The sun is almost touching the horizon. Oh poop. I didn't mean to sleep that long. I scramble to my feet and to my great surprise, my foot holds my weight! I try putting a little more onto it and it hurts, but I don't fall over. Yes! It isn't broken. Just bruised or sprained, whatever it is, I can manage. My left eye is can open about halfway. Good nap.

I find the roof of the house peeking over a few trees, with another house barely visible behind it. The third house is at the base of the hill, but there's a light fog and I can't quite make it out. I hadn't noticed it before I fell asleep, but they look a lot more modern. They're made of actual bricks, they have proper paned windows. Maybe they'll have food and some painkillers too.

Going downhill it hurts a bit more, but it's nothing I can't manage. I can walk like a normal person again, just wincing every other step. It only takes me about twenty minutes to reach the hill. There's music playing, I can smell food, there're voices drifting down hill. Oh, thank you. My stomach groans hungrily at the scent of sausages.

I pause my music in the middle of Let Me Down. It just seems rude to play it over their classical music. I'm a guest and I'm about to be begging for food. My father taught me better than that.

I know this song. It's Wagner. Oh, my god! It's Ride of the Valkyries. I just went on one of those. Beaming, I head around the house to where the music is playing and my stomach drops out. I feel like I rode the Tower of Terror or something. Like I'm free falling. I fling myself against the wall, squeezing to it for dear life. I don't think any of them saw me. Please say they didn't see me.

No one sounds excited. I can't quite understand what they're saying, so if they saw me, they're being calm about it. The language sounds a little like English and Old Norse, but not enough that I can recognize what the words are. I know what language it is, though.

Those uniforms are genuine. The guns at their hips must be real too. It's like something right out of a history book. I swallow, trying to keep my heart from beating out of my chest.

I don't think the Nazis are gonna share their bratwurst. Especially not with me.

Sinking down to the ground, I let out the breath I was holding. What am I going to do? I need that food, and Elsa would never forgive me if I didn't take the chance to fight Nazis, but they outnumber me and have guns, I have a cell phone and some bruises.

Who the hell has dinner in an SS uniform, anyway? It's just tacky.

I crawl back down the hill, letting the fog conceal me. The two houses at the top are barely visible and the one at the bottom is on the other side. There's no reason they should come down here. I'll wait. It's almost sunset. They'll probably go to sleep before too long. Then I can take their food, some weapons, and maybe take a few Nazis while I'm there.

Wait.

Do I mean I'll kill them?

I miss having Skaldi answer my questions. I sit on the ground, curled up to be as unobtrusive as possible, and let that sink in. I've already killed one person, and we're already dead. Plus, they're Nazis. Is it really so bad to do it? I don't think I can win a fight against them without doing so, but that would make this premeditated. Maybe I should just take the goods and leave.

But they're Nazis.

Actual Nazis.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and mess around with it while I wait. I have a few ebooks on Greek and Norse mythology on here and a couple romance novels that Anna suggested when I was first coming to grips with my sexuality. I read those. I miss her. I miss both of them so much. It's only been about two days, but it feels like so much longer. My hand shoots up, clutching at my collar. Never again. I'm theirs, and I don't want to have to go so much as a day without them if I can avoid it. Not because I need them, I can apparently take care of myself, even without Skaldi, but because I love them and they mean everything to me.

Just when the book starts getting steamy, the voices die down. I give it another hour, until my phone says it's 2:30 in the afternoon, before I creep back up the hill.

There are a couple people outside, tending the camp fire. Neither of them have the fancy leather jackets, but they are in uniform. One of them has his holster on, but the other doesn't. If I can just disarm that one, I can take out the other.

And wake up everyone. You're smarter than this, Jasmine. I'm just here to get some food and equipment, that's it. I don't need to kill Nazis. Even killing Nazis has to be at least kind of wrong. Right? Reich?

One of them turns around at the sound of my giggle, but I duck back behind the house just in time. I creep around the outside, keeping low to avoid being visible through the windows.

On the front side of the house, I take a risk and peek through the nearby window. It looks like a kitchen. There's a table, some cabinets, and a very old fashioned refrigerator. There's no one in it right now. I try the door and find it unlocked. There's an icebox with some left over sausage inside, along with an assortment of other foods. I chew on a cold bratwurst as I look around. There's bread, beer, sauerkraut, some lettuce, meat that I can't quite place, a few carrots and potatoes, and a pitcher of juice. I wash down my second sausage with the juice and look around for something to keep their food in.

