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Simo Häyhä could have easily been the god of war.
And that thought irritated Loki more than ever, because the sniper, during his solo hunts, proved to be infinitely superior to any other deity who boasted the titles they held but who, in practice, did nothing.
Simo, on the other hand, seemed to be one with his rifle. He shot and hit targets with a naturalness that sent chills down one’s spine, and waited patiently for hours under the snow for another to approach so he could eliminate them.Just as he hunted the Soviets, they too had set a precise, inevitable goal: to hunt the White Death.
That personification of death that made them tremble like children and beg for their lives. Who hunted them one by one and knew no mercy.
Simo Häyhä was a war machine like no other, free from bloodlust and sadism. The homicidal instinct existed, of course, but it was cold, calculated, contained, and had to be fulfilled exclusively as his duty as a soldier.And Loki, who in his existence as a god had played, deceived, seen, and eliminated the maddest and most illustrious men and the most aberrant creatures, froze in front of that gaze.