers and Plagues", "Ninnghizhidda. Open my eyes. Ninnghizhidda. Hear my cries. Plumed serpent of the deep. Plumed serpent of the gate. I command, come before me. I command, bring the key. Rise from the depths. See the fire in my wand. Ia iak sakkakh iak sakkakth. Ia shaxul." As soon as I finished, her eyes opened and she sat up on the stone slab. Then, looking at me she said, "If thou hast awakened me, then thou must be only the truest of metalheads. I congratulate thee, Defender of the Faith. I am Brynhild, and I am the most valiant of Odin's Valkyries. There can be no more worthy bride to one such as thou, and there can be no more worthy husband than a True Metalhead of thy caliber. Now come to me so that we may consummate our union." Ah shit. Why'd I have to get the clingy bitch? Normally if some crazy chick started talking about marriage I'd be out the door quicker than you could say "Fuck off, you crazy whackadoo bitch!", but I'd come all this way and I had a week's worth of blue balls to work off, so I figured I'd play along for now. So, I said, "Hey, sugar tits, uh...let's consummate this shit." And so it was. Many deeds of renown were done that day, both wondrous and terrible. The gods themselves trembled with fear and awe at the gloriousness of our banging. In the ages to come, the tales of that day would pass into legend, and become myth, and would inspire A Midsummer Night's Dream. I was Nick Bottom. Fuck Shakespeare. And after it was over and we were spent, I did what any True Metalhead would do. I waited until Brynhild was asleep and then I booked it. Cause bitches be trippin'.

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