No one knows what awakened the giants--the Sons of Earth.  Between one moment and the next, they arose, dragging themselves up through the ground--what had previously seemed to be scattered boulders and half-buried monoliths--returning to consciousness. To this day, nothing is known about who they are, or why they awoke to devastate the world. What is known is that they’re faster, stronger...

And cannibalistic.

The Sons of Earth ravaged cities, laid waste to countries--razing the work of man to the ground. Modern technologies, political systems, there was almost nothing. One of the only surviving forms of tech left was a universal translator, implanted just under the ears of every man, woman, and child, allowing those left to band together, by taking down the barriers of language.  No longer are people artificially separated by nation but are now, all are one, against the common enemy.

In this way, it could be said that the Sons of Earth--or grendel, as they came to be called--brought people together.  In the face of such coarsely superior creatures--creatures of preternatural senses, and heretofore unseen levels of viciousness--all useless human divisions passed away.  Unfortunately, so did all manner of softness, art--anything unrelated to survival. To war.

But even though grendel were the new apex predator, people had something that they didn’t.  

Numbers.  

A grendel, with its skin like stone, was impervious to most weapons, could easily overpower 10-30 people--depending on it's size--but humanity had hundreds. Thousands. Billions. And there was one more edge, one last thing that seemingly tipped the scales in the favour of people.

Breeding.  

Grendel were all male, so every one killed resulted in permanent damage to their ranks.  

And so…for a while, people rejoiced.  Until they discovered that the grendel, with their stone skins, their incalculable appetite for flesh, their insatiable, predatory nature, were even more terrible than previously conceived.  Until people discovered that their supposed edge was just another weakness. It wasn’t that the grendel couldn’t breed.

It was that they had no carriers.

Soon, stories began began to circulate, of grendel marauding through camps, slaughtering and feasting upon the men, and taking the women.  It was rare, but occasionally a woman would escape, to tell horrors of daily violations by these creatures, until their seed took hold. Upon escape, these women thought that their trials were over.  They thought, having risked their lives, having escaped the den of the cannibal, having been welcomed back into the arms of humanity, that their ordeal was finally at an end.

That was not the case...

The gestation period for a woman pregnant with grendelspawn was brief--too brief.  The human body was not made to withstand the pressures of not only giants--but giants that grow in the span of not months, but weeks.  And when gestation was over...

Something else was finally learned about the ravaging, mysterious grendel.  Grendelkin were cannibalistic from birth, and mother was first meal.

From the inside out.

***

“Figure it out, Leif,” you commanded, voice cool.  “That’s an order.”

“Yes, Colonel.” The tall, broad-shouldered man before you saluted, his muscular body almost quivering with obedience.

“Dismissed.”  

Turning on his heel, Major Leif lifted the flap and the exited the yurt, but not before snapping off another crisp salute to the even taller, rangy man who entered upon Leif’s departure.

“General Kvalheim,” you started, standing from your chair.

“At ease,” he said, holding up a hand, walking to lean over, resting one hand on the back of your chair, the other on the table in front of you, as he looked over the maps.  “What was that?” he asked distractedly, his sharp eyes roving over your work.

“Leif had a bit of a dispute with one of the new recruits.  Just the normal growing pains, sir.” You slid a grin upward.  “Testosterone poisoning.”

The general just grunted.  “How are the maps coming along?”

“This is the last one.”

He grimaced, then turned to sit on the edge of the table, arms crossed.  “I will never cease to be amazed by the fact that you have a photographic memory.”

You shrugged carelessly, leaning forward to begin sketching again.

“Colonel,” General Kvalheim started, and you cringed.  He only ever used your title when he wanted you to do something that he knew that you would be very much against.  “You’re a good woman, Colonel,”

“Mm,” you answered noncommittally.

“You’re my right-hand.  Strong, capable, clear-headed…”

“...Okay.”  You fixed him with one black gimlet eye.

He looked at your expression and sighed.  “I can’t bull you, can I?”

You groaned inwardly.  You knew what was coming.

“Sir--”

“Your number came up.”

Dropping the graphite, you leaned back in your chair, pursing your lips in displeasure.  “I’m too busy.”

“None of us is too busy.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered.

“Young lady,” he started.

“No room for ladies in the army, sir,” you said, just dancing on the cusp of insubordination.

“No, there isn’t anymore, is there?” the general rasped, his gaze faraway.

