As Bjorn stood before the throne of Hel, the weight of the choices before him pressed down like a mountain. The air was thick with the stench of death and decay, and the wailing of lost souls echoed in the distance. Hel, the queen of the underworld, regarded him with a cold, unblinking stare, her lips curled in a mocking smile.
"What brings you, Bjorn Hammerhand?" she asked, her voice like the sound of scraping bones.