Footsteps come from somewhere above me and I duck under the table, finding myself more thankful for a table cloth than I ever was in life. The footsteps head toward the fridge and I risk a peek. He's in his night clothes, which tragically lack any Nazi insignias. It makes him look almost human.

He doesn't have a weapon, so I sit and wait for him to head back upstairs. Instead, he pulls out one of the chairs, a plate of food in his other hand. There's no way he won't notice me, and if he does, then I'm dead. Deader. I only have a second to react.

I dart out from under the table, pinning him to the wall by his throat and covering his mouth with my other hand. I don't have my normal strength, but a combination of adrenaline and his being half-awake and surprised seems to amount to about the same.

He struggles, squirming, making as much noise as he can, but no one else comes. They must be sound sleepers, or else they're used to a bunch of drunk Nazis running around.

The life fades from his eyes as his body goes slack, but I don't let go. Not until I'm sure he's dead.

I collapse in the chair he'd already pulled out. I'm a murderer. That's the second person I've killed. Elsa will be so proud. Letting out a sardonic laugh, my eyes land on the beer he had already set on the table. I down it in a single swallow. It tastes like butt, but that's exactly what I deserve. Not butt, something unpleasant. I don't deserve butt, that'd just be weird.

I want to drink a second beer, but I'm about to fight an army of Nazis and I can't risk being sloppy. Just the one already has me feeling a little lightheaded. Probably about how the guy I strangled to death felt. I manage not to throw up as I head back outside. Screw it. I'm already a killer. I need their gear, and they're fucking Nazis. At least it'll be a good story to tell Elsa.

Outside, it's still empty and dark. The two around back are telling some sort of story and loudly laughing. I need that gun.

On one side, I set my phone on the ground and slide through a few screens. Elsa put some movies on my phone for the plane ride to California over the summer, and they should still be on there. Yes. Perfect. One of her favorite movies.

Finding just the right scene, I turn up the volume and head to the other side of the house, and watch the two. They've been talking loudly enough that they still haven't heard the movie, but I can almost see their ears perk up when they hear the line I'd been waiting for. "Each and every man under my command owes me one hundred Nazi scalps. And I want my scalps!"

I couldn't resist.

The unarmed one moves first, heading toward the sound while the one with the gun draws his weapon and follows, keeping his distance.

The distraction is working perfectly. I sneak up behind the armed one and try to snap his neck. That, however, doesn't go as planned. It's not as easy as it looks and I'm a lot weaker than normal. I have one hand on his neck and the other on his chin and I jerked his head to the side, but he's just alive. Movies always made it look so easy.

He starts to shout, but I cover his mouth. Too late.

The other one spins around, his eyes going wide as he sees some brown woman tussling with his dear old racist buddy. He rushes forward, so I stop trying to break necks or cover mouths and simply snatch the gun. He must not have been expecting it since it comes away in an instant.

I jump back as they head toward me, my hands shakily holding up the weapon. I have to do this. They'll kill me otherwise. And they're Nazis. Elsa taught me to shoot. Anna taught me to shoot better. I squeeze the trigger twice and they each go down with a spray of blood and brains. They didn't even make a sound.

This time I do throw up.

Lights come on in the other two houses and I rush back inside through the back door. I find myself in a living room – or would it be a parlor?

Whatever it is, it isn't empty.

Another Nazi in pajamas must have been running for the door after hearing those shots. His gun is drawn, but he looks surprised to see me. Rather than waiting for a response, I fire two rounds into him.

I drop my weapon and grab his, then head upstairs. It's more easily defendable if more people are coming, and more importantly, I need to look around. I want better weapons, and a bag to carry the food.

Upstairs, in one of the two bedrooms I find more than a bag. There's a canvas satchel, with a nice little SS lightning bolt insignia on it, because of course it is, but there's also a spear. Just what I wanted.

The new weapon in my left hand and the pistol in my right, I head back to the bedroom door. Across the hall there are just two more empty beds and a couple of pistols and magazines. With the extra ammo stored in my cell phone pocket, I wait at the top of the stairs to see if any more are going to come join me. I'm ready. I'm a badass Nazi killer. I'm whatever I have to be.

It's a surprisingly long wait. Several minutes pass and I can still faintly hear the movie playing outside. Then the sound stops. I knew I should've grabbed my phone. At least I know they're here. Maybe they didn't destroy it. I really don't want to be without my music if I'm stuck here for eternity.

Finally, a man shows up at the bottom of the stairs. I don't even hesitate. The spear flies through the air, soaring right into his neck and pinning him to the wall. Then a funny thing happens.

The spear comes back to my hand.

Huh. I'm gonna need to look into that later.

