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Updated: June 26, 2025
The heavens split, and the sons of Muspel come riding ahead, led by their chief Surt. As the hosts are rushing across the Bifrost, the bridge breaks with them. All are hastening to the great battlefield, the plains of Vigrid, which is a hundred miles wide.
The spirit stream from Muspel flashed with complexity and variety. It was not below individuality, but above it. It was not the One, or the Many, but something else far beyond either. It approached Crystalman, and entered his body if that bright mist could be called a body. It passed right through him, and the passage caused him the most exquisite pleasure. The Muspel-stream was Crystalman's food.
You are a being of antique experience, and ought to know, if anyone does. What is Muspel?" The phaen's face was blank. "I don't know the name." "It is another world of some sort." "That cannot be. There is only this one world Faceny's." Maskull came up to aer, linked arms, and began to talk.
"Let me alone," said Maskull. "Give luck a slack rein. What brought this boat here?" "What is this talk about Muspel?" demanded Haunte. Corpang caught his shoulder roughly, and stared straight into his eyes. "What do you know?" "Not much, but something, perhaps. Ask me at supper. Now it is high time to start. Navigating the mountains by night isn't child's play, let me tell you."
It would be one big mass of heavy sweetness, without individual shapes." "Yet this same sweetness is torturing to men?" "The life of an absolute male is fierce. An excess of life is dangerous to the body. How can it be anything else than torturing?" Corpang now sat up suddenly, and addressed Haunte. "I remind you of your promise to tell about Muspel." Haunte regarded him with a malevolent smile.
"Where men are called to women by pain, and not pleasure." "I intend to understand, before I've finished." "Yes," answered Haunte, with a taunting look, "it would be a pity to let the chance slip, since you're going to Lichstorm." It was now Corpang's turn to take Maskull by the arm. "This journey will end badly." "Why so?" "Your goal was Muspel a short while ago; now it is women."
"That is your path," said Catice, "and I shall not come any farther." Maskull detained him. "Say just this, before we part company why does pleasure appear so shameful to us?" "Because in feeling pleasure, we forget our home." "And that is " "Muspel," answered Catice. Having made this reply, he disengaged himself, and, turning his back, disappeared into the darkness.
"They say that when the world was born, Krag was born with it a spirit compounded of those vestiges of Muspel which Shaping did not know how to transform. Thereafter nothing has gone right with the world, for he dogs Shaping's footsteps everywhere, and whatever the latter does, he undoes.
Sometimes the green sparks were strong enough for a moment to move a little way in the direction of Muspel; the whirls would then accept the movement, not only without demur, but with pride and pleasure, as if it were their own handiwork but they never saw beyond the Shadow, they thought that they were travelling toward it.
"Surtur's world, or Muspel, we are told, is the original of which this world is a distorted copy. Crystalman is life, but Surtur is other than life." "How do you know this?" "It has sprung together somehow from inspiration, from experience, from conversation with the wise men of your planet. Every hour it grows truer for me and takes a more definite shape." "I believe you, Maskull.
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