While he was waxing nostalgic, you decided to try again.  “I don’t have time--”

“Make it.”

You sighed.  “General, you know what I’m dealing with, here.  You know I love our troops, but… But--”

“But you can beat every one of them?”

“Exactly!” you burst out, standing angrily to face him, mirroring his stance.

He stared at you for a long time.  Finally he sighed, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.  “But what can we do? Orders are orders. And it’s necessary, you know that.”

You faltered.  Looked away. “I...do know that.  It’s just…”

“I know.  But our strength lies in numbers.  We all have to do it. At least you get to choose--”

“The pick of the dregs,” you mutter.

Grinning ruefully, he reached out to ruffle your hair, thick, and pale as winter sunshine.  “They’re not that bad,” he said mildly.

“Easy for you to say.  When your number came up, you got to choose Gerta--now that’s a wife!”

The general burst out laughing.  “I did get lucky,” he admitted. “She can still kick my .”

“Exactly!  How am I supposed to fight while constantly worrying about my husband?  I need someone I can rely on to take care of himself--not any of these...oversized boys!”

“They're really not that bad,” he said mildly.

You sighed, looking away.  “I know. I...know. We have a good group.”

“The best group.”

“The best group,” you echoed.  “But I just…” Finally you went silent, unwilling to articulate the fact that when you chose, or were chosen, you had wanted an equal, and though the general was right--your camp was full of excellent, deadly soldiers--aside from him, no one was even close to you in combat, in stealth, or in cleverness, and you resented having to mate with someone inferior just to keep up the numbers necessary to turn the tide against the grendel.

“Well…”  He sighed.   “Maybe you’ll find someone in the new group of recruits.”

“Doubtful,” you muttered.  

Wearily sighing again, he straightened, no longer your friend, but once more--every inch--your superior officer.  “It’s time to go. Your choosing is in 10 minutes.”

Straightening, you saluted, though your face was tight.  “Yes, sir.” Grabbing your grendelfur cape from its peg, you swung it around your shoulders, comforted by its weight and bulk.  

Walking before him, you exited the tent, stopping only when his attendant corporal yelled, his voice booming,  “Make way for the General!” his breath blowing white in the frosty air.

Leaning back, you whispered, “You still have him doing that?”

General Kvalheim chuckled, then answered, sotto-voce.  “Punishment is punishment.”

Smirking ruefully you strode ahead of him, clearing a path, your knee-high grendel leather boots striking loudly against the hard-packed earth.  

Soldiers scurried away from your glare but, ignoring them, you kept your eyes straight ahead, toward the center of camp, where the men who wanted to be be chosen milled about.  You saw Leif’s blond mop standing head and shoulders above the rest, and inwardly, you rolled your eyes. If that overgrown child thought that you were going to choose him, then he was even sillier than you had previously considered.  

Around him was a group of men that you had previously not seen.  The new recruits, you assumed, a bit surprised. Now, why were they in the choosing ring?  You hadn’t personally spoken with any of them, and while it was possible that they could have glimpsed you around the camp, you could hardly imagine why any of them would want to be bound to you, practically sight unseen.

Upon reaching the group of waiting men, you clapped your hands together.  “Alright, let’s make this quick! I’ve been made to understand that I have to choose today.”  Silence reigned as all eyes rested on you. “As everyone here knows, I’ve never been particularly interested in my choosing day, so I can’t say that I’ve ever thought about any of you.”

A rumble of laughter went through the group, and you smiled.  They really were good men. “But since, apparently, I’m prime mating material,” you paused, waiting for the laughter to die down, “Here, we are.  So,” slowly you made your way around the group, looking each man in the eyes, disappointed when, one by one, they couldn’t seem to hold your gaze without looking away.  Even Leif, only one rank below you, couldn’t look at you for longer than a few seconds before looking down submissively. And one of these is the man to whom I am to entrust my body while I’m pregnant and unable to take care of myself? You thought bitterly.

There was one man, though.  One of the new recruits. He wasn’t nearly as tall as most of the men in your camp--only being about your height--but he had a smiling, steady gaze that didn’t drop when your hard eyes met his.  “So,” you continued, “since I have no other way of differentiating between the lot of you, I’ve decided on a different method of choosing.” Breaking eye contact, you once again looked at them as a group.  “The man I choose...will be the one who can beat me one-on-one. Hand to hand.”

You heard General Kvalheim groan behind you, but there was nothing that he could do.  There was a pregnant silence, a