Cold Hatred

Balar's warning made Erik turn to look, a moment that the wolf took to rip into his calf. Roaring in pain, the giant knelt, hoping to crush his attacker under the now lame leg. Dodging with ease, the beast lept with an unearthly skill and ripped at his throat.
Once again in the cold void within him, Erik felt something different. He realized now that his soul was slowly being dragged to Hel's embrace.
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The corpse of Erik began a strange transformation. Before it would only heal and turn a stone grey.
Now, a layer of ice formed over it, spikes appearing on his joints and shoulders.
Despite the eternal cold, his breath formed a thick mist.
Naurfast growled and nipped at his fallen prey, the undead wolf focusing only on the rising Jotun.
Standing over Naurfast, Erik gave a roar, but instead of being a mere challenge, a ray of frost spewed over the wolf. His hammer shattered the freezing coffin and as the peices were being called back, Erik continued to smash each bit in emotionless determination.