The Doppelgänger Mikaelson

The enemy army drew closer, their armored forms emerging from the snowy haze like a relentless tide. The rhythmic pounding of their boots was accompanied by the sharp clinking of metal and the low hum of war horns, a sound that sent shivers through the cold air. Standing at the gates of Kattegat, the sons of Ragnar prepared themselves, their expressions a mix of grim determination and defiance.

The leader of the opposing force, a towering figure clad in dark furs and a horned helmet, raised his sword high. His voice boomed over the icy expanse, commanding the attention of all who stood before him. "Sons of Ragnar!" he bellowed, his tone laced with mockery. "Do you truly believe you can hold this place against me? Surrender now, and I may grant you mercy."

Bjorn stepped forward, his massive frame imposing as he stood at the head of the group. His eyes burned with unyielding resolve, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Mercy?" he echoed, his voice cold and biting. "From a coward who hides behind an army? Come and take what you think is yours, if you dare."

The enemy leader sneered, his lips curling back to reveal teeth stained with blood and rot. "Brave words for a man who stands on the brink of ruin," he spat. "Perhaps I'll take your head as a trophy and your brothers as my slaves."

Ubbe and Hvitserk exchanged a glance, their hands tightening on their weapons. Hvitserk's lips curved into a grim smile, while Ubbe's expression remained composed, his eyes scanning the enemy ranks with a calculating intensity. Sigurd stood slightly apart, his face pale but his grip on his blade steady.

Before the verbal sparring could escalate further, Ivar the Boneless let out an audible sigh, his shoulders slumping as if he were bored. His crutch dug into the snow as he shifted his weight and raised a hand dismissively. "You're talking too much," he said, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Let's fight already."

The leader of the enemy forces bristled, his face darkening with anger. But before he could respond, Ivar spoke again, his tone laced with dry amusement. "For once, I agree with my namesake," he said, glancing at the Boneless with a faint smirk. Then he turned his gaze to the sons of Ragnar, his sharp blue eyes gleaming with a fierce intensity. "Let me handle this lot for you," he said, his voice carrying the weight of an unspoken promise. "Consider it my thanks for your hospitality during my stay here."

Bjorn opened his mouth to protest, but before any words could leave his lips, Ivar was already moving. His strides were long and purposeful, the snow crunching beneath his boots as he marched toward the enemy. His presence was electrifying, his every movement exuding confidence and raw power.

He stopped just short of the enemy line, raising his head to the sky and calling out in a booming voice. "Odin! Thor! Freyja! Watch me!" His cry echoed across the battlefield, a primal roar that sent a ripple of unease through the enemy ranks.

The sons of Ragnar could only watch as Ivar began to charge, his pace quickening until he was a blur of motion. There was no magic, no supernatural abilities—only the sheer force of a man who had honed his skills to perfection long before becoming what he was now.

The first enemy soldier to face him swung a massive axe, but Ivar ducked under the blow with fluid grace, closing the distance in an instant. His hands found the man's throat, and with a sickening crunch, he crushed it before tossing the body aside like a ragdoll. The next attacker fared no better, his sword thrust expertly parried before Ivar's fist drove into his chest, caving in his ribcage with raw power.

Blood sprayed across the snow, painting the pristine white ground in gruesome red streaks. Ivar moved like a predator, his every strike precise and devastating. He grabbed the shaft of a spear aimed at his heart, snapping it in two before driving the jagged end into the wielder's face. The man's scream was short-lived as Ivar spun around, using the remaining length of the spear to impale another soldier charging from behind.

The battlefield was chaos, and Ivar was its center, a force of nature unleashed. He ducked and weaved through the throng of enemies, his movements impossibly fast yet controlled. A sword slashed toward his side, but he sidestepped with ease, grabbing the blade with his bare hand and twisting it out of the soldier's grip before driving it through the man's chest.

The enemy forces began to falter, their initial confidence crumbling as they witnessed the carnage. Ivar's face was a mask of cold determination, his eyes unyielding as he advanced. He tore through the enemy ranks like a storm, his strikes calculated and brutal. Blood splattered his face and clothes, but he never slowed, his breathing steady and even despite the relentless pace of his assault.

One particularly brave soldier lunged at him with a dagger, but Ivar caught his wrist mid-thrust, his grip unyielding. He twisted sharply, the sickening snap of bones echoing in the air before he drove his knee into the man's stomach, doubling him over. Without hesitation, Ivar brought his elbow down on the back of the soldier's neck, ending him instantly.

The sons of Ragnar watched in stunned silence, their expressions ranging from awe to unease. Bjorn's jaw was set, his eyes narrowing as he tried to process the sheer brutality of what he was witnessing. Hvitserk let out a low whistle, his grin returning as he leaned on his axe. "Remind me never to piss him off," he muttered.

Even Ivar the Boneless seemed impressed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he watched his namesake carve through the enemy like a blade through flesh. "Not bad," he murmured to himself, his gaze following the other Ivar's movements with a mixture of curiosity and respect.

As the last enemy soldier fell, his body crumpling to the blood-soaked ground, Ivar stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving slightly. He turned back to the sons of Ragnar, blood dripping from his hands and staining the snow around him. His expression was calm, almost serene, as if he had merely completed a simple task.

"Your gates are safe," he said, his voice steady. "For now."