Another one shows up and I try throwing the spear again. I didn't think to aim, yet it still went right through his head. That's – I think I'm going to be sick again. Holy shit. Shooting people in the head is less horrifying.

It flies back to me and I try to ignore the brain matter just a foot above my hand. I rush down the stairs. The next person won't be so dumb, they'll notice the dead bodies and come out shooting.

Apparently I'm right. The second I enter the kitchen, a gunshot sounds and I feel a hot burning sensation in my left arm. The spear clatters onto the floor but I fire back. My aim is better. More brains spill onto the wall.

The spear flies back into my hand, but I can't lift it too well. If it hurts this much when my body is full of adrenaline, I am not looking forward to what it feels like when I crash. I hear footsteps behind me and fire on instinct. The second shot kills him.

Let's see. That should be eight Nazis. I'm only 92 short. If each of the three houses is about the same, with two bedrooms and two beds each, then I should expect twelve. I can manage. My arm is killing me and I can barely use it, I still can't see fully out of my left eye, and my right leg is less reliable than I'd like, but I can do it. I'm the Ice Queen. I'm a god damn super hero. I can take on a whole army of Nazis. And I'll kill them all.

I grab a washcloth by the sink and wrap it around my arm, trying to stop the bleeding. Should I wait here or go look for them? They have me in numbers. What would Pete say? No, what would Elsa say? She did this for years with no powers, just like I am right now. That actually makes me feel a little better. She'd go out to them. They won't expect it and I can pick them off.

The back door is closer to the other houses, so I take the front instead, startling two more Nazis. That was quick.

They both raise their guns and fire as I dive back in through the doorway at the last second, hitting the floor. I fire through the wall, at what I can remember of where they were. One of them screams.

Jumping to my feet, I only wince slightly as I dash to the side just as they open fire again. Bullets tear through the wall, but I pop out of the door and place two rounds in the one still standing.

The one on the ground is crawling toward something. He must've dropped his gun when I shot him. One more bullet and he stops moving.

After half an hour of looking, I still can't find the last two, and my washcloth is almost completely red. I go through each house, expecting to be shot the second I open each door. The windows would be too loud and awkward. It's better to just open the doors from the side like Elsa taught me.

There are only two beds in the house at the bottom of the hill. Maybe they were the officers. At least it means I probably killed all of them, even if I wasted all of this time bleeding out as I tried to find two nonexistent Nazis.

This house is a little nicer and isn't full of dead bodies. I drink some tap water then stop to stare at it. How is the water running? Where is it coming from? What even is this house?

There's a first aid kit in their bathroom, so I take off the washcloth and down a handful of aspirin. There's also some Bayer's Heroin in the kit, but as far as I've fallen in the last two days – both literally and figuratively – I'm still not quite there.

This is far from my first bullet wound. I still have the scars in my side and my thigh, but Skaldi had helped with the pain and wounds before. This hurts a lot more, even after the last forty minutes. I clean the injury with some rubbing alcohol, which hurts even more, and take a look at the entry and exit wounds. They're small, so at least it wasn't a hollowpoint. This time.

There's cloth, and likely a bit of chainmail inside. My eyes water as I use the tweezers, but I manage not to scream. Cotton rounds stick easily, since the blood just won't stop, and I wrap a bandage around my shoulder, as tight as I can manage without restricting blood flow. I throw on another layer of bandage on top of it to keep it secure. Now, I hopefully won't die from blood loss before a monster can eat me.

I don't want to eat yet. I need some more food in me after how much I threw up and all that blood loss, but I have to find my cell phone, and if I'm going to be looking through a bunch of dead bodies, I don't want to have just eaten.

Five bodies later, I find my phone. It somehow avoided getting any brains on it, but it's in the jacket pocket of the guy in the stairway who was missing most of his head.

Barely managing to keep the meager contents of my stomach down, I rush back to the officer's house. After drinking two beers, I grab a third and make myself a salad from their cabbage. It stays down, so I add cold cuts to the meal. I guess I can live with sleeping in a Nazi bed. I did kill its owner, so hopefully that cancels out any racism left in it.

Since I'm already in the kitchen, I wet a new washcloth and try to clean off the spear. I hadn't really taken the chance to examine it before. It's a beautiful weapon. About six feet tall, its blade nearly a foot itself, and the material doesn't seem to be just wood. It's sturdier than that, but it still feels wooden.

Wiping away the bits that I am trying very hard not to think about from the tip, I unveil some symbols. Just below and going up the blade, are a series of Norse runes. Oh. I've read about this weapon. How are we so good at making enemies of gods? Odin is going to be pissed.