This takes place in ancient times, by the way. It's fictional by all means, so don't bug me about the details, just enjoy it.

The Calm.

The cold chill of the harsh northern wind bit deep into the men who had gathered so early in the morning. They had gathered to lay one of their own to rest, none spoke but they all shared a common understanding. They all knew that the fate of their fallen comrade could very well be their own.

The man they were honoring was born for war, he was born into a harsh life as a slave. He had known work since he could walk. Growing up he had no name, but quickly earned the title of Frithjofr - Thief of Peace, War Bringer - and, when given the chance, proved that he deserved it.

Frithjofr was a giant, well built by a harsh life. His endurance was unmatched, he could run further and faster than any other man in the tribe. He could lift more, hit harder and handle more pain. When enraged in combat it was assumed he was unstoppable, blocking swords and spears, parrying blades from the left and right, then raining down a hellish retribution that even the Devil himself would have trouble matching.

All knew that one day he would know his end, all men die, but those gathered had hoped Frithjofr could guide them from the chilled lands of the north, back to the warm seas where olives and grapes grow.

As the wind grew stronger and a light snow began to fall the men pushed Frithjofr into a shallow grave and said a quick word or two to his benefit. They had never thought about their own afterlife, let alone that of another, but they hoped to themselves that Frithjofr would be carried away swiftly and to a place where he could be happy. There was no room for weakness among them, not of body, heart nor mind, and with a collective nod they trudged silently away from the uncovered grave.

Arrival

The pain had not lasted for Frithjofr, no pain ever had. The pain had been sharp, however, and he knew it would not be like other pains as this one would drag him down. The blackness was overwhelming, darker than the darkest nights. He had wandered for days, it seemed, before finding a narrow light. Frithjofr reached for his blade and for the first time realized he had no body. The idea crossed his mind that he was experiencing death, but how?

Slowly he crossed into the light to examine himself. He was not there, not even as a ghost. Frithjofr had never feared anything in life, but already his brief trip into the after life was provoking a sense of panic. He reminded himself to remain calm and walked into the light.

The embodiment of evil greeted him on the other side. Frithjofr had felt the presence of evil many times, but this power was overwhelming, it burned Frithjofr to make eye contact. The evil being shifted constantly from one place to another, yet was always present in front of Frithjofr.

"You have no home?" the being asked in a voice that was not his own.
"I do not," Frithjofr confirmed, struggling to maintain his composure.
"Do you miss your world?" the being echoed a thousand times.
Frithjofr had not thought about it. He certainly did not like this new world, but did he really miss his old world?
"No." Frithjofr said after a moment, thinking hard on the subject.
"You do not fear us?" the being whispered yet screamed.
"I do, but I fear uncertainty more. My world is full of uncertainty. I know what awaits me here." Frithjofr said with a slight shrug.
"You are a special kind, young one. You seek to right the wrongs of the world, you strive to send that which does not belong in your world to mine. Your destiny has been chosen, there is no reason it should stop with death" the being mused, it's voice shrieking.

And in that instant, Frithjofr had felt all the pain and hatred that had ever been felt. It consumed him and in turn he harnessed that hate, he channeled that pain.