Our passage to the world beyond was abruptly barred by a serpent of monstrous proportions, its colossal form coiled across the stone before us. In that dreadful instant, recognition dawned upon me with chilling certainty. This was the World Serpent—Jörmungandr of ancient legend, a creature I had long believed to be nought but a myth whispered among firesides and in the pages of old tomes. Yet here it lay, vast and terrible, its presence undeniable and wholly real.
Oswald and the company of knights stood transfixed, their courage faltering as they beheld the beast. Its scales glistened with a foul, sickly green, reminiscent of corrupted bile, and its hiss was a shrill, metallic rasp that grated upon the ear and set our nerves on edge. This was no common serpent; it measured near ten feet i
